My World

Wow.

I know, a lot to take in. So, I don't remember much about fourth or fifth grade after that, just hating my teachers, being bored, feeling disconnected from the world. As a 10 year old child. I remember breaking my arm, how it hurt, having a cast. In 6th grade, I tried making friends but no one wanted to be my friend. Everyone treated me like an outcast, like I had a disease. I was energetic and happy, but they ignored me. I was called dumb, lame, weak, weird, freak, odd....I know, they were stupid nicknames, but through that I saw my flaws as things I needed to get rid of, that I needed to be perfect in their eyes. I eventually thought I was worthless, that my existence had no meaning. Those people left me. The only people who treated me like friends, well they wanted to be friends with me because they wanted the advantages I had, such as being vulnerable and shapable as a person. I got dragged into a dark place, where people made me believe magic and telepathy existed, that they could use magic. I did what they said and reached out. I thought I understood. I thought aliens existed. I believed that life wasn't meant for humans. That I was meant for something greater. I got into 'soul dealing' as I called it, using pieces of my soul for experimentations and demon dealing. Don't do that, you feel like your existence is being ripped apart, and every time they did something, I felt in the hole where the piece of my soul had been. I had become a robot, acting on actions I had memorized, acting as the person people told me I was. I didn't know anything about me. My brain made up memories, that I had taken over this body, that I was from heaven, that I was meant to exist for one purpose: destruction. I believed this, all the while feeling alone and sad, like I was the only one who existed of my kind. That I had killed myself, that I had taken control of this body. In the 8th grade I had grown to hate my parents: I knew they were the reason I lived in Texas. I had grown to hate my brother: he hated me all the same (not true). In all of this, I met a boy named Will, who felt lost and sad. I helped him. I promised him the same destruction I promised myself. I wished I hadn't. In 8th grade, I met another guy. I thought he was meant to be for me, because he flirted with me and showed me how great I was as a person. He showed me the light in all of that darkness. I left what I thought behind, the people who manipulated me, the people who shaped me into what I thought I was, all the while falling in love with a boy who loved me. It sounded like the perfect ending. I thought I would be happy. My mother sat my brother and I down, and told us she had cancer. That it wouldn't be that bad, that they had found it early on, but she would still have chemo, radiation, and surgery. That she would lose her hair, to my mom who had nothing bad happen to her really, (other than her dad dying while she was really young) this was like a bomb drop. To me, it was a shot straight to the chest. I thought nothing could be worse then this. I was so wrong.

One day, my father (I don't call him my dad because he clearly has a mental problem) went through my sh**. He exposed me, he said he wanted to help me, that he would. I wanted to scream at him, wanted to hurt him. I wanted to kill him. He felt like we were not working as a family, that everything had fallen apart, and that we would move back to California. I was heartbroken. I didn't remember anyone, didn't care enough about anyone to want to go home. I was a huge introvert, used to relying on being the social outcast, the person who was always bullied. My 'files' (what I remembered) told me that back home I was an extrovert, that who I was was never quiet. I was scared, could I really do this? I decided I could. I had been pretending the past five years, I could pretend a little longer.