Amber

12:00 am- my favorite time

At 12:00 am, everything is hushed, sacred almost. I'm typically alone with my thoughts- which can be very dangerous- and/or texting my best friend Chad- who will probably be a recurring person in this account, given he is my advice giver and one of my few rocks in this crazy life.

Tonight I lay here in my bed, feeling heartbroken as always. This time it's Dawson. Dawson has done it, Dawson's turned out to like me less than I thought. And so now I'm feeling like there's no hope.

That's the thing about 12:08 am... It is a hopeless hour. It's the hour where I think "I'm going to work really hard to lose some weight," but I can't start now, because its 12:08. And I'm just laying here. Burning some calories by not being able to sleep I guess. So I always say "tomorrow i'll start." And then, tomorrow (which is actually today) I don't actually start. Oh well, I guess.

Anyways, I know there is hope. I know chances are I won't end up alone with 23 (and counting!) cats in a sketchy apartment in the raunchy suburbs.

But I have this minor problem with abandonment. To understand this, i'll have to explain a little bit of my aforementioned bumpy past.

When I was little, I was a bit different from the other kids. I didn't care much for them. I was always picking fights, and, even at the ripe ol' age of 3, I was reading into things. My best friend at the time was my neighbor, Katie. Katie was 3 years older than me, and I definitely adored her. I imagine, looking back now, that I was quite the little follower. Like she was the Satan to my Satanist. (I am completely kidding, but I couldn't remember any of the names of Jesus' disciples to use that as a metaphor, and I adore metaphors)

Anyhow, Katie was basically my only friend, except for Jess and Steph up the street. But I was constantly fighting with all of them. But through that all, I had my mother, Mandie. And she was my very best friend.

When I was 4, Mandie moved out of Daddy's house and into another mans house. I didn't understand why, at the time, all I knew was I was going to have a sister!

The bad part was that, unlike Cole- my brother who was only about 8 months old- and I, my new sister was not going to have the same Dad as us. Which was a big problem, apparently.

Life continued with Mandie living with Jerry and marrying him, until she decided he was abusive and she wanted an out. there will be more of an explanation of my past thus far later. Anyways, they separated and Mandie moved into an apartment by herself with Brianna, my half sister. I was 11 at this point.

So, big changes happened that year. 6th grade is a huge year. I was graduating Elementary school, I got to go to 6th grade camp and I even- gasp- "fell in love". But it was also my last year with Mandie, which I hadn't known. So, fast forward to the end of my huge year, to where Mandie is now with Sean, who I loathe, and I start relaying information home to my dad. turns out, Mandie was using marijuana and Sean worse. So the courts ordered Mandie only have supervised visits, and Sean had no contact with us, whatsoever.

So, doing a very Mandie-esque thing, Mandie ran. With Sean. They ended up staying in Colorado, and New Mexico, having a baby (my 3rd sibling- a boy named Tristan), and making their way back to Washington. During this time, I turned 13. And then 14 (Mandie missed this birthday- meaning she forgot to call). In October of my 13th year I did end up seeing Mandie for about 3 hours at an Old Country Buffet. When I was 14 I found out I had yet another half sibling. A girl named Faith. That made 8 of us if you counted the 3 step sister older girls that were Sean's.

Then I became depressed. I would cry a lot and think about suicide. I started therapy, then decided that, voila, I was all better and didn't need therapy. (my family doesn't believe in mental illnesses and so they thought I was just going to therapy to get "attention" and that I was just a drama queen)

My 15th year, I began cutting myself. Well no I suppose I had started my 14th. It just got really bad my 15th.

I realized I was struggling with abandonment when I would get absolutely terrified at the very thought of anyone leaving me.

Then, I had my first boyfriend. December 10th, 2013. 6 days after I met him. isn't that something. I was so desperate to believe that someone could love me that I chose to believe that he meant it, after only 3 days of our "dating". he was my first boy I'd held hands with. He was my first kiss. After 2 months of dating, I even let him take my virginity. He was 18, I was 15. He swore he'd marry me. I believed him. I was Soooo in love.

Vomit worthy, isn't it?

I broke up with him in late February, and somehow lost all respect for myself somewhere between there and now (July).

So now I'm sitting here. trying to decide if I'm mourning more because Dawson led me to believe something different, or because I sent that boy nudes.

Or maybe I'm more exasperated at my dead virtue.

I'm looking for my redo button, but for now, maybe I should sleep.