The Good Life

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Why does everyone one assume I am a prissy little brat who cares about hair and makeup?
This is the question that always crosses my mind. No one sees who I really am. They see the blonde hair blue eyes perfect complexion straight A’s. All they see is the cheerleader… Everyone has thought this since 6th grade. That was before I moved away for 3 years and learned how dark the world really is.

When people think of there perfect mom they think of a role model. Someone they can tell anything to but wont get mad if you feel like you need to talk to someone else about it. Someone who trusts you enough to let you go out with your friends on Friday nights. I ended up with a woman who valued sex, vodka and meth more than her own children.

But it was not always like that. I mean there were good times. Like when she was sober. Had a job. Cared if I had a good day. We lived in an apartment that was joined with our next-door neighbors. She was my best friend. Her name was lanessa. She was 7I was 6. We would play operation every night before bed and we had matching pajamas. Back then my favorite food was chicken nuggets and I was asleep by 8:30 pm. My favorite shower was the babysitters club and my biggest concern was if I could have ice cream after dinner.

When we moved to the city the first tie things stared to change. My mom would be asleep when I woke up. I would have ramen every night for dinner while she was watching cops drinking what I thought at the time was water. One night I took her cup and took a drink because I was thirsty. It burnt as I swallowed it. After this night I remember everything went down. We moved in with her current boyfriend and he would hit me. Every single one.

My sixth grade year I was introduced to drugs. At first it was my friends trying to get me to do them. Then one day I came home and my mom was smoking meth with her boyfriend Scott. After that I had a skewed vision of right and wrong. Skipping school, self-injury, not eating seemed right. Coming home and studying seemed wrong.

As I fell into my mothers’ patterns my little sister pulled me out. She showed me what it was like to be happy and she showed me what its like to be happy with what I do.

When people see the prissy cheerleader they don’t see the past. The scars physical and emotional. They see the blonde hair blue eyes and perfect complexion.





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