The Crayon Box--short new post.

[Green_crayon42]

Thu. Oct. 25, 20012-->7:22pm

Hi everyone. I just joined up today. I have my Gaia journal that I keep up with. But here's the thing. I say I love to write. But I never do. in my life.
What to write? -scratches head- That's where I get stuck. So ya know what? Even though this is no writing guild, but I'm gonna try my "talent" out. See if I've still got it, or never had it anyway.
Critiques and discussions welcome and encouraged! Also, any questions and comments and just chats are welcome.
Here's the thing.
My goal is to write my autobiography in the next 15 or so years. My life was unusual to say the least. My dad, who I call bruce(with no capital, notice) was a jerk and a pig. He ...doesn't listen to what he doesn't want to.
If I write a book, that will be power enough to make him notice who he is and knock him on his a** basically. Enough to make people not speak to me, as well. Or see what life was REALLY like. whatever they choose to see it as.
As of now, I live with my mother in Illinois. We are changing the guardianship of me from bruce to her. Court is October 29.
bruce is 59-ish?? Um ...well, I want to write this story while he still has his wits about him. So he can possibly understand.
If this story is in print, and people everywhere are buying and reading it, he'll have no choice but to accept it.
For me though, the whole thing is like super emotional and dramatic. My life could be on Hallmark.
It just.....I NEED to get this thing started. I have writing skills, just no organizing ones... cry

What to start with is the question...How would you go about this??  

[Isis Sister Of Osiris]

Well, you have to start somewhere... so, as the King of Hearts said to the White Rabbit, "Begin at the beginning, go on until the end, then stop."  

[Green_crayon42]

Gigi Deveraux

Well, you have to start somewhere... so, as the King of Hearts said to the White Rabbit, "Begin at the beginning, go on until the end, then stop."

Love the saying. That's so cute.
But....I'm not sure where my beginning is..  

[Green_crayon42]

Ya know what??
I'm just gonna post all of my little blippy things that I've typed out. and see where that takes us.

You can read them if you want. Most of them are the same thing. And I clearly have a problem with run on sentences.
If I didn't want to share, I wouldn't put them up. Read away. Ask anything you want. pirate

I had a lot of anger, and writing is how I got a lot of it out. I still have anger, but now I have mood stabilizer pills.
Questions, comments, suggestions....I'm open to all of 'em. 3nodding  

[Green_crayon42]

Bio start 1

Maybe I am an idiot.
What do I mean?
That I have accomplished nothing more then a high school diploma and “some college”. Not for educational purposes, mind you. This college was just to get me out of the house once a day at least, and as long as possible. I’m 24 and before I reached black belt in karate, after 6 years of training, after almost getting what I desperately wanted, I walked out because I had to run away from my father.
I didn’t meet a guy or anything, though I wish I could have, the only thing keeping me there was karate and Ginny. And of course the city itself.
I could’ve stayed and got the damn belt. I could have dealt with dad. But I could feel it. I was breaking and this time I couldn’t hold it back.
I’m not putting up with any more of his bullshit. I’ve had enough and I’m done. 24 years of being looked at like I’d never amount to s**t. 24 years of knowing what everybody thinks of me and why. 24 years of knowing the kind of s**t no one knows about is going on in front of my face. 24 years of seeing my family fall apart bit by bit and become nothing more then parroting furniture. Watching my sisters loose who they are and what they want in life, their self respect. And after that voluntarily throwing away what makes them my beautiful, unique and creative sisters that I adored. It was too much to bear. 24 years of being the only one who saw my father for what he really was. And being the black sheep. Apparently, to my sisters I was also ‘the boy who cried wolf’. Did they not see that I was the only one who refused to take the crap, that I stood my ground and screamed right back with equal if not more force? That it was me who defended them? It was me who didn’t back down. It was me who continually tried to stop the underhanded horrific murder of spirits. But I only succeeded in saving myself. It was all me. I tried to protect them. I tried to tell them, show them. It was my heart they broke. It was my throat that burned with unshed tears for the predicament they had chosen. It was my stomach that was filled with fire. It was me. On my back rested the world and every burden in it. It was my feet that took labors and pains of the heart to make seem light as I went away.
Sometimes I convince myself that I am the only one who got any emotional sense at all.

