Since this is a story in progress, I have made an addition to Chapter 1. I was told by one of my readers that it’s extremely empowering to read about my life, about my secrets, stories, good times...bad times, getting to know why I am, the way that I am. I have had thoughts of myself as always being an extremely open person.. about my life, my daily routines, my funny yet, inappropriate stories that generally bring about a laugh. It wasn’t until now that I have come to realize how secretive of a person I really am. How I have been my whole life. It’s time for me to overcome that and face my past, and my struggles that I still haunt me today, and so I can continue to better myself and what I need to do in this crazy, beautiful life I call my own.
There are many other things I wanted to say in my chapter 1, but was afraid of what people would think of me, I was afraid that I would be throwing a “pity party” for myself... I was scared of what my grandparents would think because I know they read this. I was scared of how I would interpret my own thoughts. When I write things.. thoughts.. emotions, they become real to me. I can’t run, I can’t avoid and I can’t escape them. It is my therapy. And for myself, my own sanity... and for my readers to know how I got through my difficult times. I want my readers to know why I turned to promiscuity, drugs, and alcohol and how and why I chose to change my life. This is my story. My life.. and why I am the way that I am. If I can help just one person, then this was all worth it. Worth more than any object I could ever receive in this universe.
(an add in: I blame no one for what has happened in the past. We are all human. We all make mistakes. Forgive, but never forget. And always learn from your mishaps, misjudgments, and mistakes.)
So, this is the “new” chapter 1. Enjoy.
[When I was growing up, I was the typical American child. I loved being outside, I loved my imagination, and I could keep myself busy even if I was by myself. I had the “All American Dream.” I had a wonderful dad who played outside with me, taught me how to build things, taught me how to ride a bike, taught me what good music was, taught me to swing a bat.. and stick up for myself. I had a beautiful mom whose imagination was more active than her children. She painted everything in our house, and her gardens and flowers were wonderful jungles to play in with my imagination, who could “skip-it” just as good as I could, and gave me my free-spirit. She taught me everything I needed to know about art; how to love it, how to be good at it, and how to use it as a therapeutic tool. Both my parents were excellent at encouraging me and my art, and my sister was always there right by my side encouraging me too.]
My parents always taught us to “treat everyone the way you want to be treated.” Meaning that we were never allowed to discriminated against one whom is of a different race, homeless, gay, disabled, religion..ect. I can remember the first time I called my sister “stupid” in front of my mom and I nearly lost all of my hair due to the fumes of fire and steam rolling out of her mouth, nose and ears. That was the first and only time I referred to someone as “stupid” in front of my mom... well, at least until I was a bratty 16 year old. As blessed as I was to be taught these noble-selfless attributes, it was easier said than done not to judge someone whom is so called “different” --especially when you live in an ultra-conservative small town.
I learned to trust everyone, and give everyone a chance. However, this made me more vulnerable to the people that I thought I could trust. Who ended up molesting me repeatedly for almost 4 years. I went from a kid who never wanted to be home, always wanted to be out playing and exploring... to a kid who never ever ever wanted to leave her parents side. I never even slept at a friends house until my friends 15th birthday, when I began to put some trust in the human world again. My anxiety would send me into a whirlwind of screams, and when my parents had mentioned weekend plans of leaving us with a babysitter, I would cry and beg and plead for them not to leave me. I would threaten that I would run away, or hurt myself in order for them to stay with me. I slept in my parents room every single night and I wouldn’t even spend the weekend with my grandparents. My refusals led to trouble between my parents, because they were unaware as to why my behavior had changed, and why I would scream out in rage constantly.
