Cliche - The Story Of My Life

There are so many things in my life that are screwed up. Almost all of them are things that seem like they happen to everyone, so I have nothing to really complain about. I feel like a whiny baby when I get depressed about my life. I don't tell people my story. Nobody I know anyway. My best friends have no idea. I could start at the beginning and tell my story chronologically; or I could list all of the good then all of the bad. Sometimes I ponder how to tell the tale. When I think about my life as it happened to me, then nothing seems that bad about it. However, when I think about everything that is screwed up about my life, the list seems unending. I suppose that it might just be because I didn't realize that what was happening to me was screwed up until later in life. So, chronologically it is then.
Starting at my birth would be the best place, right? When my mom started going into labor is when she was told I was a girl. Before then everyone thought I was a boy. I had two older brothers at the time, one was eleven and the other was two. I was born in Honolulu, Hawaii. My father was in the Navy and stationed there. When I turned two he retired and we moved to Indiana, where his parents lived. They hated my mom. With a passion. My little brother was born later when I was three years old.
I suppose now would be a good a time as any for a little background information. My mother's family is really screwed up. I mean, right now, her older sister is trying to kill her. When she was a teenager her father was trying to kill her. Since she was eleven she has been driving her drunk parents home from bars. Her life was rough. She always tells me stories about it. If my life makes me depressed, I can't imagine that I would have survived her life. My father's family is screwed up as well. But not in the same way. They are majorly christian. And I do mean the seriously hypocritical kind. They will be nice to your face, but behind your back do nothing but bash on you. Even if you are family.
After my little brother was born my mom got her tubes tied. She was not going to have more than four kids. She would have to be crazy. That's what she always says anyway. She doesn't have a problem with the people that do have many kids, she just knows that she would not have been able to handle that many. People who can are amazing, in so many ways. But since my father was so religious, tied tubes is against the "rules", so he dropped her off in front of the hospital, left, and picked her up out front later.
Growing up the only girl and the middle child among three other siblings was certainly difficult. But that wasn't really what the problem was. After a few years in Indiana, my mom could not take it anymore. Dad's parents were too much for her, so we moved. Back to Hawaii. This time Maui, though. I was in kindergarten, first, and second grade there. Best memories I have, honestly. When I turned eight we moved again. I was too young and innocent to understand what was going on. But know I know. My parents were getting a divorce.
Now, I know that isn't a big deal anymore. But it was bad. My oldest brother had just graduated high school when we moved. My older brother was one grade higher than me, and my younger brother was three grades lower. We were in 4th, 3rd, and kindergarten when we moved to Washington State. Dad was in a serious government job at the time, so he was stuck in Hawaii. My mom took that chance to pack up the kids and run. She grew up in Washington, that is where her family was. Her sister anyway. Her oldest sister lives in Virginia, her brother was in CA jail, and her mom and step-dad lived in Wisconsin. Her sister had property in WA and she moved there to help her clean it up. That is where we were going to live.
Eventually Dad got out of his job and moved in with us. Trying to make it work I guess. Things were still OK back then. I was in third grade when 9/11 happened. It wasn't until 2004, 6th grade, that I first heard about it. It was September eleventh and the teacher had a remembrance video playing. I was so lost. I asked what movie the scene was from, and everyone just looked at me. But I am getting a little ahead of myself. What I meant to say was, "life was 'innocent' back then." I didn't watch TV I didn't listen to the radio. Nothing. We practically lived under a rock. After the divorce was final we would bounce to Dad's every other weekend. My oldest brother had gotten married and join the Army. He was deployed. He was stationed in North Carolina. I won't see him again until he has five kids and is thirty years old.
He was abusive. In more ways that one. He would lose his temper easily. We would get spanked, nothing illegal, but he would go over the top. We would have hand shaped bruises on our thighs for weeks. It was mostly me. My older brothers were his favorite. He never much cared for me, and I think he believes that my little brother is a bitter disappointment. He got a job for the government again and moved to New Mexico. He was out of our lives. But things weren't good.
We lost our house, the property, and mom couldn't get a job. We moved to a different house every few months. Over ten places in the four and a half years that we lived in Washington. None of them were nice. They were all dirty, drafty, cheap places. Mom realized that she couldn't take care of us properly after years of being so depressed that she couldn't get out of bed in the morning. I would make food for my brothers and take care of them. That was my role, the ten year old mom. She called him. It was the worst day of my life. And hers. He came, we packed into his rental truck, and he drove off with the three of us. It took two days to get there, it was Christmas night.