Hi. You don’t know me and probably never will. My name is Sarah Jane Councell and I am 24 years of age as of 1:18am, Friday, March 4th 2011. This is my story as I saw it. If you’re not into emotional stories, or drama of any kind, I’d advise you put this book down now. However, I assure you it is quite a thrilling tale. One worthy of imaginary creatures perhaps. No romance, sadly. Duels to the death and daring escapes though, if that entices you.

Now that my mother has hounded me for years to write this story, I have no idea what to say. Guess the beginning would work. Cue Sound of Music.

I was the third daughter of four. My sisters are named Gail Marie, Christina Susen(Tina) and Judith Anne(Judy). Judy is three years younger then me, Tina is two years older and Gail is four years older then me. I was born on November 14, 1986. On August 22, 1988, I drown and died. The end of Sarah. Sometimes I wish that was the end of me. Five more minutes would have done it. Two, even.
But I fought and was cared for very well, clearly, and I just had something in me that didn’t let me die. Don’t call it a miracle. It wasn’t. It was the doctors, nurses and me.
Something about me didn’t want to go. It’s the same thing that’s telling me to get my story out there; that this is a story people need to hear from the direct source. There’s no name for it, it’s just there. I owe whatever that thing is my life. That thing has brought me through hells gates and back again. I’m very thankful and grateful to it. I love it, and it’s very precious to me. I would die for it.
But I didn’t. In hindsight, from that moment on my father should have known I was capable of bringing down his house of cards. Bringing him up to the gallows he built solely for me. Kicking his a** into the ground of the underworld so to speak.
I saved my own life and soul. God had nothing to do with it. All because I wasn’t done yet.
Now, this story is about me. Not for pity mind you, but for you to just…know.
My family would say they revolved around me and my sporadic and short-lived wants, whatever they may be. And my special needs.
Not true.
It revolved around dad. Period. Everything was about Bruce. Making him happy, not making him unhappy, pleasing him, not displeasing him. The cycle goes on and on. He ruled with absolute power and absolute fear. He just thought that was the way to go.
The reason my father kept the seat of power was money. Cash. He was an OB/GYN. And very skilled at his work. He brought the family and one friend to the Bahamas once a year when we were children. They skipped me. It never was my turn to choose a friend to go. And when I mentioned it, dad said that I would have chosen the friend who went anyway. Witch was kindof true. So it didn’t matter. I let it go. However, every time I was looked over for that opportunity, I was sore. But never complained.
I never really had friends. I kept thinking I never had the friend-making gene. I guess I just didn’t know how to talk to people other then to find a deep conversation that brought forth tears from all participants.
In third grade I forbade myself to have friends because I never wanted anyone to see how dad was alone with us. I always knew the family was wrong. I had remarkable insight to see that it was dad who was doing it. There was something wrong with everyone in that house. The house itself was wrong. And dad was the center of it.
Mom went out of rooms when dad came into them. I never saw them together save for when I slept with them and at the table. We had to kneel to say the prayer. The mat dug into my knees. I hated that. Dad would cut my meat for me, eat his meal very quickly and fall asleep with his head against the tall backing of the chair. Sometimes with an occasional “Listen to your mother.” or “Eat your vegetables.” but those were the only words I recall him saying at meals that were about anyone but himself. The times he didn’t fall asleep, he was talking about his work or his boat. Very rarely were we asked to recount our exciting school days, but even then, he never listened to our overlong narratives. He started the Clean Plate Club...witch there were no prizes for, amazingly enough. When we went out, the rule was if we had a soft drink, no dessert. Even on birthdays and special occasions there was no bending the rule. Witch was a good rule I suppose, but you have to live a little bit.
Back in the days when we all went to church regularly(and quite forcibly), we all had to find a way to deal. Mom enjoyed the singing. Gail just sat, I suppose. I was never too interested in what she did. Tina, the busy bee, had to have her hands constantly moving, so she made fortune teller after fortune teller out of the programs and played it with all of us except dad who was the only one paying any attention to or caring about the service. Me, being the beauty lover that I am, admired the beauty of the church, the people in it(who noticeably were all white, witch made me wonder), the lovely singing of everyone, then when I got tired of that, I copied Tina and Judy by making fortune tellers. Judy always liked to sit by Tina, who was easily the most creative of the four girls, and just possibly build on Tina’s creativity. We all passed notes and drew on programs…we’d get shushed if we got the giggles. It was mostly Tina, Judy and I passing notes. Dad would even add his comment or picture if we had something we just had to share with him. I remember I watched him draw a piano once for Judy and it was very good. Dad would always pinch me if I didn’t stand when the congregation did, witch was often. I began to sit as far away from him as I could. I also had a little trick I played each time. I would excuse myself to go to the bathroom and when I got out of the door, I would just go and explore the church.; all the while concerned that I was gone too long. I had to perfect the art of squirming and dancing to make sure they thought it was a real bathroom trip. Sometimes I did it two or three times in one service, and I made sure to sit at an end that was closest to whatever way out, even if was next to Mr. Crabclaw, and when it was, I made there be a little space between us, so he couldn’t pinch me. I was very detail oriented. It was only when I couldn’t take the dull sermon and boredom that I used my bit of trickery, witch was not very far into the service. Everyone could probably tell what I was doing in the first few weeks of it. Of course, not dad; he was oblivious to everything but the service.
Finally, after the service was over, we all went out to eat. Each time dad let one of us or mom choose witch restaurant we would eat at. When it was my turn, I realized I was indecisive so I went in alphabetical order if I was in questioning of what food I wanted. Witch didn’t really help, because apparently I chose Red Lobster a lot.
Bruce had money. He was basically loaded. He used it to take trips to the Bahamas two or three times a year. I would just wish he was a drunk and beat me with a broken bottle until I was in critical condition every other week. At least then the people I told would believe me and jump on it. No one believes anything without visual proof.
Which is why my story is hard to tell.

