Does it mean you're stronger? Faster? Cunning? Careful? Or does it mean that you aren't as reckless as you used to be? That you're overly cautious, that some would label "paranoid"?
Truth be told:
I.
Have.
No.
Clue.
When I look at people in the groups I'm part of, I often want to stop and give them a piece of advice, especially if I've gone down the same road, or I've seen how it played out for someone else. But would they actually understand? Would they just be doing what I did in their position, when others tried to give me advice? Block it out and tell myself, "They have no clue what I'm going through, so I'm not going to listen?"
Concerning my own journey in life, people would look at me and tell me that when I spread my wings and do something that makes me happy I've earned it. Because of what I have to do, what I have to put up with, I should be somehow given a free pass. But I often think, "Should I really?", or, "If they only knew".
I guess in a way it's self defeating, but at the same time, I take a look back and there are times I say what they say, but I don't want to become egotistical. I want to stay humble. I want to stay true.
So, here is some truth, and a journey through the finer points of my life.
When I was born, I stopped breathing for 6 minutes, and though it makes me appreciate being alive and here to talk with you, I often wonder why I was born where I was, and where I would be if my soul had chosen to find another shell? And even though being born premature has given me a non-fatal heart condition, I'm still alive and semi-well, with plenty of friends to guide me. I guess that's why my parents sometimes treat me differently. They want me to be stronger, better, and they're tough, but I was sheltered and babied growing up. Guess that's why I am the way I am.
Most of my life I remember very little, except a funeral for a grandparent, my grandmother singing to me, my other grandparents house and the times spent within, but my major memories are of losing what we call, "The Old House", the house I lived in from birth to 6 years old, and the fighting.
In my family, I'm the only child from both of my parents. I have two half brothers and a half sister. My sister and middle brother were always conspiratorial against my eldest brother, and they've always had a love hate relationship. My dad and eldest brother hated each other, because he would treat him differently. He was always hard on him, and that made my parents fight. But they also fought over money, and responsibility.
I never liked my dad because he was always trying to change me, keep me from being me, trying to turn me into what he wanted me to be, and sadly, that still stands today, only now I know how to block it out. I liked my mother because she let me be who I wanted, and have fun, and be creative. She never treated me as if my ideas were stupid. That still stands to this day.
When my family separated when I was 6, my sister and middle brother went with my dad, and my eldest brother and I went with mom. They tried so many times to get back together and work it out, but when you have kids that won't get along, and you hate the way the other parents, it's kind of hard to have a stable household. I remember the times of my sister running away, being hurtful, my dad not much helping and believing my sister over my mother, especially when my sister physically hurt my mom. I remember my middle brother being physically abusive, as well as emotionally. My eldest brother, by the time I was 9, became sexually abusive, as well as mentally, emotionally, and physically. With both parents working, it wasn't always an option to be dropped off at my grandparents, so I was left with my siblings, or other grandparents. We (my eldest brother, mom, and I) lived with my other grandfather and grandmother (were once married but divorced) more times than I can count. So, I never had a stable household, except for my dad's parents house.
I loved that place. It always felt like home, there were always hot meals, and there was always something to do. When my grandfather died, my grandmother did well to try and keep that spirit alive, but aunts, uncles, and my parents began to bicker, and that happy feeling died away. I still liked being there because my grandmother was amazing. I miss her, but I know she watches over me.
My mom moved from place to place, sometimes not having money to pay rent or bills. During this time, we were held up at gunpoint while visiting my mom's father, an experience I will never forget, my mom went from job to job trying to pay bills, my brother's friends were constantly coming and going, sometimes living with us, and I learned of my father's pill problem.
It's true that he's had a bad back for years, and surgery hasn't made it any better, but there were often times he would be admitted to the hospital because of a medication reaction or small overdose that would lead to him being taken to a psychiatric ward for a few days. I remember visiting him in one. I would later be admitted because my own behavior, but when I was off medication. He would talk about suicide, and then the cops would come, and that would be that. I remember him always talking in his sleep, falling asleep standing up, waking us up at five in the morning and telling us to get ready either for school because it was already past time to get up, or we were going to be late for something we had going on. I also learned of a "friend" my father had, but it was never proven if they did anything. I just know my mom and I hated her with a passion. One time my father fell asleep with his upper half on the stove and when we tried to pull him off, he cracked his head on the floor. We called an ambulance and he woke up when they were about to put him on the stretcher.