New Mexico. That place holds the worst memories. I was only really there for a year and a half. But it was the worst time of my life. Christmas 2006, I was admitted to a mental hospital. It was actually the beginning of December and I was there for three weeks. I got out a few days after Christmas. Most kids got out in less than a week. They stuffed me full of pills and sent me home with many prescriptions. I was a thirteen year old girl on anti-depressant and anti-psychotic medication. Needless to say that plan backfired horribly. I was a very shy and quiet girl. Never had problems at school. Well, I always got straight F's (passed the tests, just never did my homework). But I never misbehaved. Not until the meds kicked in.
I started to have angry outbursts. I never listened to teachers. I disobeyed every order I was given. I even started skipping classes. The medicine was not doing what it was supposed to. It made me so angry. I was tired of being pushed around by everybody. Especially my father. It was time for him to pay. I ended up getting put back into the mental hospital for another nine days. It would have been longer but it was expensive, and the insurance didn't want to pay for it anymore. I cried and bawled to the doctors to let me stay.
They never believed me before when I told them how mean my father was. Once, he wanted me to make Tang. It's like kool-aid but the powder is in a giant jar that you scoop into the water jug. I accidentally grabbed the water lid and dropped it into the powder. As I was reaching to pull it out, Dad grabbed my upper arm, and dragged me to my room. He spanked me for five minutes straight. And when I started crying he smacked my mouth and told me to shut up and stop crying. I was a twelve-year-old girl. Of course I am going to cry. Wow, typing that out was harder than I thought it would be.
After crying to STAY at the hospital, when most kids cry to leave, they started to wonder about my stories. I suppose most kids want to go see their friends. Well, my dad wouldn't let me have friends. He refused to give me allowance, still had to do chores, but as long as I had friends that were boys then I was not allowed to have any money. So I had to go find a nice christian girl-friend in the ghettos of New Mexico. Yeah, good luck, right? So, nothing to look forward to when I go home, nothing but him. My own brothers had stopped interacting with me. I got into trouble for the littlest things, if they looked at me and he thought we were conspiring, then they would get punished. I had no human interaction, ever. No friends, no family. Just him. Just the constant punishing and yelling.
The doctors started asking him questions that he didn't like. After a year and a half of asking to go back to mom, he finally calls her up and says, "I want her out of here, yesterday." That was mid-April. End of May was when I was done with school. So I flew to Wisconsin to live with Mom and Grandpa. Grandma had died shortly after we left Mom and moved in with Dad. Grandpa was lonely, so she stayed with him. Because he was always so good to Grandma. Way better than her real dad was anyway. I was in paradise. For awhile anyways. I missed my brothers.
I was just starting high school when I moved back in with my mom. Those years couldn't have gone better. Summer between sophomore and junior year my little brother moved up. He has been here since 8th grade. Now he is a junior. My older brother moved up here too after a year of college and living with Dad. He always got along better with him anyways. And my oldest brother just had me go out to help him for a month. He is stationed in Maryland now. He had four kids and his wife was pregnant with another. They needed a nanny, more-or-less. So I was more than glad to meet my brother's kids. Especially because he has been absent from our lives for twelve years now. My mom finally got to meet her grand-kids. All five of them at once, but it's better than nothing. Things are pretty good now.
That, of course, is where a lot of the cliche starts. Out of high school tried college, no money, not in a dead-end job that is below my pay grade. I am 19 years old, and have never been kissed. Never had a boyfriend or even been on a date before. Every friend I have ever had has said to me, at one point or another, that they hate me and never want to speak to me again. Right now, my best friends are my brothers. They are the only people I see and talk to on a regular basis. At least I don't live at home, though. That is one good thing. I got an apartment with my older brother. My mom, grandpa, and little brother all live just five minutes away, too. Writing that all down makes me feel a little better. Realizing that it has been much, much worse, and that things really worked out before, makes me think that things could be okay now. They will get better. =)
SarahDoctor SarahDoctor
18-21, F
1 Response Sep 18, 2012

Well, That was longer than I thought it was. I won't be offended if you decide it is TL;DR. :D haha