Thank you to beautiful followers who have stayed with me all this time. I wonder how many of you are active and how many of you even noticed my absence lol I’m not back back, but i’m here from time to time.
I still get some unfollowers, which is expected because I don’t post often. Forgive me my loves, life has swept me up like a tornado and carried me through all things good and bad these last few months.
I hope all of you are doing wonderful. I hope you guys are all healthy and happy. Remember to take some time out of your day for yourself. Relax and breathe and get lots of sleep and eat your meals. You all deserve to be happy so don’t neglect yourself.
so a few days ago my bf came into my room and for the first time noticed my kpop posters on the wall.
he looks at me and then at the posters and then back at me, all the while I wait for him to judge me but all he says is “looks like I have some competition”
now he’s asking me to send him kpop songs because he ‘has to know the enemy before he makes his first move’
I had to rewrite my paper. This is what I got and my writing is bad. This is a story of what would happen if I didn't meet my best friend at the end of Junior year in high school (2011) So like yeah.. read it and let me hear you bad comments. I literally wrote this today.
p.s. the events of 2012-2014 are based on some actual events- just different times.
Black Sheep
New York—November 9, 2014
It was cold today and the wind was harsh—like their words to me, their last words. My skin was growing numb and the only warmth I felt were the tears on my face. The wind whipped my hair around my face violently and I slouched against the outside of the door that led to the rooftop. I looked down at my naked feet, my vision blurred and the ball of frustration in my throat gets bigger. This space that comforts me on days like this made the situation even harder to accept. My crying becomes more audible and I began screaming with anger.
“Why?” I shouted and the wind howled with me.
The first week of November was going terrible. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good day. As a student, working part time to pay off hospital bills and having to deal with my family was incredibly stressful. My family—a drunken father, a mother whose only love is money, two older sisters: the smart one and the slut—were the worst of the three though. Then there was me, the youngest and the target for their emotional and physical abuse—the black sheep.
Sitting on the rooftop, I looked up at the greying sky to steady my breathing but it became more jagged and tears streamed down my face. How am I able to still cry after everything? The sudden thought of not seeing this winters snow gave me comfort. I hated winter but I hated my family more. With no friends or nowhere to go, winter meant I had to be locked up inside with them. Part time jobs and studying at the library most days had kept me out of the house, but it was not enough. I missed the hot weather of my home country.
I was born in this cold month too—three days ago on the 6th. It went by like I wasn’t even here, like a normal day with no one to say ‘happy birthday’ or no one to wish me well. It doesn’t come to me as a surprise though, better than last year when I got birthday punches from my sisters who fractured my ribs. The only reason they knew it was my birthday was because of my grandmother. She was the only one who remembered and the only one who cared about me, but she wasn’t here to tell me this year.
The rooftop was getting colder as the day died into the evening. With every gust of wind that went by, the warmth from my face leaves and I become colder. I began hyperventilating as thoughts from the last seven years of my life race through my head, before everything went to shit. I lived twenty years through this and for more than half of it; I’ve had no one but myself. How did I manage to stay here so long? Why did I stay so long? Do I deserve this? Am I a bad person? The questions I can’t answer, I began apologizing to myself. It wasn’t always like this, but everything changed on the day I moved to New York.
Agreeing Doesn’t Always Mean Acceptance.
Guyana—2008
Today I skipped school despite it being my last day there. This morning, my best friend told me that there were dump trucks in front of our house. Three days ago, my family moved out of the house where I grew up for thirteen years. I would be staying with my parents and two sisters at my aunt’s house because in two weeks, I will be moving to the United States—as my mother would like to say “for better opportunities.” I found out that we were selling the house to one of my neighbors. They were going to use our yard to farm.
I was completely devastated when I found out we were moving. I knew for a while that one day we would be going, just not so soon. I was in my second year of high school, enjoying what I believed was the start of my life. I had already planned out my future for myself. My dream job was to become an Environmental Scientist because I was so passionate about nature and science in general. I wasn’t ready for such a big change. I didn’t want to accept it.
I made my way down the dirt road along the water channel that led to the ocean. It was about 9:30am and the morning was hot but the breeze from the ocean made it cooler. It wasn’t long before I saw the trucks in front of our house. I was confused as to why they needed dump trucks in the first place; there was nothing to get rid of in the yard. I got to my best friend’s house where I saw his mom who was surprised to see me. I had never skipped school before. Not a rainy day, not a flood, not even being sick stopped me from going to school—today was different.
I sat down on at the top of the stairs that led to the second floor of their house. From there I could see inside our yard and the house. Our house was built on stilts, like many of the houses in Guyana. The yard was huge and so it was covered with nature all around with the fruit trees my father had planted and I had taken care of. The flower plants that blossomed so beautifully, it could make any bad day feel brighter. I watched over everything in the yard, things that I had taken for granted. I wouldn’t be able to call any of it mine anymore.
