I’ve always wanted to right a book, but I could never find something that was interesting enough to write about. Plus all of the good topics have already been taken, for example, vampires, love stories, horror, oh and did I mention vampires. So what did all of this leave me with…nothing, absolutely nothing. I got to thinking about things I’ve been through to help me get some ideas, when this wonderful idea popped into my head to actually write about my life. Most of my life’s drama, but hey what girl’s life isn’t?

I was raised by my Grandmom most of my life but I lived with my mom off and on. Of course this was difficult but I learned to deal with my feelings at a young age. When I was with my mom she was constantly moving me from one state to another. We never stayed in one place very long so I was in and out of schools all my life. By the time I reached middle school it felt like I had been in over thirty different schools. This was the main cause I always came back to my Grandmom’s house.

As for my dad, well he lived out of state with two of my half sisters, so I never had a father figure. That never bothered me because he wasn’t much of a dad to begin with. The times that I did see him were very short and frank. We kept to the basics, “hi” “how are you” “good/bad” and what seemed to be his favorite “bye”.

I realized by the age of eight life was never going to be normal for me. My mom was never the ideal mother…she was no were near close to the ideal mom. The times I was with my mom I felt like I was essentially raising my self. I was the parent and the child, and most of the time I was the parent not to my self but to my mom.

I’m not going to say my life was rough because there are people who have had it worse then me. Where they were beat or left in an orphanage.

But I will say that like most people, I too have lost people close to me, probably more then most people should ever have to deal with. I’ve lost friends, aunts and uncles, grandparents, and to a point parents.

When I got into middle school, it was the first time I knew what stability meant with my mom. We lived in one place for almost three years. In that time my little sister was born, I had mixed feelings about her. I felt that maybe with a baby my mom would start acting like a parent, and on the other hand I felt that I had to fight for the little attention that our mom gave us. This lead to a rebellious stage for me, but now I wonder what was I rebelling from, a mother who didn't care? I started failing classes, hanging out with the wrong crowd, and being someone that I wasn't. To do what, get a little attention? Even getting yelled at was better then what I was getting before.

When I got to the end of my eighth grade year I moved back in with my Grandmom, tired of playing the role of parent. I decided to help my Grandmom with my Poppop who was sick at the time, rather then live with someone who didn't care. My mom tried to rekindle our relationship but at that point I was pretty much feed up with her, to the point I stopped talking to her. After my Poppop passed away, my sister and mom moved in with my Grandmom and me. My mom claiming nothing was wrong was of course lying. “Nothing Wrong” being the two key words.

She caused nothing but havoc in our lives; this made me embarrassed to even talk about my life out side of school to my friends. So I hide behind a smile everyday, pretending that “nothing was wrong”. Lying to my friends about my life, making excuses why no one could come over. I did everything in my power to make sure no one ever knew what was going on. Because I knew that if they found out they would pity me. Let me tell you how pity only makes things worse. So people don’t do it.

Though the people closest to me know about the things relevant in my life, sometimes I still find it easier to hide behind a smile rather then tell someone about what’s going on in my life. By writing down my story rather then telling someone it takes away the sympathetic faces and the judging looks. I guess that makes things better…right?