My Story
I think it starts in your child hood. Ever since I was young, I can remember things that happened. I can remember getting in trouble a lot. I had a twin sister and she would do things that hurt me, she was my biggest bully. Sometimes, I remember going to school and getting made fun of by my own sister, getting told things like “you’re gay” and “no one would ever want you.” Some people only had bullies at school but mine followed me home. So most times I would come home and do my school work and go to bed crying. Asking myself why am I not good enough and she is…? I mean that’s my twin. So I started to make jokes about everything so people would think I was funny. I feel like when you make other people laugh that’s the only thing that matters. Its doesn’t matter how bad it hurts inside you. I covered it up for a long time, the sadness.
When you become a teenager you think your world would change… oh does it.. I did a lot of things with my dad, like guy things, changing oil, working on cars, to deer hunting. I love spending time with him. He was the only one that looked at me like a person. Showed me things but never called me stupid. I did play basketball for him. That is when I learned I have a lot of anger inside. I blew up a lot of things. After that I didn’t play sports anymore. Homecoming and prom came and I could find a date. No one wanted to go with a ‘gay’ person at least that what my sister told them to tell me. So, I did go by myself. I really didn’t have fun at all. But, I was told if I didn’t go then I would regret it. I guess they were wrong, because I regretted it. I started to work at 15 years old and have worked ever since. I feel like I grew up so fast, I paid for most of my things. I got my driver licenses thinking that would get me away for me time, but that didn’t work out because I had to take pretty princess everywhere. So never anytime to myself, but a chauffeur. To the person I can not stand.
It really came to me in my 20s. I just got a boyfriend, and thought it was going to be great, until I realized he had an alcohol problem. Every time he drank, he hit me. Not once, not twice, but so many times I would black completely out. Then would wake up the morning to him standing over me and telling me how much he loved me. I lied to everybody—even my dad—-about what happened to me. The next time it happened, I almost killed him. As I packed my things and left, I never wanted to see him again. About 9 months later, I met my husband that I am still with now. At 27 years old, I found out that I was pregnant, that is when I gave birth to my financial burden, my daughter. As marriage goes, we had our ups and downs.
As I was working at a job, my mind kept going, it was very quiet and no one was talking. As I looked around, I had no idea where I was at. I look at my phone, I had a text—-which was from my husband—and texted back, “who is this?”. Moments later, he arrived and transported me to the hospital. As we sat for six hours, the doctors pulled my husband out of the room and said, “We have no idea what’s wrong with her, you have to take her to another hospital”. So, they released me, and I went home. Two weeks later went to a different hospital. Still told me nothing. A few months later, I saw a lady standing in my kitchen. As I tell my husband, “She’s that lady in the picture”, as I started talking to her. My husband said, “There’s no way, she’s dead”. I said, “No she’s standing with four other people in my kitchen”. As I talked to her for about 20 minutes, I said “She is ready to go” and there are 3 knocks at the window. At that point, my husband said, “You can see them, can’t you?”. I feel like there’s so many different parts of the brain that open and shut. For example, your kid’s imaginary friends, is it someone in there past life, or could it be your grandmother or father who passed? Why can only certain people see them? I think people are wired differently. As I got older, the harder it got for me to hold it together…The only reason I hold on is for my family, especially my kids. As my husbands says, I’ve started to collect dogs too. The last and final time I went to the doctor, they proceeded to tell me I’m Schizophrenic. As I tell them, their loved ones don’t think so and said things to prove it. Still didn’t believe me. I hate labels. When you think of them you’d think they are a killer or criminal or something. But, I just come home and talk to the sane ones, lol. (AKA, the dead ones.)
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