Bruce thought he owned us. He thought he was king and we were nothing but dogshit on his shoes. He stepped all over us because he had money and we didn’t. He also has psychological problems he won’t admit to. And is in the closet.
No one owns me.
He’s a bible thumper and thinks he’s god. Excuse me, but doesn’t that kindof contradict the whole Christian religion? “there shall be no gods before me” and that s**t? Isn’t that a rule? In the damn Bible? And yet you think you are god and you own all. No. Maybe material items, sure, but not people. Especially not me. I belong to no one except those of my choosing.  

[Green_crayon42]

Bio start 2

My sisters would say the family life revolved around me; my temper tantrums and many wants.
I’m here to say that is wrong. I do have a temper, yes, and several wants. I am special needs. But they are wrong about lots of things. My family and I never agreed on much, if anything.
I’m going to tell you that everyone’s life revolved around my father, Bruce. For the sake of this writing program, I will capitalize his name. Normally, I refuse to do so.
My mother is the only one who agrees with me on several things.
I cannot tolerate Bruce and am around him as little as possible. My sisters and I ….we have good times, but when Bruce comes up anywhere in the conversation, a spark flies. That’s mostly why we don’t get along. We could, if we were of the same opinion. But I’m the black sheep.
The only reason I know I am a democrat, is that Bruce is a republican and we disagree on so many things. We can’t get along. Partly that’s because he’s a narcissist, and he blocks out my drowning, and pretends I’m not there because he doesn’t want to face me. I’m special needs. He doesn’t like that. He blocks out the memory of my drowning and just sits thee with a dull look in his eyes.
The guilt should be there. He never talks about it. He blocks it out, like it never happened and I’m not there.
Everything revolves around him. Judy even refused graphic design just because he said no.

I am Sarah Councell, and as of this moment I am 25 years of age. I am special needs. And I need to tell my side of the story.

