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This is Me: Part 2

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Six Flags Trip: My Dad surprised me with this trip to the famous Theme Park at 12-years old.

I was the son my dad never had. I was never like other little girls when it came to things I’d want for Christmas or my birthday presents. I didn’t want no barbies, or baby dolls like a lot of other girls I played with always wanted. I wanted nothing other than Hot Wheels, Micro-Machines, Legos, and Tonka Trucks. Whenever I wasn’t allowed to play outside, say for instance because it’d been raining. I’d still let my imagination take me away. There weren’t boundaries to it and if there ever were, I didn’t only not know about em, I didn’t even know what the boundary meant. So, I’d line all my stuffed animals up pretending they were students, and of course I was the teacher. When my sister moved to a house in Ballard County there were a lot of books left behind. Mixed in with the regular books were school books including the teachers books. And we all know the teachers books had all the answers in them. So it wasn’t hard pretending I knew what I was teaching about, because I already had the answers.

My dad was, still is, a carpenter working remodeling peoples homes, adding whole additions onto their houses. Other times remodeling the inside like their kitchens, or their bedrooms. He gave me this huge piece of counter top I used like a desk all the times I played school. It had multiple uses really. Occasionally I pretended to be a secretary answering phones for my boss or whoever I made up to be working for. I’d put that piece of wood across my legs and place one of those old telephones ((the kind you couldn’t attach to the wall)) at one corner. And then I’d put some blank paper in front of me if I was gonna act like I was taking notes. Or the teachers books if I was gonna be playing school. My sister really only played with me whenever she was bored an didn’t have company. Or if it was what she wanted to play. Which was usually always barbies. And you already know she got the first pick at the barbie clothes we’d laid out. My dad built us a barbie doll house one time and it was so big. Big enough to where we had to leave it behind when we moved. He said it wouldn’t fit through the door so we could take it with us to our new home. Forget about tearing it down only for him to have to put it together again.

((Which by the way he coulda fuckin did for us since we never had shit anyways)).

I know I’m not alone remembering how popular Lisa Frank was back then. All the cool fuckin school supplies they came out with that carried her theme on them. One thing in particular I remember to this very day wanting nothing but a Lisa Frank binder. It was when I was in 5th or 6th grade. I know I told both my parents how bad I wanted one for school. I asked every fucking year right before school would start. Only I never fuckin got one. I even dreamed about getting one as a surprise from my mom and dad. Just to wake up disappointed like a motherfucker. It couldn’t have cost so much that they couldn’t of got me one. I do know that. I guess I’m still a little salty thinking back on that. It jus really grinds my fuckin gears knowing he coulda bought it for me, he jus didn’t or wouldn’t, period. ((Probably woulda taken away from his pot fund or whatever else he spent his money on instead of something his only kid wanted more than anything back then)). It was also the very first girly thing I remember wanting.

Listen to me! Pouting about a Lisa Frank binder that I never got when I was like 7-9 years old. OMG! It was because of how bad I really wanted the damn thing. If it was my sister that wanted it, she’d have got it. But then again she always got whatever she wanted. Me not ever getting one hurt my feelings more than I really thought it did. Otherwise I don’t think I’d still feel the same about it just like I did then. You’ll be amazed at the shit people hold grudges over. Mine being something as petty as a Lisa Frank school binder. FML.

Moving right on . . .

I miss my sister some days more than others. You’d think after her being gone 19 years it wouldn’t weigh so heavy on my heart still. I guess a part of me will never let her go. I mean obviously she’ll forever be in my mind, stacked with all our wonderful memories together. But I’m saying even though it’s been that long, I still find a way to talk about her in this future, real time, trying to imagine how she’d be if she were really here right now. She’d be 46-years old I know that. Wow! I’d actually get to bug her for being in her 50’s damn near, bahahaha.

Anyways . . .

Naw but forreal I’d fuck wit her like that all the time, man. She got a job at this local strip club when she was in her early 20s. Coming home from her first night of dancing, I was already there babysitting my niece when I asked her how it went. She said it wasn’t so bad. Not like she thought it’d be anyways. I asked her if she’d been embarrassed because I know I’d have been. I jus couldn’t even begin to imagine strippin in front of all kinds of strangers. Leaving that hanging open for further discussion she picked it right up by saying something in the way of, “I do feel kinda nasty though”. Without missing a beat I told her, “I’d feel nasty too if I was sliding up an down a pole other bitches had they coochie all on”.

Pictured left is my older sister: Jennifer Marie Brozell 16yrs. old & ((Me) with my maiden name) Tina Lynn Clark 11-12yrs. old.

Ba-rum-bum-bum, tshhh ((drum sound after joke)).

When I tell you guys she busted a gut laughing, that’s exactly what she did. Her boyfriend that was there ((because her picked her up an brought her home)) started laughing too an said that was a burn. I was never really good at those when I was growing up. Like I didn’t know how to really be a smart ass. I didn’t know all the different slang and derogatory terms like other people did when telling someone off, or cracking on em. So, when I realized I literally did jus that without meaning to nor trying, I was actually proud of myself. It made me feel like I caught on. It felt good bein a smartass back at her when we were forreal jus pickin at each other.