The sun was now high up in the sky as noon reach around, without me realizing it. The sunlight had quickly scared the shade away from where I was sitting but the wind was still drifting by happily. There were so many thoughts rushing through my head. I tried to accept the fact that we were moving but every time I looked at the house, I felt a sharp pain in my chest. It felt like I was being betrayed and as much as I felt like crying, I would stop myself from doing so.
I was resting my head on my knees when I heard voices coming from the yard. There were some people I recognize, friends of my dad’s—carpenters. It’s only natural that they’d wanted to make some changes to the house, I thought. They were standing under the house with tools around them. They walked up the stairs to the second floor where I could no longer see them. I only heard the loud knocking of hammers and roaring of their electric saws. What are they doing to my home?
My best friend was home from school and I was still sitting on the stairs. I heard him talking with his mother who was worried that the bright and energetic me was nowhere in sight. The noise stopped from the house for a while and my best friend sat down next to me with a glass of water. He didn’t say anything, he just looked at me and then at the house for a while. I think he was in shock to see me like this too. We didn’t say anything to each other.
There was a loud bang, followed by another and then two more after that. It took me a while to realize where it was coming from because I couldn’t see inside the house. The carpenters were knocking the walls of my bedroom out. The white boards that fell to the ground outside the house revealed the inside of the baby blue room. I never thought that I would see the inside of my room like this.
The tears well up in my eyes and I began sobbing ferociously. I stood up after sitting on the steps for nearly six hours and fell right back down. My best friend grabbed me and kept saying it was okay, but nothing was okay, they were destroying my home. My loud crying and screaming would make me hoarse before the day died out. I cried through it all, ignoring everyone around me that had gathered to see what the commotion was. By the end of the day what was left of the house was only a skeleton standing on stilts.
I’d like to think that this was the beginning of everything. I don’t remember much of my last days here, which I regret deeply. I just cried and stayed at home the entire time. I wish I had gone out and done things one last time. Two weeks after, I was on a play headed for New York.
Not For Me
2009—2010
About a year after moving to New York, I still wasn’t adapting well to the change. I had not even gotten over the fact that the place I called home for all my life was no longer there. As I started high school, things got even more complicated for me. In my first year I was bullied, for what? I have no idea. Maybe I looked vulnerable enough for them to beat me up. It was the same with my family too. My sisters began hitting me to let out their frustration. At first they were just play fighting with me and I was okay, but if I wasn’t in the mood and yelled back, I would end up with a bloody nose or a broken finger.
I think my family had a hard time dealing with it just like I did, but they found other ways to deal with it. I locked myself out from most of the things that went on around me. It’s not like I didn’t try to accept where I was now or what was happening to me. I did try, many times but to no avail, the sadness would not leave me. I’ve started to believe that it had consumed me and was now a part of me. How far would I get with this sadness?
Not only did I lose my home and my friends but I also lost my father—to alcohol. Drinking became an everyday thing and with my mother, they would fight over money. My father felt the same as I did, but he found his answers in a bottle and so had my mother, in me. He had stopped defending me from my sisters and when my mother began hitting me. With my sisters, I always know when to expect their outburst but my mother was different. I was more afraid of her than I was of anything.
I remember one day the neighbors showed up because I was screaming. It was 2010, I was fifteen at the time and my curfew was ‘be home right after school’. My mother came back from work while I was doing homework.
“Do the dishes” she said passing my room.
“I’m coming” I said without turning around.
About five minutes passed and I had become so immersed in my paper that I had forgotten she asked. She barged into the room and grabbed my hair, making me fall back with the chair. My eyes were already filled with tears as she cursed me and dragged me to the kitchen by my hair. She kicked me in my face, giving me a black eye and I passed out. A few seconds later I opened my eyes and she was standing over me with a knife in her hand.
“I’m sorry! Mom! pleas-PLEASE!” I cried as I apologized and begged her not to hurt me.
My first thought was that she was going to kill me and even though I didn’t want to be here, I begged her not to kill me. I was lying on the floor by the stove and the pain was growing in my face from where she kicked me. I pleaded with her and cried but it would all be for nothing. She was going to finish what she started.
“When. I. Ask. You. To. Do. Something. You. DO IT.” She’d hit me and kicked me with every word she said.
Her eyes were full of hate and anger towards me. I prayed for her to stop, but she just kept hitting me, kicking me. If God was ever going to answer me, I hoped it would be now because I am tired of this. I kept falling in and out of consciousness, my vision was blurred and the smell of blood filled my nose. I passed out again but was soon awaken by the smell of burnt flesh and a burning pain on my left arm.
“STOPPP!!” I screamed at her, crying again.
“Shut up. Look at this.” She said in a calm and collected voice as she placed my arm in front of my face for me to see.
