The Unfinished story of myself

The beginning.

The more I process this idea about publishing my ever so hidden secrets about myself is quite frightening, yet oddly satisfying knowing that anyone who reads this probably wouldn't have any idea who this was unless I asked you to read this. And here you are. I hope you enjoy.

Here's a brief introduction to who I am without giving out my real name. My name is May R. S. I am currently 17 years old as of right now. I have an older sister who is about 4 to 5 years older and is being the best damn woman she can be in this god awful world. My mother, a lovely person, always praising jesus and will do anything to bring a smile to your face. My father, a hard working man who I am sometimes afraid of, but a gentle person when you're hurting the most. My family has been through a lot and so have I.
           

I was born in Austin, Texas but my family decided to move to this dumb small city called Cedar Hill when I was about 4. We lived in a fairly decent sized house with a large backyard. If you asked my dad the story of why this particular house he'd say this long story about how persistent he was. Visiting everyday until finally the lady who worked with the company that owned the house told him to make an offer. Anyways I grew up in this beautiful house that has all my blood, sweat, and tears somewhere, along with my amazing sister. Now my sister is someone I've always wanted to be. She was always good at everything! She could draw shit that I tried but failed terribly, she was very talented with musical instruments (which is why I gave up on guitar because I can't compete), in all honesty I've never really heard my sister sing. But she was definitely the very artistic and creative girly girl my mom always wanted. Now me? Well to completely understand who I am as a person can be frustrating, there are times where I don't understand myself. Probably part of growing up? I am the type of girl where if I had to pick between going to mall and going mudding, I would more than likely go mudding. I'm not your typical girl but I guess most girls say that. At least I live up to my brand. There are times where I'll enjoy going to the mall mostly for the food and looking at stuff I can't afford. The thought of spending hours looking at clothes in one store would drive me insane. I'm that kind of girl where I'll head-bang to Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas and probably end up hitting my head against the wall on accident. I'm prone to head injuries.

              The earliest conscience memory I have is around the age of four. I remember my mother taking me to a park, that I have absolutely no idea where it was. It was a sunny day and slightly hazy and I think cold? Anyways, there were metal structures and swings just like any regular park you'd see at a school with lots of kids running and screaming. I happened to be one of the kids that ran around until this boy who was around the same age as me only taller, although everyone was taller than me... If you asked me what the boy looked like I would say he looked like an average four year old boy with a pudge. Of course, knowing the way that I am, I decided to be nice and play with this kid. Well this kid started throwing rocks at me and I threw some back, (Because momma didn't raise no little bitch).        

            Well next thing I knew I was sitting in my car seat staring at myself in the rear view mirror with a rock stuck in the left side of my forehead. Lovely. I honestly don't remember how I got into the hospital but I ended up in a papoose board because my dad said I was strong enough to kick the nurses away. Oops. This is where the fear of shots and needles and stitches in general come from because I remember trying to break out of the papoose board but I couldn't and I felt a stabbing pain on my head. I could see the doctor pulling the needle up and down.

               Not too long after the terrorizing visit to the doctors, around New Years Eve my family and I were visiting my Great Aunt and Uncle. At the entrance of their house was a brick ledge about two inches off the floor level that lead to the wood floor below. My dad had warned me not to run up and down the hall but I continued anyway, next thing I knew I tripped onto the ledge tearing the stitches out. Another trip to the hospital. My mom placed me over her lap facing the ceiling of the van to prevent excessive bleeding. All I could see were the lamp posts we passed by and the rest is a mystery to me.

My childhood remains one big gaping black hole. The few things I remember are mostly tornado experiences and babysitting my cousins every Sunday evening. To end this short chapter I'll say that this may be more of a story about my more recent and present events that occurred with background information that I can recall.