Chapter 1
My story is one of many being told in this wide, vast world. But I think you’ll find mine just a bit different.
It all started the day this poor world was blessed with a tinier, pinker version of the very sarcastic and snippy young woman you see before you today. I came early, and scared the living crap out of my Mom and Dad, who didn’t get to meet me until later because he was at home getting some clothes and things for Mom because the doctor said it would take a few hours instead of a half of one. Things were pretty good. I had two older sisters, of which I tormented with the usual crying, screaming, and smelly diapers. Extra smelly when you hear the story from them. And the general hub of being an infant. Then...I was 1, and things took a drastic turn for the worst.
I was a little ball of terror that could crawl around the house, getting into things and spilling the contents of countless bowls of everything onto myself. It was horrible, or, at least it was for my family. Mom used to always complain about the laundry it took to keep me clothed everyday, Lara and Kristin (my two older sisters) always howled and moaned because apparently I took all their toys for myself, and Dad just laughed it off and played airplanes with me, or set me on his chest to take a nap together. It was very fun, very fun indeed even though I couldn’t remember any of it. It still cracks me up to this day to hear them all whine about how awful I was as an infant, and it makes me happy to know that they still loved me anyways.
At 2, I was waddling around and getting myself into even more trouble, and landing Mom even more laundry. I was introduced to the outside, which made for lots and lots of stumbles, falls, trips, bumps, bruises, scrapes, boo boos, eaten bugs, and kisses better. It was chaotic, but I was having a blast. Running around on unstable legs, checking out trees and grass and all of the new living things as if they had never existed before, and in a sense, they hadn’t. It was a world full of color and wonder, and even then I knew I wouldn’t be able to get enough. I still haven’t.
3 was where things got interesting, though. I vaguely remember when Mom announced to my sisters and I that we were going to have a new sibling at dinner, and the excited shrieks that Laura and Kristin exchanged. I also distinctly remember wondering to myself if it would be a boy or a girl a couple times. And pestering Mom and Dad about it a lot. A few months later we braved the chilly November air and drove to the hospital early in the morning, because “Mommy” was having contractions, and our new sibling was coming to meet us. I can still see myself mouthing out the word ‘contractions’ with confusion after the doctor explained how far along Mom was to Dad. It was such a funny word back then, and it seems funny to me now that in a few years I might be having those one morning like Mom did. It was certainly interesting though. It seemed like my sisters and I waited forever with our Grandparents outside Mom’s hospital room, but the moment the door opened we were up and out of our seats, impatient to meet our little baby whatever. I wasn’t too happy it was a boy, because I had previously wanted a sister, but I held him anyways and I still love him today. Shocker, isn’t it? Especially after he was put in my room and cried every 3 hours or so during the night for about a year. I could’ve killed the little bugger because of all the sleep he kept me from. Little did I know that it was only the beginning...
Chapter 2
Life with a younger brother was never boring, to say the least. Before I knew it, I wasn’t the one being coddled and doted over anymore. It was all Michael, who was so little he couldn’t even understand that he was hogging all of the attention from me. But I didn’t know that, now did I? I think that was the only time in my life when I hated my little brother, just an intsy, weentsy bit. Mom (aside from being glued to Michael most of the time) was also seeking out a part in the new ‘active and healthy’ fad, in which she bought mountains and mountains of exercise video’s, which in turn cut me off from my favorite show at that time, the old 19 -2000 something Scooby Doo’s. It was hard not being the baby of the family anymore, but I lived. Barely. It was around then that I started fending for myself most often than not.
I always had Laura and Kristin though, to help me with food and to keep my occupied. And in the blink of an eye, I was 6 and Michael was living out his terrible twos, which really were terrible. He was always falling, stumbling, hitting, crying, kicking, and throwing tantrums. The boy used to get so loud and shrill we had to put him in our shared room for a few minutes until he calmed down. It was murder on the ears too, especially when he wailed as loud and as long as he could like a pudgy blonde banshee of terror. In a flash though, he was 3, then 4, then 5, and I was steadily growing at 9. That, was where my sisters and I had a very rough time with Michael.