I was looking at the burn mark on my arm where she placed the hot knife. I bit my lip to not scream out in pain again but felt a different pain as I tasted blood.
“This will leave a scar and if it doesn’t, I’ll give you another one. You hear me?” She looked at me; the crazy in her eyes did not match the tone of her voice. I nodded and she hits me in the head.
“Yes, I hear you.” I answered with a hoarse voice.
She was about to say something when our doorbell rang. She stood up and dropped the knife in the sink and calmly walked out the kitchen to answer the door. I could hear her talking from the door explaining to the neighbors that her daughters were just play-fighting. I could feel the warmth in her eyes from her voice, as if nothing just happened. The floor felt cold beneath me and I struggled to get to my feet. I stood in front of the sink and turned on the cold water and allowed it to gently fall over the burn. I could not cry because it meant getting hit again.
I tried my best to stand straight and did the dishes in silence. The pain from my arm was leaving, but now the throbbing in my head increased. My face was pulsating and blood was dripping from my nose into the sink. I was going to faint again, but before I could, I finished the dishes and stumbled to my room. I closed the door and the last thing I saw was under my bed as my body hit the floor.
That was the first of many ‘incidents’ and hospital visits. My mother would never pay any of the hospital bills but would always take me to get treated. I’ve slowly been paying them off for over three years now. I’ve had to go to the hospital before because I’ve gotten broken fingers, broken nose, fractured ribs and a few other times for suicide attempts. My father was never one to hit me, he was just always lost in his bottle. Even when I cried out for help, he was never there for me like he was when I was a kid.
At school I would always wear a lot of clothes to cover my bruises and scars. My long black hair would drape over my face to cover my black eyes that would appear one after the other. Kids would make fun of me all the time, asking me if I’m a boxer and then hit me or push me. I didn’t speak for a long time and so they started to ask me if I was mute, most of them just assumed I was. I was okay with that because I wouldn’t have to answer their ridiculous questions.
Some teachers were worried and I was sent to speak to a guidance counselor many times. I learned from the first time not to say anything and just keep a poker face. They called home the first time and asked my mom if there were any problems at home. That didn’t sit too lightly with her and I would hear about it when I got home.
Are You Fucking Kidding?
2011—2012
In early 2011, I was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma after countless hospital visits and biopsies. I began a high dose chemotherapy treatment in June of 2011 and it lasted for several months into my junior year of high school. When I first found out I had cancer, I just kept thinking the world is against me, but in reality it actually hates me. After a while, I actually began appreciating the fact that I had cancer, only because I wasn’t getting hit as much.
My first week receiving treatment, the side effect of the medication made me a lot weaker. My family came to visit me and my dad was actually sober for a change. I didn’t cry when I saw them because I was just waiting for them all to be what I would consider normal now. It only lasted for about one month. My dad picked up the bottle again when I was told I could come home and would only go to the hospital for treatment. My mom and sisters started hitting me more now that I didn’t go to school much.
The hospital bills piled up a lot over time and my mother would yell at me, asking me when I was going to start working to pay them off. In January of 2012, I was finally able to get away from home for a while and go to school but I was faced with another obstacle. Apparently everyone knew I had cancer and just like my family they were very empathetic at first but my bullies missed me the most.
During lunch on my second day back, I went to the bathroom to throw up the food that I could barely swallow. I was at the sink when a girl came up behind me and pulled my hood off and the others laughed at the sight of my hair. I was losing hair excessively because of all the added stress at home, lack of sleep and a bad diet. They laughed and told sick jokes about my cancer and punched me in the stomach several times. My skin and bones were hurting so much, but all I could do was cry. They stopped hitting me after I began bleeding from the mouth.
That night I sat in the bathtub and looked at my arms that were now so frail and traced the veins that I could see on my arms and legs. I sat in the warm water until it got cold and my fingers were all pruned. I stood up and stepped out of the tub onto the cold tiles and wrapped my towel around myself. I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time and I felt a numbness wash over me. I opened the medicine cabinet over the sink and took bottles of prescribed drugs. I don’t know how many I took but it was enough to make me have a panic attack.
I sat on the cold tiles in front of the sink with my back against the bathroom wall. A few minutes passed before I started feeling light headed and nauseous. I felt like my heart was in my throat and I could hear it beating in my ears. My fingers began to tingly and I leaned my head back and looked at the light on the ceiling. I could feel ever breath leave my body followed by a warm welcoming feeling. I smiled at the light as my eye closes.
Black Sheep II
New York—November 9, 2014
I looked down at the scars on my arm, the multiple burn marks that I had gotten after the first time and the stitch marks from the last time I tried to kill myself. I touched them with my cold fingertips and bit my lip to keep myself from screaming out of anger. I no longer considered my body my own after the last few years, all of the scars reminded me why. The only thing that I had that was mine, was my mind and I’m slowly losing that too.
