I haven't written in two days. Quite interesting actually but something that I suppose I need to do. So it's story time, time to write this out on paper (so to speak).
While only living 23 years on this earth, I have learned far more than many others out there. I believe that everyone has their share of pain in life, some get it early and it shapes them but some get it later and they choose what it will do to them. I've had my share of pain and heartache but I wouldn't give it back for the world. I don't want to live there either though.
When I was ten, my whole world changed. At ten, I became an adult. It wasn't by choice either. Sometimes I miss the childhood that I might of had or the stupid things that I haven't done that were childish and meaningful. But that's a regret that passes quickly. At ten, my father made me an adult by sharing his feelings with me and I knew that he was going to divorce my mother before she did. I remember the long drives in the Dodge Shadow at night when he would tell me these things. The fights, the coldness, the fact that even though he wasn't physically gone - he had emotionally abandoned me. It was tough and my world was spinning. I had always been a daddy's girl and while I wanted to be there for him, I was torn. Torn to pieces actually, though I didn't know it at the time. I knew it was coming but one day, my mother brought us home from the babysitters house and all his things were packed. I still remember that day quite vividly. Everything was neatly arranged in the living room. I couldn't look at it - I ran up to my room and closed the door. My mother became hysterical and my little brother wedged himself under the table and wouldn't come out. I don't remember leaving my room that night, I didn't eat dinner. I just sat there numb with emotions that I didn't know were possible sweeping over me again and again. But the next day, I helped my dad move out. I thought that it would bring me some sort of closure. It didn't but we try to rationalize things in the only way we know how and I was ten, so it seemed like a good idea. Little did I know that it would begin to drive a wedge between my mother and I.
My mother and I seemed to barely know eachother after that. I think she hated the closeness that I had with my dad and the fact that I was his 'favorite' seemingly. So she took out her anger at everything on me. At first, it was little things. My mom is a yeller and she would yell about all the little things. The D in writing I got because I didn't want to write what the teacher wanted me to write. I didn't put the dishes away correctly or something of that nature. But it escalated into knock-down drag outs, I remember she broke a wooden spoon on me once. She also sat on me and told me things that I didn't want to hear. I felt worthless, unloved and alone. A small part of me died then.
For a while after 'counseling' where I was told that my father was then enemy and my mother was the only one who could ever be there for me, things on the surface were fine. But there were the guilt trips, the cold stares, the anger I saw in her eyes every time she looked at me. It was a private war. Publically we were the happy family and privately I was the little bitch who lived in her house. After my grandparents moved down to NC my mother followed a year later. So at 13, I was removed from all my friends and family to go down to some strange place that I knew nothing about. Honestly, that was the best move that I could have imagined but at the time, it was difficult. But something happened to me when we moved, I began to shut down. Emotionally I became a rock and a ball of self-loathing, a perfect picture of low self-esteem because I believed that I wasn't worth anything. I felt trapped by what I was and lost all direction, all drive.
One of the greatest things I had wasn't even good enough. Sure I could write, but I could also sing too. I had been taking lessons and singing not too long after my dad left and someone in church discovered my voice. I later got a scholarship to train with the same wonderful teacher. I thought I was amazing and when I sang, the world melted away and I was free. But practicing at home was never something I wanted to do. Everytime I sang, it wasn't good enough, it was nasal, I was off pitch, I couldn't sing without music and so on. This went on and on and on. I was pushed to sing more and more but it was never good enough. I didn't want to do it any more because it was just one more way that she could control me, or at least that's what I felt. So when I was 13, I not only moved but I lost my music. It became someone else's dream, not mine.
But the move to NC made me shut down and I wouldn't respond to anyone but my friends, my friends became my family. They were everything to me and I used them to escape. Home life sucked, so anything that I could do to escape it was worth it. But my mother saw that and tried to take that away too. At 13, every day, I watched my little brother and sister after school. I had to do my homework, do laundry, clean the house, and make dinner all the while dealing with two kids that were so much younger than I was. I was there all the time, mom was at work all the time. I couldn't play sports, didn't have time to sing, the only other outlet I found was church and even then, it wasn't exactly my cup of tea.
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And I have to stop here for today because if I don't then I will be writing this down all day. Consider this part one of my story, at least to whomever reads this. It's going to take a while to get out. But each day, I find this story as part of the long song I am writing with my life. It is a long one but one that I am glad to have had the experiences that it has given me and the wisdom. I don't claim to know it all but this I do know - there is nothing more important that who you are and what you choose to do with your life. There are no words that anyone can give you to define who you are or how you are supposed to live, you choose your own path and your own life.
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