He was at the age where TV captivated him, sucked him in for hours of entertainment that meant peace and quiet for us girls. But the problem, was that he kept watching the same three movies over and over again, constantly on repeat. It almost drove us crazy! I mean, 3 hours of crudely drawn teenage mutant turtles fighting a floating blob called Krane is bad enough, but throw in 2 animated Star Wars movies and all bets were off. When we tried to watch something else, he pitched a fit and cried until we changed it back. Same as with his toys. By then, I had gotten into dolls, and owned a dollhouse for said toys to reside in, but Michael like very much to swoop in and take them from me, then throw a tantrum when I tried to take them back. So I did what any 9 year old would do. I took his batman toys away and played with them instead. Then he grew tired of my dolls, and took his own back to play with them again. It was a constant, irritating cycle that he finally grew out of around the age of 7, and one that I hope to never repeat again.
Chapter 3
Then, the double digits hit, and suddenly I was ‘the problem child’ of the family. I was always getting into some sort of trouble, and always getting scolded for it. I was even blamed rather regularly for things I never actually did, which were deemed my work by a crying Michael full of strawberries from the carpet. It was rough, especially when Mom and Dad took his word over mine, because back then it was like, ‘hey, I’ve been here longer and I’ve known you longer, so that’s really unfair guys.’ But no matter what I did, I was always blamed for something bad that happened. So I rebelled, naturally. That brought on a change of heart for my parents, once I (with the help of my sisters) explained that I wasn’t the one at fault for Michael being hurt and teary-eyed all of the time. So from then on, they scolded Michael for all of his lying and blaming, and I was mostly free from his tirade of dislike towards me for being a big sister instead of a big brother. After that, it was all gumdrops and lollipops and a push on the swingset in our backyard. It was a fun time, playing outside with Laura and Kristin in their old white playhouse. We made mud cakes with moss icing and grass tea to serve to Mom and Dad, who were always happy to sit down with us over the ‘lovely dinner’ we had made them. Michael was off playing in the sandbox most times, so he was happy and quiet enough.
Chapter 4
11 was another fascinating point in my life. I was in 6th grade, surrounded by new and strange people, and waiting apprehensively for my birthday, which was only a week away. I was stuck in new classes, with new teachers, and mountains of homework, as well as the task of making new friends and seeking out my old ones. That year was probably one of my worst at a social standpoint.
I was a loner in most of my classes, and if I had any friends in my classes, we were usually still quiet and kept to ourselves. It was a very awkward time as well, seeing as how hormones and new feelings were coming into play, as well as changes in our bodies that we didn’t fully understand yet.
The worst day of 6th grade though, was the day I found out that maturing girls got their periods the hard way. I was cramping up in the middle of class, and it was bad enough that the teacher noticed and sent me to the nurse to get some ibuprofen and an ice pack. It was there that she told me I was ovulating, and to be expecting blood in a few hours. It was horrible, but I got to stay home the next day because my cramps were so awful. Then in a week, it was over and I was still alive and well, despite all of the loss of internal fluids.
And I made a forever friend, Anna, who didn’t seem like one at the beginning of our relationship. She was talkative, spastic, and just as new as I was, plus we had more than one class together, so a friendship was born. It had been tentative at first, because of my shyness, but it has grown and is still very strong today.
Chapter 5
After I found my footing in the choppy waters of 6th grade, it seems that the rest of my 2 years there flew by with how much fun I had. I was talking openly to people, showing off doodles and artwork and receiving praise, and finding that boys weren’t as disgusting as I thought. I had the biggest crush on one of the popular boys in 7th grade, to the point where I got all stuttery and went red at the mere mention of him.
And I kept this crush alive until a fateful DC field trip where the word got out somehow and he shunned me. That was what got me thinking differently about social castes in school, and how much of a douchebag he really was. I still get picked on about it by my close friends every once in awhile when I complain about he and his friends being blockheads, but it doesn’t bother me much anymore. Especially because his older cousin was snubbed by my sister Kristen a while back.
