Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, otherwise known as Methuen, Massachusetts, there was a family who lived a vagabond lifestyle. There was a mom, a dad, two little girls, and two pugs. The mom was a short woman with long charcoal colored hair. She had beautiful brown eyes, each one had the perfect amount of makeup on them to make them look larger. The father was a tall slim man with dark brown, thinning hair and a drinking problem. One of the little girls had round purple glasses and always had her chocolate brown hair up in a ponytail. She always wore faded blue jeans and cute t-shirts, one with the words “Best Big Sister” on it. She had big chocolate bror mom and was as shy as a turtle. The youngest in the bunch was two years old and she only had a short head of hair with some of it put up in the middle, which made her dark brown hair look like a palm tree. She always wore flower headbands and dresses and converse. Always converse. She wasn't afraid to talk to anyone. She had beautiful eyes that had brown around her pupil and color changing blue or green around the brown. That's me.

I thought my life was great and her family was as happy as they could ever be. But she soon found out everything wasnt as it seemed.

This family that seemed to be happy lived in a small house on Maple Street. The house had an outer layer of sky blue and it was a cozy, quiet place to live. The day would usually start at about 6 when the girl woke up everyone in the house welcoming a new day. The family was full of smiles during the day, but by night the dad wouldn’t get home until it was too late to say hello, he would storm into the house screaming and the mom and he would go downstairs and scream. She would sit at the cellar door and cry listening to the fighting. Me? I would be sleeping heavily, completely oblivious to the bad things happening around me.

One day, the dad didn't come home. The mom sat around looking sluggish, and I wondered where Daddy was. She seemed to be in her room all day like she was the energizer bunny that finally ran out of batteries. I started getting worried and I wanted to know why dad didn't come home.
“Mama? Wheres Daddy?” I asked quietly but loud enough for her mom to hear the pain in her voice.

Calmly the mom replied; “Daddy won’t be here for a long time, Sweetie. He needs a vacation.”

“When will he be back?”

“I’m not sure, dear..”

And that was the end of it. A conversation cut short in the depths of a new spiraling problem that wouldn’t get better.

Years passed, and I was about six now and my mom decided that we needed to get out of this house. So we sold the house and moved in with Nana. Nana was a sweet woman with orange hair and a little obsession with being clean, but all in all she was an amazing woman. Nanas house was big and it had 4 pillars in the front which made me think it was the white house. It had red shutters and double doors at the front of the house. It also had a large inground pool with a 3 foot shallow end and a 9 foot deep end. It was a dream to me. I got through kindergarten and seemed happy.

Fast forward to third grade. That year, I had panic attacks and dreams about my dad and I’d wake up crying and screaming that I wanted my dad back. In school, I’d get kicked out of class and my mom would get calls home about me crying and screaming. I was a basket case for awhile. My cheerfulness faded, and i was silent most of the time and always sad. My mom got worried and decided that I needed to go to therapy. The guidance counsellor at my school agreed with my moms decision.

So, after a month or so, I went on a long drive to Haverhill and pulled up to a large cream colored building. It reminded me of those large houses you’d see in one of those rich neighborhoods where all the houses looked the same. When we walked in, I was silently trying to figure out how long i had to be there for. I really didn't want to go, i felt as though something was wrong with me and i was trapped in a shell of despair and pain. When we walked into the large cream colored building, I was hit with a blast of warm air and classical music. There was an array of different orchestral instruments that played out Beethoven's 9th symphony. I sat uncomfortably in this room looking around and also playing with my hands. All of a sudden i saw a door open and a short, brown haired old woman walked out with a gigantic smile on her face. Her name was Grace.

“Oh, hello!" She said very cheerfully.

I sat, silent, i didn’t want to talk to her. My mind was set that I wouldn’t say a word.
“Please come in.” She said alittle less cheerful noticing that she couldn’t make me smile.


After that day, therapy became a weekly curse. I hated it. I got pills for sleeping and 3 different pills i had to take every morning. I did things to try not to take them, I’d lie, I’d say I already did, I’d throw them out. They weren't helping, so why bother? I was still sad. I never thought it would end.

As I kept getting older, things got better. By 5th grade, I was off 2 out of three of the pills and it seemed great. I went through middle school with ease. Now, highschool hit. I got stressed. Everything changed. The dreams came back, I struggled to smile, I wasn’t myself. I lost the girl I used to be and I really couldn't get her back.

One night after band rehearsals, I was in the car with my sister. I was stressed, depressed, and I didn’t want to talk. My sister kept looking over at me and asked calmly;
“What is wrong with you? Everything about you is different and you aren’t yourself and I’m tired of it.”

I responded with an array of screaming and crying and we both were yelling for awhile. I talked about how i didn’t know what was wrong with me and I failed to try to acknowledge that anything was. I ran into my house right past my mom when we got home and my sister stayed to talk to her.

My mom calmly walked into my room and sat at the foot of my bed. I could see the concern and pain in her eyes because she finally knew that something was wrong. We talked and I told her that I just don’t know why I’m so upset. I’m rude to everyone and I need to figure out why I don't feel like myself anymore. She just looked at me and said;
“Honey, we are going to help you.”

She left the room and I sat there in silence for a bit and ponderd…
I walked out into the living room and hugged my mom and asked softly,

“Mama? Am i bad again?”
She ran her fingers through my hair and said with the calmest voice like she was talking to a child
“No honey, you’re just confused.”


And just like that, everything changed. My life is an adventure with ups and downs. Turns for better, and turns for worse. Theres been help needed. Lots of it. But I’m learning to get over it. But still, the question remains. Who saves the hero, when he is unable to save himself?