Anna Bananna... Fe Fi Fo Wanna

Chapter Uno - About Me

This is a long chapter, but I think you guys should know about me before you read. I think you should know what my past is like, and not everything is like in the books.

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My name is Jillianna, but I go by Anna. You pronounce it Ana, or Onna, or however you would like to spell it. I am 15, and celebrating my 16th in a few weeks. I have blue eyes,  long blonde hair, and tan skin. I swear - A LOT. I have a hedgehog and three dogs. Two of them are family dogs, and one of them is mine. The hedgehog is mine, too. I have 4 other siblings, 3 boys and 1 girl. 2 of the boys are twins.

I love acting, singing, and volleyball is amazing. Writing is a form of escape, like cutting, but less harmful. Sometimes.

I'm also adopted.

A lot of adopted kids don't know who, or where, their parents are, and are curious about who they could be. There was a girl I used to know when I was first taken into state custody who swore her parents were rich and famous, and would come back for her one day. They never did. But she was adopted by some well off people.

I know exactly who my parents are - or were - and searching for them would just be a waste of time. They were okay people - without them I wouldn't be here - but I'd rather not know them.

They abused me. Well, my mother did. My father was almost never home, and he completly left when I was 5. I think my mom hit my dad, too. But those are just my ideas.

It wasn't always like that, though. Up until I was about 4, I had a normal life. I went to school. I had friends. We had a happy family. Or so I thought. Sure my parents had fights every night, but I thought that was normal. It was what I grew up with.

After my dad started dissapering for days, my mom started hitting me. It wasn't bad, not the worst thing to endure, but to a 4 year old, it ws horrific. I always cried myself to sleep, told myself it was all my fault.

But it never really got past hitting, yelling, or, when she came home drunk, pushing and punching.

It wasn't until my father left for good did she get bad. I had once been locked in the basement for days, and when she let me out, I was skin and bone. But she didn't feed me, tend to my wounds, or care for me, as she had before. It was a whole other side of her.

I stopped going to school after my father left. I fell back in my learning, I had only made it into kindergarten. Though I only spoke, wrote, and thought like a 5 year old, I knew a lot more than I should have for my age.

By 4 years old I knew what it felt like to be hurt by the person you love the most. By 5 I knew what it felt like to be hungry, starved. By 6 I knew the pain of a knife to your skin. By 7 I knew the meaning of neglect. By 8 I knew the agony of burning oil being poured on skin. By 9 I knew the about 1,000 ways to torture somebody. By 10 I knew what it felt like to be broken beyond repair. By 11 I knew what it felt like to lose hope.

And by 12 I knew what it felt like to be alone. The one person you knew your entire life being taken away. To be taken to some big house that you have to share with about 40 other people.

But I knew what it felt like to eat every day, not to be hungry. I knew what it felt like to have friends again. I knew what it felt like to love, and be loved back. I knew what it felt like to be normal.

I was there for 2 years. I went to school once in a while, when I wasn't being put into some other houses. I got back up in my studies, and I knew what I had been through.I knew the meaning of abuse. But what was in the dictionary didn't even come close to the feelings you had, the pain it brought.

As a 13 year old, I made it into the grade I was supposed to be in. School was a big thing in my life. It brought back friends and it gave me a sense of security. It made me feel like I could have a future.

I made many friends, and reunited with some of my old ones. Most people knew something was different about me, that I was abused, but a lot of people didn't know much. Sure the girls in the locker room saw the scars.

They saw the long line from my ribs to my waist, they saw the tattered skin on my right knee. They saw the red, welted scars along my stomach and arms. They saw how skinny I was, never being able to gain the extra weight to be healthy.

But nobody said anything. Not to my face. I heard the whispers, saying 'scars', 'messed up', 'orphan', 'poor', 'anorexic', 'cuts', but I didn't care. It didn't mean anything to me.

Yea, I had scars. So does just about everyone. You fall on your knees, you could get a scar. You burn yourself, you could get a scar.  If you ever get stiches, you are going to get a scar. No, I wasn't messed up. I had just been through more. No, I wasn't an orphan. Last I heard, both of my parents were alive. Yea, I was poor. I didn't have any money. I was 13 and my parents never gave me any. No, I wasn't anorexic, I tried my best to gain weight, but I couldn't eat very much. No, I did not cut. My mother cut. So why should I care?

 

I had been adopted 4 times. All of those times happened within the year I turned 14, so for that year I hadn't gone to school.

The first two just wanted somebody else in their disoriented families, and I was that somebody else. They both broght me back after a few months, for reasons I'm not sure of.

The third was weird. I was 13 at the time and a wealthy, elderly couple decided to adopt me. They said I was 'pretty'. They only kept me for a month or two, bringing me back after they saw all of the scars. But that isn't the weird part. The weird part is the amount of other kids they had. They had about 20 other girls, all blonde-haired and blue-eyed like me. They ranged from 2 year-olds to teens. The older girls said they used us for money. Not in a bad way, but for like beauty contests and modeling. I wasn't good enough with my scars.

The fourth time, and the last, I was adopted into the family I am with now. As I said before, they had 2 twin boys, who are my age, 1 little boy, who is about 4, and one girl, who is about 8. They are great.

I go to school again, at 15. My family helped me, and I tested into eleventh grade. I just started at my new school, and I have met the 'populars', 'nerds', 'jocks', 'drama geeks', 'band freaks', just about every clique you can think of. And I made friends. Most of them popular, or whatever, but I don't care. And they don't either. They don't care about my scars or my past. It is the most I could ask for.

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This is my life so far, up to date. And the information I give is all true. This story is going to be my life, not somebody elses'.

Ps. This is a serious-ish chapter, but they aren't all going to be like that. Only a few I hope.

Pss. I'm bad at writing, so sorry if my story sucks... Whoops :/

Love you all

-Anna