In books there's always a beginning, a middle, and an end. That's how I perceive life to be; with the exception that the middle never seems to stop and you never really see the end.
The beginning of my book has turned out shitty with a few good chapters and the middle; well it just seems to never stop with one disaster or failure after another. But, my in-between seems to be a story that only I can tell to certain people. But, not today. I've decided to share with all of you.
What's your fondest memories of your child hood? Think about the best thing that ever happened to you or how you felt with your favorite toy. Now, imagine all of that being torn apart by your worst nightmare.
My mother tried her best, she really did, but she should've seen the warning signs instead of sweeping everything underneath the rug. I think the thing that haunts me the worst is what my mother 'didn't' do. She didn't protect when I was raped at 5 years old from my babysitter's son, she didn't listen when I protested all of the guys running in and out of our lives, she called me stupid when she found out I was cutting myself, she didn't stand by me when I gave up my daughter.
My middle chapter seems to just scream, "Help Me!". But, nobody will or can. What am I doing so wrong that these things keep happening to me? Why can't I ever seem to be happy? I truly think that life is what we make it, but what if you can never seem to get your head above water? Are you really to blame if you stay depressed? My thoughts are never ending and keep side swiping me like a mack truck that just jack knifed. I think that I finally make sense now of my world and finally move on. I've had to learn that you can't open one door without closing the other. You have to see past the bad to realize that for every bad occurrence, something good happens. You may not notice it at that second or even a year down the road;but eventually when you can smile again; you will know. I've learned a lot in therapy this past year. I've also learned a lot from just growing up. Eventually, I know that I will be able to write a chapter where there's nothing but good things will happen. And to be honest: I can't wait.
Before I end this, I would like to review a few things I've learned:
- Don't be scared to open the door to your past. It holds the answers to your future.
- Learn to forgive, even if you can't forget.
- Step up to responsibility, even if somebody has made you feel a certain way. You've allowed them to break you down and only you can bring yourself back up.
- There's always room for editing. You may not be able to rewrite your past, but you can always write a bright future.
- Always be honest, lying never solves anything.
- And last but not least; You're not crazy. Everybody goes through a hard time. But, it's the ones that change that succeed.
And that my friends, is what I've learned in therapy so far. It's great advice and we don't usually realize how the simple things make sense. But, just remember: EVERYTHING happens for a reason. We may not know that reason or ever will, but just keep on trucking.
Small Summary of my Vague Begninning
I don't know when I realized it, but I always knew. I was different from the rest. I saw things in a different way, I spoke in a different way, I felt things in a different way, and I've always done things in a different way. However, my being different came with the un-announced fact that I never felt like "me". I always felt like I was supposed be somebody else. Hell, for the longest time I tried to get my mom to legally change my name.
My world basically fell apart around me since the day I was brought into this hell hole. The stars were not aligned for me to succeed and there was no silver spoon waiting to be picked up. I was born to be a fighter and a survivor. But at what cost and to who?
I don't remember my father, my parents divorced when I was 2 years old. My mother and her boyfriend moved me from Detroit, Michigan to Memphis, Tennessee. Jay, that was her boyfriend's name. He was daddy. Even my father approved of him to be daddy. He was in the Army and I remember plenty of times we traveled to Fort Campbell to welcome him back home. And the whole celebration would end with us back home in Memphis at my Mema's apartment celebrating his return home safely once again. We were family; laughing, fighting, talking, and loving. But, not for long.
I don't exactly remember the day I realized that Jay left and wasn't coming back. But, I do remember the sound of my heart breaking and my mother's cries that she thought I couldn't hear. At 7 years old, my family fell apart once again. All I could do was stare at the apartment door wishing he would walk back through it. (Sorry, had a slight nervous breakdown) But, that door stayed shut. For a couple of years anyways.
Men came and went, all of which tried to buy me to keep my mom. They knew I was going to be trouble the first time they laid eyes on me. "My daddy is coming back for me and my mommy. So don't get used to it." "Oh really.", they would say. Yeah, I was a you're-dating-a-mom-with-a-brat orginial terror. I never liked them, I only liked what they brought me. I even had a bright idea that if I started destroying the things they bought me that maybe they would think that I could destroy them. But, I guess I wasn't very convincing...to some at least.
Maybe that's when I realized that I wasn't who I was supposed to be. That there were two sides of me. And no matter who I pretended to be that day, I was gonna get my way. I was a mommy's girl that was already turned away at the day of conception and in knowing that, I knew it was always going to be just the two of us. And I was determined to keep it that way. So, whenever they got too close...I showed my fangs.
Oh yes...I remember now. At the ripe young age of 7, I discovered that I could be someone else and I was. I just didn't know her name yet.
Brandy★aka★ Evie
