I’ve always been a writer. Since I can remember. I was always creating stories, that really made no sense at all. I was a star in the making. Then one day it just completely stopped. I lost all motivation to do anything creative.
Stories that I share with you will be different from the actual reality of the fact. I’m not making up what I’m writing, but because I have a steel heart in a glass case, I can’t tell the people of these events the truth. Say what you will, but life will not end; but go on.
So, I shall start at the beginning where it all went wrong.
I was a beautiful baby girl born in the springtime. In the darkness of night, my cry was heard for miles. From what I’m told, I was never good at being a child. I was always fighting with my parents and my sister, and anyone that would listen. I have no memory of a lot of theses occurrences, but I know they happened. My dad has a lot to do with the anger that has haunted me for 20 years. He was always there, helping us, making sure we got what we wanted, feeding us, taking us where we wanted to go. At the same time, he was completely vacant. Never around, always busy with other things, too busy to talk to his children, too busy to come to school events, too busy to care. I’ve never forgiven him for it, and as much as I would like to never say this, I don’t believe I ever will. I blame him for the lack of respect I have for a lot of things. Its your fault dad; everything. My sister is walking on the same path as him. Telling her to take her own path is a useless concept. She’s got everything but nothing at all. She can’t take risks or make any dumb moves. She’s got epilepsy and no thyroid, so she’s got that. We’ve hated each other for absolutely no reason, since I was in my mother’s womb. In my perspective she’s completely jealous of my ability to have the fun she has never been able to have. Watching the strobe lights in a club pass you by as you drink just one more drink, or driving in the sunlight passing through the trees in and out of the shadows. That’s okay. We will be okay one day.
My mom. That’s enough to say about her. All of her love, patience, respect and happiness is all wrapped up in those two words. My mom, is the closest thing I’ve had to pure light. She lights up a room. Knows when to say the right thing and makes everything okay. Everything I am, is her doing. Two becomes one is a very important phrase around us. We are one person. We’ve been so close, shared our ups and downs, our laughter and our presence. We even share our depression with each other. If that’s all the love I get, then so be it, it’s enough. There’s not a lot to write about her, as my love for my mother is to big to put into words.
You’ve met my mom and dad, my sister, and myself. I think that’s enough pity for today’s storm. As I watch the rain pour and trees shake, I leave you on one note:
Life will always find a way to get better.