When I was 21 or 22 months I walked off the dock into Lake Michigan and drown. There are more details to that, but for now, that’ll be it. No one knows how long I was under, but I was deprived of oxygen and as a result I will have brain damage for the rest of my life. This is not a sensitive topic for me in the least. What kind of damage? It’s not in one specific area, it’s all over the brain. Some parts work at 100%, some at 300%, some at 50% and some are completely dead. This does not make me retarded. I am by no means an idiot. Some parts of the brain can be improved, some cannot.
What makes me different from the average person are just tiny specifics that no one even pays attention to. I look just as you would expect a woman of 25 to look. I can operate in society well enough to get on. If there’s a problem, I ask for help, and if confusion follows I tell my story. It’s not a big deal to me. I’m not sensitive about it in the least. I have no problems with telling my story.
What I am is lucky.
I could’ve died. Or been a hundred times worse off then I am.
Call it a miracle if you want, but I’m not one to believe in that. To me, it was the doctors and nurses doing the right things at the right time. That’s who I give credit to.
Seriously, my life should be a reality show.
It’s complex and has a web of deceit, and drama and….everything. It’s perfect for TV. Sometimes I would even look around for hidden cameras and microphones. At any time I would expect someone off set to scream “CUT!”.
As many times as I wished for it to be over, there were no credits. Many times I get paranoid, and although I know it’s illegal, I’m not comfortable until I check all the corners of a dressing room or bathroom.
I expect men to scream at me and call me names.
When I’m used by a man, it doesn’t surprise me in the least. When I’m not, I wonder what his intentions are.
I wonder what’s wrong with them if a man doesn’t scream constantly.
That’s what abuse does to a person.
I know I should expect the best, but…I just...can’t do that. It never was in me. I want good treatment, and I’m trying to raise my standards to not include being used or raped. I’m trying to improve my safety skills.
The abuse says one thing, and reason says another. Emotions are all mixed up and crazy. They go from one side to the other. Intuition is one thing that I have, that others don’t. But sometimes it goes on vacation and I slip. “Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200.”
When I’m safe, I get suspicious. When I should be suspicious…I’m not.
That’s how I was raised. Safety means I’m going to be used for something. It’s very hard to retrain myself.
I don’t know how to live or feel about stuff. I know how to deal. That’s about it.
Nothing anyone does surprises me. I’ve been used for all my life and nothing worse can happen. I’ve been betrayed and lied to and I’ve even lied to myself. I’ve been left out to dry. I’ve been forgotten. I’m used to it. It’s happened before. I’ve been the center of an argument.
I’m a needy person.
I’ve been through hell. And I’ve come back. I’m my own hero. I don’t know anybody but my mother and Ginny who are half as strong as me.
I have a humor that nobody finds funny but me.
No one stays friends with me for long. I’m pretty much alone.
I have chronic depression. It’s not fun. I’m in it right now.
My dad doesn’t know what love is. The only emotion that comes out of him is anger. And I know why.
He commands respect. He gives orders. He pays more attention to his nephews then his daughters. Three of which need more then just financial help. He buys everyone off. He has no heart.
If anyone tells him what he doesn’t want to hear, there’s no telling what he could do. He’s nothing more then a child.
He’s like a rock in your shoe. One minute you’re fine, the next, you’re in pain that only you know.
I never knew when a storm would hit. It’s nice to know beforehand.
Once he’s out buying you pizza after seeing a movie, then in the car he’s raging about how rocks don’t float. It’s called imagination.

He wanted me to live life lying to myself. He wanted me cooped up in a tiny little apartment behind his house, so only he and his minions would transport me.
Of course, I was nothing to him, so why would he care for me? He needs me. He would die before admitting to it. I am quite literally nothing and everything to him. Moreso now then I once was.

Ok. How to explain? Um…well, let’s start with Bruce. His birthday is either the 12th or 22nd of September. His sister died when she was 18. His father molested him and all his brothers. His mother just put up with it. It was just plain wrong in those times to go against Christianity and/or speak out about family. I think it was considered disloyalty.
Bruce grew up mostly in the Bahamas, and has skin that tans very easily. He went to a boarding school called Stone and had to rush to get to meals on time, because the food disappeared very quickly.
He started balding at age 20 or so.
I don’t know how he appeared in Illinois, but he worked on my grandpa’s farm.
Mom says he was sweet and charming before marriage. I guess that’s why I’m suspicious.
Mom paid for his med school. They had four beautiful, amazing daughters. The third walked off a dock into a lake and made everyone panic. Meanwhile, Bruce was on his jet ski showing off for the boys. I was his responsibility. He didn’t even take time to put a life jacket on me. Even though he made the rule that if any of the children where near the water they should have a life jacket. I mean, I would think that would be obvious anyway, but he had to make a rule. He didn’t do it, and now he thinks that if he ignores it, the entire problem will just vanish. Well, I’m still here.

