my journal

Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Before you begin reading this, just know that is is gonna be grammatically incorrect for the most part. My writing isn't the best, and I know it needs help. I'm just writing it for fun, and just getting a safe place to just write whatever comes to mind. Thank you and I hope you enjoy it. :)

as I grow older, I forget things from my childhood, the good and the bad. I think of it as a blessing, maybe it is, or not. I think I'm sometimes so confused of how I gotten so far. I know some ups and downs that I've been through. All my rough sides, became me, and all the good things I had suddenly disappeared. I lost reality of who I am. Funny that through all these struggles, I keep defending everyone, I carry the burden, I cry myself to sleep, I feel like I play the victim, where all the things that hurt me was wrong, and that I have no right to feel this way. I wish I was more honest with myself. Accept the wrongs of the others, know that they are at fault too. I wasn't only the problem. Make my voice be heard. I lost it all, maybe even the will to fight. 

Age 7. That one leaves a strong hold on me. I was seven and my world came crashing down. I didn't have two parents anymore. I only had one, and the other was incarcerated. How one day could affect a whole year. How someone's actions affect their child tremendously. I was so attached to him, just for my dad to be gone in an instant. I cried everyday, till one day I started to forget how he looked, how he sounded, his hugs, I started to forget little by little. My life continued, he was now just a another person passing by in my life. I lived through one of the roughest realities ever, at the age of seven though. As a little girl who didn't have a dad to be there in her events. To be picked up by him, praise her and tell her, "who's my pretty girl" I only got to hear that from my friend's dad. I came to reality that I was living in a terrible house state. The person who brought in the money, wasn't there anymore. Who was gonna do it. We struggled, for a bit, eating just rice, beans. Being lucky to even have that much. Then my grandma told my mom about snap, ebt, that saved us starving mouths. The day we were able to buy whatever we wanted is a very core memory. I remember getting what I was craving for and claiming it mine. We got home and chose carefully what we would eat first, in fear of it disappearing. Who would have thought that.

 The same year we left to family home so they can care for us for a bit, it was helpful, made us forget, then one day when it was time to go back, he reappeared. The man who was taken away was back. He felt different. I didn't know him, was he still my dad. Was he just another person who looked like him? Can I actually hug him? I ran to him, happy, crying in the inside. Believing if I cried out loud he would be gone. His hug felt different, maybe because I aged, or maybe because it had been a while. I was happy though. We were still dead poor, but I mean at least we had the entire family again right?  That's what I wanted to believe at the time. I think reality hits differently to each person. Maybe when they are old enough to understand, or when their young and have to carry the burden of trying to grasp the reality of the world. My world started crashing at the age of 9 turning 10. That one truly fucked me up.

Sincerely, 

Me :)