You know what, never mind the whole adventurous, deadly, sinister, amazing parts of a story. Let’s make it about me, a fourteen year old girl who is (in her opinion) the ugliest little two faced bitch on the planet. If we start from the very beginning I could say that I was born in the U.S of A and moved to the capitol of New Zealand in 2003 when I was four; but we won’t.
We should start when I was hit with the dramatic beginnings of puberty and teenage-hood (joy) (if you didn’t hear the sarcasm in that then I assume English isn’t your first language).
That though, is beside the point, if I were to begin at the official teenage start and begin this story when I was 13 then this wouldn’t be a very long book would it? Considering that I’m fourteen (and a half) now. So we’ll start it when pimples and “feelings” began to show up, in 2011 when I was 11 and began having a mind of my own to think my own thoughts and judge the rest of human civilisation.
Following my own footsteps with the help of no one else, because yes, like many sad, sad stories my mother wasn’t a very good one, although I should say it wasn’t her fault. She was diagnosed with Schizophrenia when we were about to move to New Zealand. I was 2 or 3 at that time and ever since then she hasn’t… really ‘loved’ her children the way that most parents would.
She’s been to the hospital quite a bit as she does get depressed and (I’m only guessing) suicidal. She wouldn’t eat or drink anything for hours on end and if she did it was only a nibble, never opening her eyes or moving.
My father and I knew that this is when we should call an ambulance. These episodes have occurred during or after stressful times in my family’s life. For instance right after we moved from the U.S and my brother (Hunter) was born or when we moved to another city or even when my brother started to go to school.
I didn’t know at the time how much her absence would affect me as I got older.
My father on the other hand was a good man and was nice enough to decide not to get a divorce with my mother because she almost certainly would probably kill herself. It would also put a great deal of stress on me to look after my brother.
Now that you know my family, I guess we should get on with the story.