It was during that time I entered middle school, and I HATED it. I went to a local middle school my brother had been bullied at, and even though I'd been bullied in elementary school, I thought it was going to be different, but one of the girls from elementary was enrolled, and she made my life hell. She turned several students against me, I was nearly jumped after school by her and her friends and the counselors wouldn't do anything. I got into a rock fight with some boys during lunch, and I was falling behind in my work because no teacher would help me understand. I started to hang with people I thought were good, and ended up getting caught for shoplifting. I back talked my mother, even called the cops on her when she started trying to hit me. I regret that, but I was scared. My father didn't help. He eventually moved out, back to his mother's house. I dropped out of that school and found another. An alternative school.
I'd say life got easier, but it didn't. We moved into a duplex next to my grandfather, but my brothers were still abusive, my aunt and her mother died, I started to realize I was a paranormal sensitive which scared me, and my parent's fighting was getting worse. He would give child support money, which my mother would use for food to feed, not only me, but my brother's friends who were STILL trying to live with us, and the bills, but my father would borrow it back. That's when they talked of divorce, and I hated everything. That was also the year of 9/11, a day I still can't shake, the year my father told me I was fat and told me I was going on a diet BEFORE taking us out to eat and making me wear my grandmother's clothes because it hid the fact that I was fat, and the year my brother slammed me into a wall, and tried to break both legs trying to keep me from calling my mom and telling her that he had been smoking pot in the house along with blaring music that could be heard down the street, all while our landlord's girlfriend lived in the duplex connected to ours. He was kicked out and not brought back. My sister and her abusive boyfriend came to live with us. She'd been in Narcotics Anonymous and our relationship wasn't the best. I always tried to get her to like me, and went out of my way to impress her, but it never worked. They ended up using us for a free place to stay, and then stole from us when they left town. We were eventually evicted. School went okay, until high school, and then the "not able to understand the work" cropped up again and I found yet another school.
Mom, my brother, and I moved AGAIN, into a 2 bed, 1 bath house. That's when things reached their peak.
Within a year, I tried to kill my brother by strangling him, an event I barely remember because I blacked out from anger and his friend came to his aid, my dad's mother died after being taken away for 8 months by my aunts and us only getting to see her 3 days before she died in a one hour supervised visit by my aunt's attorney. I could have beaten that bitch. To tell us what we could and couldn't talk about while taking notes. I could still stomp that bitch out, but I digress. She was paid to be a bitch. She did it well. My father had been forcefully evicted from his childhood, all our childhoods, home, and we are in the same house we were then, but it's much less grand. Not that it was to begin with. My eldest brother ran off, leaving my mom to bear the burden of moving, and never thanked her for anything. Still hasn't to this day.We moved in with my dad, and thus began the cycle again. Mom and I leaving, coming back, my dad's pill days and episodes. My sister came back, but didn't stay long. Long enough to find a rich sugar daddy and run off. She wanted me to go live with her at one point, even work and pay her rent money. I never did, because eff that. My sister is a sociopath, and it took a long time to learn it.
My middle brother stayed the same as he always did, only now with both parents there, he couldn't do what he used to. He was still verbally abusive, and even took a swing at me once while calling me a fat leech. He hit the computer monitor instead and was told to leave. He stole pills from my parents, slept all day, quit two jobs, and tried to make everyone feel sorry for him. During this time, my father continued to act horribly, telling my mom she was a stupid bitch, telling me I was lazy, inconsiderate, ungrateful, that I better be lucky I wasn't a boy, that I was two faced, and then, when I was 22, telling me I had 6 months to find another place to live because I was making everyone miserable, and I would be much happier, and better off, living alone. That's how I began photography, and in my eyes, you could see what I was going through. My eyes always give me away.
Still, one of my favorite photographs of myself.
I met a man and moved in, and my father let me brother tell me, "So, is he the baby's father? Let me get a coat hanger", and other hurtful remarks. They wanted me to move back home, but I'd finally found freedom. Little did I know that later he would break up with me in front of a person who pretended to be my friend to get to him, and her friend, all while we were ghost hunting.
