I’ve been commenting on a lot of you guys’ posts, and I feel like I haven’t really told my story on here. Trigger Warning: Some of the things might trigger self-harmful behavior, so please read with caution…As I begin this, I am sitting on a pile of pillows I’ve been using for a bed, drinking tea, and I’m about to light a smoke.
I grew up in Central California from 1996 (my birthyear) and moved in the summer of 2004. My parents had met when they were twelve, and stayed together until they were in their early twenties. I was about three when, out of the blue, my dad got up off the couch (we were watching Saturday morning cartoons) and nonchalantly said he was leaving. I don’t blame him for it, my mother has a lot of psychological issues, and he just wasn’t really cut out to raise a child. He’s only really taken interest in me now that I’m a teenager, but we’ll get to that later, aye? At that time, we were living in Concord, and Mom and I ended up moving to Bay Point, where my uncle Nic joined us. He was really cool, and I’m glad I got to have him around. I grew up very close to one of my other uncles, who is just a year and a half older than me, and we were like siblings…
Anyway, fast-forward to 2004, when Mom and I moved to Northern California. I don’t remember how long it had been going on before, but I was an impulsive liar and would get beat for it. I would also get beat for keeping my room a complete wreck, and my mom would come in and scream at me, throwing away half of my stuff and smacking me around. Logically, I should have just cleaned my fucking room, ya know? I still live in a wreck, but I clean every few months, so she stays off my back. That first year in Northern Cali was a mix of good and bad. First “boyfriend,” in fourth grade, really just consisted of the label, nothing more. I remember how angry I was on occasion, that town was full of assholes. I nicked a jacket from the lost and found, and for some reason, lied to my mom about it, which led to screaming and beatings, and I ended up fainting.
The summer of 2005, we moved into the apartment building I still live in now, although we moved into a different unit in ’06. This is where my life really began. I spent most of my fifth grade year in the office for multiple things, I don’t even remember why most of the time. One time, me and a bunch of friends got in trouble for pantsing people. I remember sobbing, sitting on the floor when they called my mom because I knew I was gonna get smacked up. That next summer was the first time I dyed my hair, apple green in my bangs.
Sixth grade was when my best friend at the time stole my first kiss, which I was pretty upset about. I remember standing up and yelling at Lily because I was saving my first kiss for someone special I hadn’t even met yet. This was also the year I met Michael, the guy I then dated on and off for the rest of middle school. He taught me about self-harming, his arms were covered in scars. I’m pretty sure he carved my name in his arm at some point. The last day of sixth grade was the first time I got wasted. Vodka and wine mixed together, and a lot of weed, which was disgusting to me at that age.
Seventh grade is when I kissed a boy for the first time, and it was alright, nothing special. I got in trouble for trying to steal books from the after school program and got in-school suspension for a day. I was a compulsive thief, and stole anything I could get my hands on. I don’t remember much of middle school except the Filipino woman that worked with the after school program. She treated me extra special because I’m a quarter Filipino, and would give me yummy little treats and let me work in the kitchen more than anyone else.
Time for the recap of the worst four years of my life: high school. A pretty basic summary of my freshman year is that it was the first time I got raped. I had met a guy at Border’s (the bookstore) named Devon. He was a cashier, and I though he was about seventeen…I met him about two weeks before my fifteenth birthday, and after a week of talking, I met up with him, bringing along a friend just in case. We walked up to the redwoods and drank 4Lokos and got wasted. He kept insisting we drink more, and then we needed to walk home. The girl I had walked with ended up drunkenly wandering home, while I was stuck with him. Devon. He walked me home, but about a block from my house, I stopped him and told him I didn’t want him to walk me to my door since he was older and my mom would freak out. We kissed, and I said something about how bad I wanted him. I was a virgin. There was this RV park there at the time, and there was this awning which he pulled me to so we could kiss more. Then he started asking me if he could “put it in” just a little, he said he wouldn’t take my virginity. I kept saying no, I needed to get home, my mom was going to be mad, but he bent me over anyway, pulling my pants to my knees and…when it was over, I kissed him good-bye because I didn’t know what else to do, and I ran home. I was bleeding. We had to go to a family dinner that night, and I just sat there, not knowing how to focus. I didn’t tell my mom for months, and told my boyfriend at the time that it was voluntary so he wouldn’t tell the cops.
Shortly after he and I broke up, I met the guy I ended up being with part of freshman year, summer, and sophomore year. I told him about it, and he told me about his childhood. His stepdad used to lock him in a closet with no lights for hours while he did drugs.. Zach only had one form of comfort at those times, a stuffed animal dog I now have, sitting in my own closet. I really loved him, I thought, but I fucked everything up and sent someone else nudes, which brings about the second time I was sexually abused. I told him about the nudes, and told him he could physically punish me if he needed to. He was so rough. He hurt me, but when he saw that I was crying, he stopped and help me. We were on and off for a while, because every time we broke up, one of us would go through something and need solace, like when his mother had to get surgery for cervical cancer.
Sophomore year is when I met my now-best-friend. I fell for him while I was with Zach, and we got stoned together one day during lunch and kissed. He was a virgin when we met, and I took his virginity. He introduced me to things like the punk scene and video games I actually enjoyed. We cuddled and watched movies together and he spoiled me, which he still does. I love him so much, but I stopped being in love with him. The end of our relationship was marked by me meeting someone new…Sean…
I don’t want to talk about him right now, I hope that’s alright to anyone reading this. It hurts too much when I really have to think about it. We were engaged and I ruined everything. I’ve never attempted suicide so many times than I did when I was with him. We’re friends now, but…I don’t want to talk about it.
After we broke up, I got wasted that very night, completely shitfaced, and had my first (and last) one night stand with a bass player that was, to be honest, the best lay I’ve ever had. There was a guy there that I really liked, but he didn’t get there until I got back from my little sexual adventure, and I knew he knew, and I was ashamed.
About two weeks later, I met someone new, Walker, who made me feel bad about myself and changed me so much. He treated me like shit, making me feel like everything I said was wrong, he hated that I was a punk chick and he didn’t want me to look the part.. After he ended it with us, I was really suicidal and cut the shit out of my wrist for a week before I got my first tattoo and gave up self-harming. I saw him a week or two afterwards on the bus, when I kissed someone before getting onto the bus, and there he was, sitting there, having seen it. He told me he was going to go home and contemplate suicide, so I begged him to get off the bus and talk to me. When we got off, he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me to the side of a building, but my best friend appeared and flipped out. Walker basically threatened to blackmail me, saying he would report my parent’s drug use to the cops if I didn’t stop partying…I ended up treating him like shit until he left me alone.
Then there was a new guy, the one I had really liked the night of my one night stand. We partied together a few times, but we got in these huge fights over practically nothing, and we weren’t even dating. At the end of our last fight, he told me he thought we might be better as friends. It hurt a lot, and I gave up on him and moved on to my current boyfriend, this scrawny punk a couple years younger than me. We drink vodka and roll cigarettes, and there’s virtually no romance but it’s okay. Not every relationship has to be serious, right?
Thanks for reading this, if you did. I just needed to get it out of my system, just a few main points of my life.