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.
I'd rather read a good book over watching a movie made from it. What I hear most from people when I tell them is 'why'. Well, my answer for that is that there aren't any limitations to your imagination. Therefore, when I'm reading an action-packed thriller that I can't put down or stop turning the pages of is because the details are written by the author describing the scene/situation with such clarity, that I think it's far better than what anyone can visibly see on TV. That being my opinion only, I'm sure millions and billions of avid readers out there agree with me 100% on that reason alone. I've always had an active imagination growing up. I'd use the almost empty cans of shaving cream my dad would give me, as the whipped cream on top of the mud pies I made. Of course, dad got the first one. After all, he did give me the topping. I was very versatile also. I was a pretty big tom boy for being such a little girl. To dividing Barbie clothes between me and my older sister (when I was lucky enough to get her to play with me). I had to play by her rules though, perks of being the oldest, I guess. I loved playing with the Hot Wheel's cars in the dirt. Making racetracks and underground tunnels I'd dig out for them. Sometimes my dad would be outside with me showing me all kinds of different things I could pretend to do when playing cars. I have one day in particular that stands out among the rest. It was when I learned to do the underground tunnels for the cars to go through. He showed me by taking a simple stick off the ground and using it like a tool to push the dirt out from one side to the other. It wasn't a tunnel without keeping the top part intact. I acted like there was a cave-in, and then accidents, crashing the cars together. No one ever got hurt in my imagination though, just the cars got hurt. Growing up with a sister 6-years older than me taught me lots of things, both good and bad. If I kept her secrets, she kept mine. And the only reason I even had any secrets was because she allowed me to. I got to sneak and smoke in her bedroom at night after our parents went to bed. I had to be very quiet because I got caught most of the time. But I was always caught by our momma. And then all she made me do was get back in bed. I came from a poor family so anything name brand wasn't known to me for a long time. I was bullied and made fun of all throughout my school years. It doesn't matter which year you pick. From the 1st grade, all the way through high school. I know that's terrible to have to admit, but I think it'd be even worse having to admit to being the bully. I swore to myself I'd never treat anyone the way those kids treated me and made me feel. It bothered me so bad I'd dream about standing up for, and actually fighting over other kids getting bullied. I woke up all of a sudden one morning after punching the lights out of a bully in my dream. When I really punched the headboard and made my knuckles bleed. Come on! When a child is taking on the burden of other bullied kids, you know that's a heavy burden to bear. It was also very hard on me. I never talked about it to my parents though. Yeah, they knew. But back then no one really knew what to do about that problem like they do now. Or, well, think they do. I've been in counseling since starting school. I can't remember a day going by without me seeing the school guidance counselor. Shout out to Mrs. Reeves though, at Lone Oak High School. She made the biggest impression on me as far as wanting to help other kids like me. The bullies were actually the kids who came from well-to-do families. Kids who never knew what it was like to experience the disappointment of being told 'No'. Or that there wasn't enough money to buy what they wanted. Kids that figured there wasn't anything better to do except make fun of the less fortunate to get them through their day or to have a conversation piece. The anger and hatred that built up inside of me was, and still is undescribable. The thoughts they caused me to have. Picturing the tables being turned and the bad things said back to them, bad things being done back to them. It only made me feel better on the inside. I've been asked by numerous doctors in my life if I'm suicidal. I've answered no, being completely honest each time. But never have they asked if I've felt homicidal! I know, scary right? The outcome of such thoughts is what triggered the start of mass school shootings. Coming into adulthood was strange territory for me as well, and actually caused me a lot of uncomfortable times, knowing things I knew I could now do but never felt comfortable ever talking about. Even with my sister, the person I was closest to, I couldn't open up and freely talk about anything of the sexual nature. I guess because bad things have happened to me on more than one occasion when I was still very much an innocent child. With me hiding such horrid things from my parents, along with everyone else, I felt I couldn't talk about the good kind of sex either. Man did that ever set me back, keeping me immature of certain things I should've known already but didn't. Because in my mind I was still that child who was hurt in a bad way. They were called 'Red Touches' back then. What we were taught to call them in school anyways. Then just when I was becoming independent and living on my own, learning to stand up for myself in a way that would make my sister proud of me, I lost her. That caused me to go into a deep depression I didn't come out of for many years afterwards. March 29, 2003 changed my life forever. I lost my 2-year old nephew that night to a raging house fire. My sister passed 17 days later in the burn unit in Vanderbilt, Tennessee. However, if you've read 'My Story', a post on my blog. Then you'll know that in order for me to know what I now know, and to be the person that I now am, all of the bad shit had to happen first or else I wouldn't have caught and held onto the message so vital for me to have acquired in my life. Helping the less fortunate. Being someone's somebody they can depend on being there when they need them the most. After receiving confirmation that my nephew didn't suffer, not for one second in that house fire... Was I able to let that burden go, only to let in that oxygen, that life support I desperately needed to save myself from a lifetime of misery. Even though I know my sister, Jennifer, isn't physically here to cheer and root me on. I know without a shadow of a doubt, her and Lil Jesse (my nephew) are both doing so from Heaven today, and everyday that follows. If you're suffering from addiction of any kind and you want or need someone to talk to I'm a damn good listener! My contact information is listed on my contact page. Please call, reach out for support. You're not alone no matter what negative thoughts are telling you that you are. God is always there for you as well. If you'd like to learn more about Jesus and how He died to save us, don't hesitate to ask. I'll share what I know is all good, and positive about God. Whom I choose to call my higher power. If you don't believe in God, then the subject will not be pushed. EVER! If you're battling mental health issues and feel alone like no one knows what you feel like. Then I'm here to tell you there's billions of people out there that will share with you that they too, feel just like you do. Hit me up on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter. All of my accounts should be connected to my website. If you're waiting on me to respond and it's been a while since you tried getting in touch with me, then by all means be more persistent and bug the shit out of me. Make me see your messages. I will eventually and I'll always reply when I can. This is the best I think I've written in this 'about me' section. It's the most I've opened up publicly I know that. I'm open minded, I keep it 100 all of the time, even if it's something I don't like myself, or for others, I still have to keep it 100 with myself in order for me to keep it that way with everyone else. I hope this told everyone a little bit about me, maybe more than I originally intended. But it's all accurate and up to date with where I'm at in my life right now. Thank you all and God Bless