That's when I tried suicide, and failed.
I went through counseling, which seemed to help, but the medication made me angry, damn near violent, and then, changed me completely. I became so narcissistic, so pissy, I finally ended up moving in with the first guy who would have me. That's when I learned how cruel someone could really be. You can find what happened by searching, "My Journey Through Hell" on YouTube. My videos should come right up. I have 4 videos and an intro that tell the story.
I moved back home, and tried again.
This time, I waited, I went to college, I talked to old friends, made new ones, and I worked hard. It was then I met my most recent ex, who showed me what it meant to have someone say their in love, but only love you for your body, and so they won't be alone, but have zero tolerance for anything but sexual submission. You can find those videos on my channel as well.
Have I changed though? Through everything, have I become better?
I can't say for certain.
I do know I won't tolerate anyone treating me like they did. I won't tolerate anyone talking down to me or being fake with me. I won't stand by and watch someone be insulted, lied to, used, or abused. I'm guarded to the point I weigh everything before I do it, or before I let someone in.
My father still doesn't understand me, and will even go as far as to make it out like I'm useless. Yes, I don't have a job, but I clean the house, take care of the animals, do laundry when no one else will, make dinner when mom won't, take care of them when they're sick, have even been cleaning the god forsaken house, which gave me a viral infection (I'm on an inhaler and it's passing, so no worries ^__^ ), but it still isn't good enough.
My mother is still accepting of me, at least in some regards. She's become situated with the fact that I am bisexual, that I won't be told I can't do something, or even have myself or my schedule altered. But she's also tried to make me do everything for her. I take the dogs out almost all the time, except in the mornings when she's up, I feed and water the animals, sometimes every day, I'm the only one trying to make the house livable, I'm the one burying the animals when they pass of old age or accidentally getting hit by cars, I make dinner more often than not because we suffered through 3 years of TV dinners when she was so sick from smoking she couldn't stand up without getting short of breath, and even now when she just doesn't want to make it then gets mad when I bring up that I'm not doing that anymore, will try to cheat me out of paying me money I'm owed, and when she gets mad at something, she'll turn on me like a viper, making everything out to be my fault or even my dads. It's like living with Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, for effs sake.
With all certainty, I can say that I'm scarred, that I'm weary, that I'm more of a loner now than I ever was, that I'm intolerant, sometimes insensitive, but after everything I've been through, I'm still going.
I know people have it worse than me, and I am not putting this out there to seek attention. I don't want sympathy, I don't want gratitude, or a standing ovation. I want people to understand that in life, things will happen, sometimes, a lot of things, but take what you can from it, and don't change unless you know you're toxic to others, even to yourself. Don't be afraid to dream, to write, to create, to BE. I have so much to be thankful for, and I am.
I can now understand and appreciate the beauty the world has to offer. I can show it to others and help them on to a better path.
But am I better myself? Have I become stronger, or have I caved? Am I faster, or have I slowed down? Am I better or worse than I used to be? Have I done anything to deserve taking a break, to self serve, to try, to rest, to relax?
Truth be told..... I'm not sure.
I.
Still.
Don't.
Know.
We all have a duty on this earth to try, to learn, to experience, to help those in worse situations than ours.
We have a duty to make the world brighter, safer, a better place.
Have I done that?
Am I worthy?
I still don't know.
All I do know, is that, whenever and wherever I can, I want to take away that pain from someone else's life. I want to bring the sunshine into their world. I want them to smile. I want them to laugh. I want them to love themselves. I don't want them to see what the world can hold. At all costs, I want to save them.
In a way, my two tattoos make sense.
On my left wrist is the word, "Eidolon", which means "Spirit" or "Ghost", and on my right, the wor\d "Protector", which also means, "Guardian". I want to protect the spirits of this world, as I myself am a fellow Eidolon. I want to help the world, even if I get no recognition.
Even if I don't see myself as a better person, I can work hard to either be one, or help the future generations be one.
If, in the end, it doesn't make me a better person, I can pass on the knowledge of what it means to be in a bad situation, and make the world a better place.
I guess the answer can go two ways:
Either I am a better person, or, simply the words, "One Day".
It is what it is. And until that day, I'll run with it.
It's all I can do.
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