When I was a little girl I always felt out of place. Even in my own family, with whom I shared a home with my entire life. Being picked on and made fun of in school didn’t help me at all. I’ve been in counseling since grade school and it’s become a part of my life. I realized I needed it then and I need it now.
A 7-year old child shouldn’t be stressing out about how she chooses to spend her days wanting to be free of the hatred, meanness, and ugliness she’s dealt with on the daily when attending school. So, my free time at home was spent with a wild imagination keeping me entertained regardless of being inside the house playing in my room, or outside on a hot summer day.
I loved riding my bike. I had a bunch of old keys that went to nothing in particular my dad gave them to me to keep and play with them. I remember acting like I was a mom with her kids in the backseat. I’d stick a key in the end of my right handlebar because that’s where the ignition was. At least that’s what my imagination thought because that’s what grown-ups did to drive a car in real life. So, I kept it the same making it as close to the real thing as possible. I was pretending to drive my imaginary kids, to the invisible grocery store we were going to.
Even though I had a sister growing up we weren’t the same age and she was way more grown then the 6-years that separated us. When I was the ripe ol’ age of 7. She was 13-years old and more mature than I was. Hence why I was always playing alone. Not havin friends allowed to come over and play I really wanted to be like other families and do that kinda stuff. Why wasn’t I allowed to invite a someone over to play an spend the night wit me?
Lookin back on those years I now know that my family was poor and my father was embarrassed he couldn’t do things other kids dad’s could do, or make the kinda money they had. All that crap didn’t matter to me tho. I was a fuckin child wanting to interact with another kids regardless of what my dad said. Which made me not even wanna ask. Because I already knew his answer was always gonna be ‘no’.
Not my sister though. Nope. She hardly ever heard ‘no’ muchless knew what the fuck it meant. Sorry. I know I sound like a hater but honestly I was jealous of her and the things she was allowed to do but I couldn’t and better never. Because she was allowed so many privileges I also got to experience a taste of the wild side of sneakin around doin the shit my mom an dad didn’t want me doin.I was supposed to be better an learn from her what not to do. And in a way I guess I did.
She developed her addictions to certain substances early in life. Maybe a little too early but she had them regardless. She began drinking when she was like 13-14-years old. She was allowed to smoke pot even younger at 12-years old. Wit my dad at that. I can remember wanting to know why she could and I couldn’t. Only to never get a straight answer that never fuckin made sense to me. They said “Because she’s older than you”. Huh? Excuse me? So when I turn 12 I can start smokin’ too?
OMG! There was this one time I wanted a cigarette because our parents were gone and it was my only chance of me gettin to do my sneaky shit. This particular day however, she wasn’t feelin’ generous enough to share with me. Which left me picking butts outta the ashtray. I don’t know how many people out there who have smoked cigarette butts of various flavors back-to-back but I kept smoking em until I got that euphoric satisfaction you get from inhaling the smoke with the nicotine clinging to your lungs. I stopped and went out the front door with Jennifer and Tracy (her best friend), because they were walkin’ to the Minit-Mart and I was thinkin I just might be able to steal a few candies.
No sooner than walkin outside I started to feel nauseous, only to hurl my guts out on the side of the driveway. Jennifer already knew smoking all those butts would make me sick. She’s done it before (that’s why she was laughing). Let me just say I didn’t make the walk to the gas station. I had to go back in an lay down to keep my belly from rolling and my head from swimming.
I read just as much when I was little as I do now. I never remembered ‘not knowing’ how to read. Nor do I remember being ‘taught’. I only remember doing it and knowing how. I fell in love with it that much I was certain of.
It’s funny because all children hear from adults when they’re growing up is them sayin’ shit like this, “If I could go back an know what I know now, I’d do things a bit different.” I never knew wtf fuck that was about and I heard all the grown-ups around me say the exact same shit. Repeated verbatim at every fuckin family reunion we had, or sad to say at a funeral. Morbidly though more likely to be at a funeral than a family reunion. Usually it’s something the deceased family member had probably never achieved in their life along with the person who’s sayin’ it, obviously. But those are some twisted, fucked-shit things to hear when you’re growin’ up and don’t know what in the hell they mean. Because I don’t think I’ve heard none of em actually say what it was they wished they’d of done that they didn’t get to do back then.
If you wanna read part 2 ,jus be lookin’ out for it. I’m in the process of writing it right now.