Evolving

Independence/Divorce

Growing up, I had a childhood that wasn't to be envied. My parents weren't going to win any awards by far. I spent most of my childhood feeling as though I was drowning and the only thing to float me back to the surface was the knowledge that my situation was only temporary.

I would eventually get out. I would grow up and move into my own home to begin the next stretch of my life, and all of the injustices that had been committed for the prior eighteen years would pale in comparison to all of the amazing things I'd do. I got myself through years of borderline torture by picturing the apartment I'd buy with my own money; I spent countless nights imaging every square inch and how I'd design it. I had always pictured a large open front room with floor to ceiling windows and a reading nook. I wanted a small, kitschy kitchen that would be filled to the brim with failed cooking attempts I picked up from DIY websites; a table that fit two chairs, one would be filled by me and the other by my tabby cat. I would spend the most time on my bedroom - how I would decorate it. I'd have ice white Christmas lights strung up everywhere, and there would be pillows in every corner, and my closet would be overflowing with the cutest and campiest clothing. Every time I imagined the place I dreamed to call my own, I felt a pang in my heart - I was thinking about how long away that was from my current placement in life.

I always considered myself someone who got dealt a shitty hand. My parents separated when I was twelve. My older sister, who was eighteen at the time, got pregnant only a year later. The first time I got my period, my sister mock played "the world's smallest violin" as if she was Mr. Krabs from Spongebob and she was mourning the death of my childhood innocence. I saw my first penis at fourteen and experienced my first heartbreak a decade prior. Every single animal that I had ever owned had died or ran away, or even worse, had been given away by my mother. I lost my closest childhood friend for not a single viable reason in high school. The first relationship I considered to be real turned out to be a joke that everyone was in on but me. My grandfather died when I was fifteen. All of these things that had happened to me had only served to make me feel as though I was never going to rise above them; I started to believe that I deserved these terrible things that I was experiencing. It took me almost eighteen years of life to actually realize that all of the major events in my life weren't my fault; it took me even longer to realize that I could change how I reacted to them.

One thing that I look back on positively was that everything I had been through had taught me a sense of independence. Early on, I had learned to take care of myself and get myself through the day. I can remember myself back when I was probably twelve or thirteen, alone in the house on summer break, and I'd eat Chocolate Donettes and drink a mini sized Pepsi and watch five episodes of Jersey Shore in a row while lying on the back of the couch, balancing myself and my snacks and laughing my butt off at the antics of the cast. I remember waking up at five six seven in the morning most days and getting myself dressed, making breakfast and sitting out on the front porch, watching the birds fly overhead as they got their early morning start. I grew up in a cul-de-sac, so there was never much traffic, and I usually found my fun in taking a fold-able lawn chair and dragging it out to the corner, plopping myself in my chair and people watching as the cars drove by. I always pictured myself in their place; driving away from this place. I think I've always been that way; waiting for my chance to be someone else, someone who isn't myself.

I begged my mom for an alarm clock radio for several years, because my older sister had one, and I saw how she always got herself up in the mornings with it, and how she got to listen to music whenever she wanted on it. I eventually talked my mom into getting me one as well. It was a Hello Kitty Tea Cup alarm clock radio and I loved it more than most of my other possessions. For me, it represented a small piece of freedom. I could go to bed knowing I relied on no one but myself to wake up in the mornings, and I could shut my door and turn up the radio and jam out, feeling free, as if I had complete control over my life. I still have that alarm clock to this day, actually. It's still sitting in my childhood bedroom, on my nightstand, reading out a time that's an hour behind, because once I got to college, I stopped changing it for daylight savings time. Now, when I return home, it's like a small beacon, telling me that no matter how dark things may seem, there's always going to be little childhood moments that will be looked upon in a positive light.