I'd love to say my life is perfect. Don't we all? Well, it's not, and although sometimes you do find that perfect moment, or perfect day, the sad fact is that on this planet, it never really lasts. At least not for me, in this time period.
Where to begin...?
I don't really remember where I was born. Yes, I am really seventeen, don't jump to anything crazy. I just don't really remember much of my childhood for some reason. I was never told I was dropped on the head, and my life has been relatively safe of injuries except for the sprained knee. Not that you're interested in that day. The point is I only remember bits and pieces of what it was like to be a small child. I was always with my sister. This was when my mother had divorced my father without any arguing (just didn't love him, there were no fights, it was peaceful) and we were living in an apartment with my grandmother. My mother was working to keep us sustained.
Those days always seemed so happy and carefree. I was a kid. I could do anything I wanted. School was never so hard. My sister was my best friend, and we did everything together. And then there was the obsession with Ariel, the little mermaid - my favorite Disney movie, while everyone else's was Snow White or Cinderella, the ones in dresses.
We all got along great, my small family. It was like that was all I ever knew, because I saw them all so much.
There was somebody else that dated my mother, but I'd rather not say his name. He did seem friendly of course, because we were small. I don't have much memory of him, just what he looked like and that he always wore leather, smelled like tobacco or liquor or something like that. We thought he was funny, rubbing balloons in our hair and sticking them to the wall.
My mother found out that he was bad news, a loser. She left him in a parking lot - with us confused in the back seat.
That someone else came into her life. My soon-to-be stepfather. He was also funny. He first came to our apartment, when we didn't know him very well, just that mom had maybe found somebody real. I'll protect his name too.
He had a daughter (my stepsister) and she was always pretty, looking a lot like her dad sometimes. We three kids got to play whenever he visited Mom. I vaguely remember playing in a rectangular tent-looking thing. You know, those things that fold out with the long white straws holding them up? It was colorful, with windows and a velcro door. That was lots of fun. My grandfather died while I resided here - my dad's father. I cried, but I was small. It passed.
Then they got married.
We all moved into his house, (again, I'm not saying where) and it was a completely different place than anything I could remember seeing before. We could walk to our neighbor's house, walk down the street to the seven-eleven where we'd get slushies, walk anywhere. As long as our parents knew where we were going. The houses were tall, but you could see they were long too if you could look at them from the side. It looked like alleys behind the houses and stores, if they weren't connected. Cars ran rampant. Horns honked. There were no deer anywhere. No, I can't even remember seeing a squirrel.
Back then, I still considered myself small. I don't remember much arguing, probably because they kept it at a minimum in their room with three small children in the house. But I knew, my sister probably knew too, that something was amiss.
My stepsister it seemed, had never really gotten over her mother's separation from her father. I felt sympathy, yes, but like I've said, we were all young. I wasn't quite sure what to say. I remember trying keep my distance sometimes, when I sensed she was in a bad mood. She would cry for her mother every night.
She and my mother never really were able to get along. That's what my stepfather was mostly aggravated about. I didn't think he knew how to handle the situation, because he had always been the father of an only child.
Having been that young, I don't really remember much of it today. I remember more of what the house looked like than what actually went on within its walls. I'm glad too, or it would have scared me for life.
My new little sister came into the world when we lived in that house. She was so red-faced when they came through that front door, swathed in white fabric. Her face was wrinkly and she had tiny wisps of hair on her head. She cried a lot, I could remember. We were all irritated with it, but she got cuter and cuter as they fed her at the high chair.
Grandma died when I lived here. Again, my dad's side. Not only was I afraid of how my dad took it, both his parents gone, but I cried my heart out as my mother cradled me in her embrace at the kitchen table. That was the saddest day I could remember from that period of my life, where I cried long after that for many nights before I slept.
Then we moved here. To my house in Jackson. Where it was another huge change. We had a much bigger pool, real trees in our backyard, and at the time, the grass seemed to go on forever into those woods. Those woods seemed a lot deeper than they do today.
Anyway, this was the house where I feel it's the most like my true home, because I remember a lot more of what I had done and what I do today. It's where my real dreams and pursuits, my older appearance and personality, my hobbies and fears, really blossomed all in this house. And it happens to be the house where all the bad stuff happens, not in any way including my little brother. (although he is quite the trouble maker.)
I remember a lot of fighting here. It's probably the reason I've never really been able to look at my stepfather as a fatherly figure, aside from the fact that my real father visits on the weekends like they're friends and all the adults always get along.
We have holes in the walls, now being hidden and patched up. We have splintered doorways, splintered minds, and splintered hearts.
Nothing that I want to talk about, just give a brief overview of the roots: quick marriage, a pampered child, stress, financial crises, and just downright bad luck. My sister and I have had to pack up our things numerous times, each time my mother changing her mind after my step-dad convinced her to stay with an apology.
Over time, I think I began to loathe him for watching at the sidelines while they both transformed. He became less fatherly, generally less concerned with his family and more concerned with going out to his gym. My mother became more miserable, with more complaints and things to tell me as I got older and more able to understand her trauma.
Today, I consider her problems just as important as mine are. I know this to be true, and I've told myself so many times: I really couldn't have asked for a better mother. Even as she never had the perfect life, she always tried her hardest. She made a lot of sacrifices for us. I can't thank her enough, and I wish she would be more happy.
Today, I have a best friend who wants to be a werewolf and learn about dark magic and the like, a great sister who wants to learn telekinesis and air-bending, a boy like my long-lost brother who doesn't even reside in the same state, and other terrific friends whom I get to see in school and they're all connected one way or another.
I also have my beloved mother, my caring father, my little brother and sister who wake me up every morning with their screaming laughter, and a stepsister who I'm trying to get closer to despite the past.
My hobbies?
Drawing, writing (my books, not persuasive essays) and listening to good music or having deep thoughts. Not too typical for you, I hope.
Relationship status? (because that's what everyone looks for first these days)
Single. Sadly, I always have been. I think I'm too quiet and socially-disabled or something to talk normally with a boy my age. Unless of course, it's one of my close friends. But besides that... dead crushes from my early grade-school years.
And while I'm in this topic, may I just say that I'm a partial romance writer. I think I'm a hopeless romantic. You got it! Find my true love, get married, live and breathe the air he breathes, bla bla, dramatic theatric music plays, bla bla. But this website allows me to say that without the annoying people that inch away from that longing. Here, I'm able to speak out, to be myself. I just wanted to put that out there. And that 'only looking around your neighborhood' isn't always good enough if you want that true someone.
Is that all? Hmm.... No. My appearance:
Glasses, thin, rectangular, black, do not obstruct my eyes.
brown, curly hair, pretty short, very layered.
Thin, no diet -- it's just hereditary and completely natural to have wrists like mine.
I guess pretty tall. I'm not really concerned with it.
Brown eyes. Wish I could change them into something fantastic and beautiful. Not great with makeup, eyeliner and eyeshadow are usually the most I'll do, and that's only when I'm the mood. (rare these days)
Okay, NOW i think I'm done. Have your eyeballs dropped out? Are you asleep, drooling on your desk? Have you grown a beard? If not, thank God. If yes, then I'm very sorry for wasting your time.
Thank you everybody, and GOODNIGHT!
**Not that I'm expecting anyone to want to learn more about me, but if you do, just message me and I'll try to give an honest answer as soon as I can. I may be gloomy, but that doesn't mean I can't be friendly too.