I made more friends though, and connected myself to social side of school while staying in touch with the academics. I rose through the ranks from loner, to uncategorized, to the weirdoes with my friends in tow and laughing like maniacs. I did okay in school, I stayed up late and talked with my friends over the phone, and sang out loud to TS with a hairbrush as a microphone. It was a good 2 years, despite the all of the labels and god-awful people.
Chapter 6
Then, high school and all its misery hit me like a ton of bricks. I was 14. I was a Freshman. And everyone I had classes with I hated with varying degrees of passion. I struggled through incompetent teachers and idiotic classmates, and ended up doing pretty well despite my setbacks. Sorta. At least I didn’t get held back a grade. I also started French that year, and I can tell you now that I’m in my third year of it, that it was a big mistake. Very big. 10th grade wasn’t too terribly difficult though. I had good teachers, good friends, and the school food was still decently edible. It was fun, and I found my first love then too. I also began to challenge my parents, and butt heads with Dad more. I was coming to the age where I needed to express my opinion about anything and everything, and I wasn’t afraid to. I advocated for unbiased judgement from my family unto others, I protested for my gay friend David Foltz when he got nasty looks in the hallway, or when my parents turned their noses up at the mention of him of anyone else bisexual I knew. It established a more adult role for me in school and at home, so that I could begin to grow into the independent and intelligent woman I am still destined to become. Since then I’ve been butting heads and standing up for myself and others when the time arose for me to act, and I’ve been furthering my knowledge of the world and bettering myself to become a part of it someday. I understand more of myself now, and I know that I am a challenging person to deal with, but I will continue to uncover more of my past and my future, and I will do it with a smile on my face for being unique in a society of cookie cutters and plastic fakeness. It will be a hurdle for me to jump, actually making it in this life I call mine. But at least it is mine to do with what I desire most while I can still pursue them. I have gone through thick and thin, friends and enemies, family and strangers, good and bad, but I am not done yet. I still have a few precious decades left, and I plan to party, study, laugh, cry, shout, and play through them with everything I have.
My story is one of many being told in this wide, vast world. But I think you’ll find mine just a bit different.
It all started the day this poor world was blessed with a tinier, pinker version of the very sarcastic and snippy young woman you see before you today. I came early, and scared the living crap out of my Mom and Dad, who didn’t get to meet me until later because he was at home getting some clothes and things for Mom because the doctor said it would take a few hours instead of a half of one. Things were pretty good. I had two older sisters, of which I tormented with the usual crying, screaming, and smelly diapers. Extra smelly when you hear the story from them. And the general hub of being an infant. Then...I was 1, and things took a drastic turn for the worst.
I was a little ball of terror that could crawl around the house, getting into things and spilling the contents of countless bowls of everything onto myself. It was horrible, or, at least it was for my family. Mom used to always complain about the laundry it took to keep me clothed everyday, Lara and Kristin (my two older sisters) always howled and moaned because apparently I took all their toys for myself, and Dad just laughed it off and played airplanes with me, or set me on his chest to take a nap together. It was very fun, very fun indeed even though I couldn’t remember any of it. It still cracks me up to this day to hear them all whine about how awful I was as an infant, and it makes me happy to know that they still loved me anyways.
At 2, I was waddling around and getting myself into even more trouble, and landing Mom even more laundry. I was introduced to the outside, which made for lots and lots of stumbles, falls, trips, bumps, bruises, scrapes, boo boos, eaten bugs, and kisses better. It was chaotic, but I was having a blast. Running around on unstable legs, checking out trees and grass and all of the new living things as if they had never existed before, and in a sense, they hadn’t. It was a world full of color and wonder, and even then I knew I wouldn’t be able to get enough. I still haven’t.
