"Girls , it's time to get up"
I can hear Mum yelling from the bottom of the stairs. Just one more minute, just a few more seconds.
I dreaded our Sunday family trips. First was just getting out of bed. Then the arduous task of finding something decent to wear that was appropriate for Sunday's. Then the quick breakfast that I had to shove down my throat. I hated Sundays. I hated life in general. But what else was new. Mum said it was just a faze and that I was just growing up. A few years and I would sort myself out. But they didn't know the real me. They thought they knew what was best for me, but they just didn't understand. I was talented and did ok at school. I didn't have close friends or a crowd to hang with, I kind of floated between groups. Once they started their usual round of cattyness, I moved groups. Why was it so difficult to be a teenager? Why did life just keep kicking me when I was down?
Here I go being a drag, I call it mental mutilation. I always did it to myself. Now I was going to be late. No breakfast this Sunday.
Piled into our car were my parents and my three older sisters. Sunday, I thought, another day of putting on our masks and pretending we were a normal family. We were far from normal, we were a great big mess!
By the way, I'm Kitty and this is life for me!
I was born Kiriana (pronounced : Kitty- arna) Grace Wilson, but everyone since I could remember called me Kitty. My parents are Jackie and Peter Wilson, Mum was a highly respected, and sometimes successful, sales woman and my Dad Peter was a quite, self absorbed car fanatic. My three (ugly) sisters are Morgan, Brenda and Stephanie, ( they're not really ugly, just to me cause I am the baby). We lived in a small country town in Australia. Life as I have known it has always been tough for my parents. They have struggled to do the best at raising four girls. When I came along, I was quite the surprise for my parents, to say the least and somehow they have just dealt with that. I grew up loving my family and got along very well with all my sisters. Life was great, before I became a teenager and grew in ways that teenagers do. All the usual lumps and bumps started appearing, it was then that i noticed the boy's took an unusual interest in me. I was always quite slim of build, with long golden ringlets. I was by far not an ugly child. My sisters on the other hand were the complete opposite of me, all quite larger in size and dark hair with quite pale complexions. I always stood out. As I grew up I started to hide my female growth and wore baggy clothing, pinning my hair back and wearing dark make-up. It was quite a sight from the fresh face to the scary face that I wore for everyone else. But enough about that. I wanted to tell you my story. One of villians and monsters and a hero that saved my life!
But first, back to Sunday. Sundays were the tradition of going to our local church. My parents first 'found God' when I was just a baby. So our Sunday's became a ritual that I just grew up with. When I was younger I loved the peace the building gave me when we walked into it and were greeted by the other families there. There was always loads of other children to play with and we always made a bee line to the massive play equipment, while my parents chatted with other parents about the week and the things they had done. In my earlier years this was the best time. Then a parent would give a shout and we would all file in to our seats, waiting for the pastor to arrive.
When he arrived the children would all have huge smiles and run to greet him. Waiting for him to pick who was handing out our sacred wine and bread in the beautiful silver dishes with the cross on the top. I would always wait inside the doors and be shy to approach such a powerful 'Man of God'. I never knew what to say to him, and I never liked to hug him. But the other children adored him. He would pick three children and you could see the disappointment on the others faces. In some ways I felt that disappointment, of not being noticed to be able to offer out this sacred wine and bread. The joy in the parents faces as their children were hand picked for such honours, was seen in their beaming smiles. My parents never smiled anymore. I couldn't work out why as a little child, but as I grew I tried to understand their relationship and never could.
My sisters had various roles within our church and played them dutifully. They were far from being perfect and they tried to enjoy what they did. But, as I got older I could see their personality changes and was quite scared to grow up like them. But somehow inside me I knew I was different. I was not like them at all.
My sister Morgan who is the eldest used to spend alot of time playing with me when I was little. She would dress me up and pretend that I was her baby. She would take me for long walks in my pram and talk to me for hours. Then when she was around fourteen and strted to get all her very noticable lady bumps, she changed and would not spend so much time with me as she did when I was a baby. I was quite used to her mood swings by the time I became a teenager. Boys became her fascination by then and she was always sneaking out at night.
Brenda was a different story. She was always quiet. Never had a ever heard more than four words come out of her mouth at a time with me. She never liked being in public view or put on show and as she got older she never came out of her room as much as she used too. Boys were never an issue for her, she never went anywhere to meet them. At school she was always taunted by the other children for being different, in a way I felt sorry for her.
Stephanie, hated me with a passion. From being the baby that was doted over before my arrival, to being the second youngest after my arrival, was a big shock for her. She was no longer the princess to Daddy. She played on this everytime and would always lie to my parents saying that everything was always my fault. I tried to stay out of her way, if I could. On Sunday's she was always the first to greet the Pastor and always made sure that he picked her for the 'sacred' roles. She was my nightmare!
Sunday glorious Sunday. The beginning of the end in my life, were Sunday's!