I should of thought this out before running out of the apartment to the roof but I needed to get out of there or they would’ve killed me. There was pain coming from all over my body but the one that was most noticeable was my ear. My hand reached up and touched it and I jerked my head back at the sudden pain. The image of my sister slamming my head against the wall flashed in my head. She had shattered my cartilage and now my ear and the side of my head was bleeding.
We got into an argument because I confronted my sister—the smart one— about taking my paychecks that I got in the mail. The money that I worked so hard for, she was ripping the checks up before I got them, she had confessed. We were arguing when my mother and oldest sister got home but didn’t hear what she just said.
“Come here” my mother called me from the kitchen.
I walked silently down the hall from my sister’s room and stood in kitchen archway.
“Tell her to stop taki—” she slaps me.
“Are you calling my daughter a thief?” I was in complete disbelief at the question.
Am I not your daughter too?
“Are calling me a liar?”I asked boldly.
She hits me across the head and walks to the drawer by the sink and pulls out the heavy metal ladle. She walks back towards me again, the familiar crazy in her eyes.
“I’ll ask again. Are you calling my daughter a thief?” She stares at me.
“She said—” she hits me with the ladle across my face this time.
I could hear my sisters giggling this time. I tried to speak again but she hits me on my shoulder, my back, my head and my legs. I tried to shield myself with my arms but my sisters were holding me back with my fingers on the kitchen counter as my mother hit my fingers with the ladle.
“Shall we break one today?” my oldest sister laughed.
“Which one should we?”
“How about all of them?” my mother laughed with them.
The sound of the front door closing made them stop for a minute but they were still holding me.
“DAAADD!!” I screamed from the kitchen.
Even if it wasn’t my dad, it was someone and maybe they would stop. My dad walked into the kitchen and asked my mom and sisters what they were doing. He was obviously drunk but I asked him to tell them to stop anyway.
“What did you do this time? You probably deserve it” he said grabbing a beer from the refrigerator.
My own father… His word pierce through me like a cold knife. My body relaxed under their arms pinning me and if they weren’t holding me, I would be on the floor. The only words that could explain how I felt was betrayal. My mother was hitting me but I wasn’t reacting. My sisters let me fall to the floor and began kicking me in my stomach and head.
“Stupid bitch” they yelled at me.
“Why don’t you just die already?” they kick me.
“Yeah, why were you even born?” my oldest sister said. They stopped.
“So we could do this you idiot” they laughed and kicked me more.
I can’t be here anymore. I don’t want to do this.
I got up and tried to run but only got to the hall where my sister grabbed me and slammed my head against the wall. There was a zinging in my ear for a few seconds but I turned around and pushed her, running out of the apartment without any shoes on. Now here I am on the rooftop—cold, bloodied and broken.
I stood up and limped over to the chain linked fence that was around the roof. It was already getting darker but I loved how the sky looked. I touched the fence and peered down at the sidewalk that was ten stories down. I grabbed hold of it and began climbing over to the other side. The wind was howling and blowing the hair away from my face. I looked down at the sidewalk again and my heart beats faster.
I looked up at the sky again and closed my eyes inhaling the cold autumn air. I turned around again and could see the rooftops of many other apartment buildings. I wonder for a while, how many people have been in my place standing on these rooftops before. I will no longer wonder about things like that anymore.
This is it.
“I’m sorry.” To myself.
I leaned my head back and looked up to the sky. I exhaled and I was flying but I was only moving further away from the sky. I reached my hands out and as I get colder, the corner of my lips moves higher. The sky takes me in her arms and I finally feel something that I’ve been waiting for all this time.
i was a little excited about writing about murder/suicide for class because i've never done that kinda of writing before- but now i'm actually writing a story that's so greatly influenced by my actual experiences and it's making me cry. but you know- for SCI- ENGLISH!
I love my english professor cause she doesn't constrict us to analyze essays or give responses to articles or anything like that. We do strictly creative writing and I couldn't ask for anything more from an english professor.
I have picked up writing again after 3 years. even writing the little things makes me so happy, kinda makes me wonder why I stopped in the first place.
I've gotten both 9.9/10 on my last 2 papers and I hope the one I just submitted wouldn't let me down. Since i'm not good at writing poetry.
And for our final assignment, we're doing descriptive writing from the point of view of a character. I've chosen to write a story about a man that is going to commit suicide. I mean what better character to write, than one you know exactly how they feel.
in other news, someone was shot right in front of my house like 2 hours ago. blood is everywhere, cops are still here and I hate my neighborhood even more now.
i want you guys to know how much i'm procrastinating right now but i'm too lazy. I have a TON of work to do. I had 11 days to do it, but you know, do it all on the last day. my life is so exciting LOL