3 was where things got interesting, though. I vaguely remember when Mom announced to my sisters and I that we were going to have a new sibling at dinner, and the excited shrieks that Laura and Kristin exchanged. I also distinctly remember wondering to myself if it would be a boy or a girl a couple times. And pestering Mom and Dad about it a lot. A few months later we braved the chilly November air and drove to the hospital early in the morning, because “Mommy” was having contractions, and our new sibling was coming to meet us. I can still see myself mouthing out the word ‘contractions’ with confusion after the doctor explained how far along Mom was to Dad. It was such a funny word back then, and it seems funny to me now that in a few years I might be having those one morning like Mom did. It was certainly interesting though. It seemed like my sisters and I waited forever with our Grandparents outside Mom’s hospital room, but the moment the door opened we were up and out of our seats, impatient to meet our little baby whatever. I wasn’t too happy it was a boy, because I had previously wanted a sister, but I held him anyways and I still love him today. Shocker, isn’t it? Especially after he was put in my room and cried every 3 hours or so during the night for about a year. I could’ve killed the little bugger because of all the sleep he kept me from. Little did I know that it was only the beginning...
Chapter 2
Life with a younger brother was never boring, to say the least. Before I knew it, I wasn’t the one being coddled and doted over anymore. It was all Michael, who was so little he couldn’t even understand that he was hogging all of the attention from me. But I didn’t know that, now did I? I think that was the only time in my life when I hated my little brother, just an intsy, weentsy bit. Mom (aside from being glued to Michael most of the time) was also seeking out a part in the new ‘active and healthy’ fad, in which she bought mountains and mountains of exercise video’s, which in turn cut me off from my favorite show at that time, the old 19 -2000 something Scooby Doo’s. It was hard not being the baby of the family anymore, but I lived. Barely. It was around then that I started fending for myself most often than not.
I always had Laura and Kristin though, to help me with food and to keep my occupied. And in the blink of an eye, I was 6 and Michael was living out his terrible twos, which really were terrible. He was always falling, stumbling, hitting, crying, kicking, and throwing tantrums. The boy used to get so loud and shrill we had to put him in our shared room for a few minutes until he calmed down. It was murder on the ears too, especially when he wailed as loud and as long as he could like a pudgy blonde banshee of terror. In a flash though, he was 3, then 4, then 5, and I was steadily growing at 9. That, was where my sisters and I had a very rough time with Michael.
He was at the age where TV captivated him, sucked him in for hours of entertainment that meant peace and quiet for us girls. But the problem, was that he kept watching the same three movies over and over again, constantly on repeat. It almost drove us crazy! I mean, 3 hours of crudely drawn teenage mutant turtles fighting a floating blob called Krane is bad enough, but throw in 2 animated Star Wars movies and all bets were off. When we tried to watch something else, he pitched a fit and cried until we changed it back. Same as with his toys. By then, I had gotten into dolls, and owned a dollhouse for said toys to reside in, but Michael like very much to swoop in and take them from me, then throw a tantrum when I tried to take them back. So I did what any 9 year old would do. I took his batman toys away and played with them instead. Then he grew tired of my dolls, and took his own back to play with them again. It was a constant, irritating cycle that he finally grew out of around the age of 7, and one that I hope to never repeat again.
Chapter 3
Then, the double digits hit, and suddenly I was ‘the problem child’ of the family. I was always getting into some sort of trouble, and always getting scolded for it. I was even blamed rather regularly for things I never actually did, which were deemed my work by a crying Michael full of strawberries from the carpet. It was rough, especially when Mom and Dad took his word over mine, because back then it was like, ‘hey, I’ve been here longer and I’ve known you longer, so that’s really unfair guys.’ But no matter what I did, I was always blamed for something bad that happened. So I rebelled, naturally. That brought on a change of heart for my parents, once I (with the help of my sisters) explained that I wasn’t the one at fault for Michael being hurt and teary-eyed all of the time. So from then on, they scolded Michael for all of his lying and blaming, and I was mostly free from his tirade of dislike towards me for being a big sister instead of a big brother. After that, it was all gumdrops and lollipops and a push on the swingset in our backyard. It was a fun time, playing outside with Laura and Kristin in their old white playhouse. We made mud cakes with moss icing and grass tea to serve to Mom and Dad, who were always happy to sit down with us over the ‘lovely dinner’ we had made them. Michael was off playing in the sandbox most times, so he was happy and quiet enough.