((I knew to keep my mouth shut when she was ever pissed off an we were fighting. If you wanna read about the very 1st time I fought back sticking up for myself then you need to read a post I wrote titled “My Story”)).

Thinking back to that memory put a smile on my face bigger than shit. Lol. Those were good fuckin times and it’s those good, funny, cherishable moments that make me miss her that much more. I can recall not too long ago my parents dropped over and I walked em outside when they were leaving. I was still in the process of writing my testimony so I was feeling raw an exposed and shit. I was telling em bout how far into my testimony I was at the time and naturally her name came up and I began crying. This time even though they got misty eyed listening tell em bout a specific memory when I heard my dad say something. I pulled away from my momma because we was hugging each other and asked him what he said. He repeated himself an told me I needed to move on or let go of the bad things that’s happened or I’d never heal.

Some kinda bullshit he’s always spoutin. He’s what you’d call a Bible thumper. Always trying to preach to people he thought was living wrong or doing wrong. ((When his narcissistic ass wouldn’t be living right his damn self)).

I had been looking at him when he was talking but I cut him off fairly quickly letting him know I wasn’t crying over any of the bad. I was crying because I missed all the good. The fuck you talkin bout ((Is what I was thinking to myself))? After he heard me say that he acted like, “Ooh! Okay.” As if it jus’ made sense to him. I almost did the teenager thing and rolled my eyes and you know made that sound almost like you were fixing to say “DUH” but instead sayin “gawd”. Lol. I guess he was so used to me being depressed and sad over her no longer being alive an still here with all of us.

During my time in prison I told you guys I spent that time alone in my head. That 4 1/2 years was such a long time to be alone by yourself regardless of how many hundreds of women I’d been locked up with. Yeah I mean I’d interact with people everyday. Played spades, told jokes, colored pictures, wrote many letters, did make up, cooked and ate together, to even being a lookout when girlfriends were wanting some private time away from everyone else’s eyes and ears. Best believe all of those women were the Martha Stewart’s of getting it in. If I’m lying I’m dying. LMFAO.

When night time came round it also came with lock down with our lights in the dorm being shut off. I did learn forgiveness and how to forgive myself for not being able to save either of them from dying. I carried so much fuckin guilt that I didn’t know how to let it go. How could I? Knowing first hand what I saw on that night and how horrible, and fuckin chaotic it was? I’d go right back to mentally kicking my ass, and having pep-talks with myself about certain things I absolutely wouldn’t do any more when I got out. My relationship with my higher power grew in strength and understanding. It allowed me to decipher answers to questions only I knew I asked. Man, let me just say it took so much weight off my chest and brought peace and clarity into my mind again. Something I hadn’t had in so long I damn near forgot not only what it was but also what it felt like.

I was so fed up with the old Tina and her actions it was pathetic. That crazy bitch was wild, unpredictable, unstable, and didn’t listen for shit. But I can finally say I’ve learned my lesson though. If it weren’t for me fuckin up catching those damn charges in the first place, I wouldn’t of served any of that time. Plus, I know I wouldn’t have learned any other way. And it’s about fuckin time too. I’ll be 40 this year. The time for me to grow up has come and gone and I’m ‘STILL’ learning to be a responsible adult. Think I’m playing? I promise you I’m not. It’s almost like I mentally stopped growing and maturing after Jennifer died. Like my mind was stuck in the year 2003 when I was supposed to continue growing, learning and maturing like people did with the rest of their lives. But I wasn’t maturing, or growing, or living. Because I was high more often than when I was sober. And if I can be completely honest, I’m feeling like I’m still playing catch up to everyone else my age. Everyone that already knows about shit that I should know by now, only I don’t. Just with me knowing that truth about myself, made me feel more stupid than I have ever remembered feeling or ever being.

Moving on . . .

Here I am in the year 2022 fixing to be 40 -years old and also now a grandmother.She died 19 years ago but I can still reminisce on all of the hilarious things we’ve done together and the cherishable memories we’ve made. Everlasting! To the point where I’ll never forget about those memories, or her. Ever! I still to this day talk about her and Jesse ((my nephew who died in the fire)) to my kids. They tell me more times than not that I’ve already told them whatever it is I’m about to tell them again. Idk, it’s my way of keeping her alive, here with me in the present even though she’s really not.

I’m all caught up now. I really hope you liked this true short story of getting to know, “This is Me: Parts 1 & 2. Feel free to ask questions if there may have been anything you think I might of left out. I’ll gladly answer them for you. And one more thing. Would everyone please try to read my post titled, “My Story”? Giving you a heads up, it’s very long and took me months to write, edit, rewrite, and finally post. It’s how my heart bled the feelings I went through while I’m telling you guys about my childhood, on up through the years I had with my sister before she passed away.

Thanks Again,

Tina Peck

About Post Author

BooBoo

I'd rather read a good book, VS watching the movie made from it on TV. Most thoughts on that are '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 the biggest tom boy of a little girl you'd ever see one day. 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 older sibling I guess. I loved playing with the Hot Wheel's cars in the dirt. Making race tracks 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
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