However, as wise and loving as my parents were, they weren’t meant to be... their differences on top of my behavior was driving them batty. Like most parents in America, they ended up getting divorced and they were probably too young to marry in the first place. I was in 4th grade and my life turned upside down with the flip of a switch. Suddenly, my “All American Dream” family, was there no more. I knew it would happen.. in fact, I’m sure I told that to my parents the day they announced they were making these life changes. My younger sister started to cry, and I knew I had to be strong for her, I knew I had to change my behavior so I could be there for her.. so I threw on my “bratty attitude” and said: “I told you so...” to my parents. As sad as it was, it eventually turned out for the better. Soon, it was just me, my sister and my dad while my parents attempted to work out their issues. It seemed like eternity. My dad had to learn how to play the mom role, and he did a fantastic job, however.. it wasn’t easy. For him. For us. Or my mom. We kept ourselves together as best as we could. I kept myself as strong as I could... for as long as I could. I’m not usually one to talk about things until I reach my breaking point, then it all explodes.
Months went by, and finally we were able to see our mom again. I was still struggling with my coping skills, but I had something new to worry about. My parents were getting divorced, and my mom introduced me to her new girlfriend... and my dad started dating a new woman. I never saw anything with my moms relationship until I started getting teased by the kids at school for outing my mom. I didn’t understand why people were so hateful, and that they were teasing me because of my mom. I then started to feel angry at my mom, for putting me through this. I was young, and again... I didn’t know how to cope. My only escape from life was dance and art... it was the only place where I could be free, let myself relax... and believe that everything was going to be ok in the long run.
My parents finally figured out a custody agreement, and my behaviors were out of this world. I was so used to being the strong one..that I didn’t know how to cope with everything that had happened. Everything that had happened before... and everything that my family was going through. My world was completely upside down...Both my parents moved on, and had started new relationships. Even though it was hard to understand then, it has shaped me into who I am today. However- I had so much bottled up anger and confusion...that I didn’t know how to express. verbally. Other than throwing tantrums, and screaming extremely hurtful things at anyone who said the wrong word to me. I never wanted to spend time at my moms house because of the fear the kids at school put me in. I got teased because my mom was gay, and that I could no longer pay attention in school.
Before I knew it, I was sitting in different counselor offices. Awkwardly. I can remember sitting there... and sitting there. And refusing to talk. I didn’t want to talk about it... especially not with a stranger. I didn’t want to talk about anything with my parents because I was afraid of my own weakness, and I was terrified of hurting their feelings, and making them feel guilty for everything that had happened.
Through all the darkness I was battling at this time in my life, I found light through art, dance and horses. I could sit in my room and draw for hours. I could sit outside with the horses, I could ride far away and never have to think about reality. I could go to dance and forget about life. Art is what brought me back to my sanity. It was my escape. It helped me establish stability again. I had notebooks that contained purely scribbles and doodles of thoughts and images of how I was feeling, how I felt, and secrets I never told. It was my sanctuary. It was my sanity.
When I entered high school, my art teacher noticed me right away. Noticed my drawings, noticed my quietness when I was in the classroom. The only classroom that I concentrated in. The only classroom that had my attention at all times. And the only classroom I wanted to be in. I can honestly say that I got through my entire high school career without completing one assignment in art class. My teacher knew that I needed that time, and knew that I needed to use my own imagination, creativity, and skills to be able to truly express myself. She encouraged me to express myself during class, because it was making a statement and it was helping me cope. She saw that in me. And I still to this day, I can not thank her enough and I wish I would of gotten the opportunity to thank her more. She was there to listen to me even when I had no words to say. She hung up my art work even if it seemed mean and dark, nude and exposed... she didn’t care. She supported my art. Because it was truly what I was feeling.
My senior year, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I never thought I would get into college. I had no plans. I knew what my parents wanted me to do, I knew what my family wanted me to do. But I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Or so I thought. I just didn’t have the confidence I needed. Between my art teacher and my guidance counselor consulting me, they introduced “Art Therapy” to me. I can remember sitting in the counseling office with a dumbfounded look on my face.
“Art Therapy?”
“There is a such thing as Art Therapy?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
A sudden sense of relief. A sense of freedom.
I knew right then and there. Exactly what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