Chapter 4
11 was another fascinating point in my life. I was in 6th grade, surrounded by new and strange people, and waiting apprehensively for my birthday, which was only a week away. I was stuck in new classes, with new teachers, and mountains of homework, as well as the task of making new friends and seeking out my old ones. That year was probably one of my worst at a social standpoint.
I was a loner in most of my classes, and if I had any friends in my classes, we were usually still quiet and kept to ourselves. It was a very awkward time as well, seeing as how hormones and new feelings were coming into play, as well as changes in our bodies that we didn’t fully understand yet.
The worst day of 6th grade though, was the day I found out that maturing girls got their periods the hard way. I was cramping up in the middle of class, and it was bad enough that the teacher noticed and sent me to the nurse to get some ibuprofen and an ice pack. It was there that she told me I was ovulating, and to be expecting blood in a few hours. It was horrible, but I got to stay home the next day because my cramps were so awful. Then in a week, it was over and I was still alive and well, despite all of the loss of internal fluids.
And I made a forever friend, Anna, who didn’t seem like one at the beginning of our relationship. She was talkative, spastic, and just as new as I was, plus we had more than one class together, so a friendship was born. It had been tentative at first, because of my shyness, but it has grown and is still very strong today.
Chapter 5
After I found my footing in the choppy waters of 6th grade, it seems that the rest of my 2 years there flew by with how much fun I had. I was talking openly to people, showing off doodles and artwork and receiving praise, and finding that boys weren’t as disgusting as I thought. I had the biggest crush on one of the popular boys in 7th grade, to the point where I got all stuttery and went red at the mere mention of him.
And I kept this crush alive until a fateful DC field trip where the word got out somehow and he shunned me. That was what got me thinking differently about social castes in school, and how much of a douchebag he really was. I still get picked on about it by my close friends every once in awhile when I complain about he and his friends being blockheads, but it doesn’t bother me much anymore. Especially because his older cousin was snubbed by my sister Kristen a while back.
I made more friends though, and connected myself to social side of school while staying in touch with the academics. I rose through the ranks from loner, to uncategorized, to the weirdoes with my friends in tow and laughing like maniacs. I did okay in school, I stayed up late and talked with my friends over the phone, and sang out loud to TS with a hairbrush as a microphone. It was a good 2 years, despite the all of the labels and god-awful people.
Chapter 6
Then, high school and all its misery hit me like a ton of bricks. I was 14. I was a Freshman. And everyone I had classes with I hated with varying degrees of passion. I struggled through incompetent teachers and idiotic classmates, and ended up doing pretty well despite my setbacks. Sorta. At least I didn’t get held back a grade. I also started French that year, and I can tell you now that I’m in my third year of it, that it was a big mistake. Very big. 10th grade wasn’t too terribly difficult though. I had good teachers, good friends, and the school food was still decently edible. It was fun, and I found my first love then too. I also began to challenge my parents, and butt heads with Dad more. I was coming to the age where I needed to express my opinion about anything and everything, and I wasn’t afraid to. I advocated for unbiased judgement from my family unto others, I protested for my gay friend David Foltz when he got nasty looks in the hallway, or when my parents turned their noses up at the mention of him of anyone else bisexual I knew. It established a more adult role for me in school and at home, so that I could begin to grow into the independent and intelligent woman I am still destined to become. Since then I’ve been butting heads and standing up for myself and others when the time arose for me to act, and I’ve been furthering my knowledge of the world and bettering myself to become a part of it someday. I understand more of myself now, and I know that I am a challenging person to deal with, but I will continue to uncover more of my past and my future, and I will do it with a smile on my face for being unique in a society of cookie cutters and plastic fakeness. It will be a hurdle for me to jump, actually making it in this life I call mine. But at least it is mine to do with what I desire most while I can still pursue them. I have gone through thick and thin, friends and enemies, family and strangers, good and bad, but I am not done yet. I still have a few precious decades left, and I plan to party, study, laugh, cry, shout, and play through them with everything I have.