When I came back to life, he should have known right then, that I was capable of bringing down his house of cards. I could turn the tables. I was going to be a strong a** woman and nothing would stop me from doing anything I wanted. He should’ve seen that.  

[Green_crayon42]

bla

I don’t think you get it. I’m 23 and treated like a ******** 8 year old. I can’t stand it. It’s ridiculous. I know I have issues but that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything. I know I can be independent.
I’m controlled. Everything I do or say is controlled or edited to their liking. I want to be my own person, who I truly am.
I can be on my own. I know it. I’m not the cleanest or healthiest or most active or whatever other kind of person, I’m just me. I want to be me. Allowed to act and talk as I want. I want to have friends that I like. I don’t care if they’re black or freaking orange. I don’t care if they’re Christian or not. I don’t give a ******** who or what the person is, I just care that they’re my friend and there for me when I need them.

And plus I am a woman. I’m allowed to be attracted to guys. I’m sorry if you don’t like the people I do, but I don’t care. I don’t need anyone’s approval. You don’t like the person, all you have to do is go away. It’s not hard.
I’m 23 and I can’t have friends. I can’t be on the internet past 11 PM, and everyone knows I’m a night person. Deal with it. I’m too afraid of what dad will say or do if I make a guy friend. Let alone a black non-Christian. I’m over the legal age and I’m still not allowed to go have a drink. I’m not allowed to have sex either. God, do you know how hard that is? My day is over at like 8:00. It’s ridiculous.
I like doing things, I like meeting people, especially guys. I like acting my age. I like pizza. I’m a night person. I DON’T LIKE BEING RESTRICTED FROM EVERYTHING THAT LETS ME ACT MY AGE. I never will be a child again. Deal with it!

Yes, I have brain damage, and that just means I need to be more watchful of myself. It doesn’t mean I’m retarded.
Why do I need everybody else’s approval to do anything? See a movie…sign up for a class…listen to music…buy something…? I’m 23 years old and the only reason I’m treated like this is because of the ******** brain damage. It’s not even that bad.
I could be a lot worse.
I’m so lucky that I got off the way I did. I could be dead. And I kinda wish I was. I could be a vegetable. I could …not walk. I could be completely stupid. I could actually be mentally retarded and belong to the category you all seem to put me in without even looking at me. I could be disfigured. I could not be half …even a fourth as intelligent as I am.
I wish I was retarded. Cause then I wouldn’t realize what’s happening and …let you all do what you wanted with no complaint.
I hate everyone that’s doing this to me. I know I am able to be on my own. I’m very capable, and if you guys could just take off all the damn restrictions, and let me act as I please, I would like you better and be a lot more respectful of you. I think you know that somewhere in your hearts. You’re just afraid of losing control, because if I make a mistake in life, I could be in big trouble. I’m ready to take on life. I’m so ready. I know there are things I need to stay away from and people. I know all this stuff. I’m ready.
I’m lucky I don’t need to go to the hospital twice a month for treatments!! I’m lucky I don’t need surgery like every three years.
Do any of you realize this? Does anybody actually look at me and see me? At all??
I am perfectly capable of having a job and doing the things I want. I know what the damage entails! I know I need to watch myself…but being human I am going to make mistakes. And being in my 20’s, I’m just not going to give a ******** treatment you all are putting me through is wrong and I think if I could explain it correctly it would be considered abuse and neglect by law.
Do you know what I like or enjoy? Do you know what I hate? Do you know what I want to achieve in life? Do you know anything? Yes, I like the color purple. Yes, I like mythology. Do you know why? I have a reason behind almost every single one of my likes and dislikes. And opinions. But …that doesn’t matter. No one listens when I speak. And when I am firm about something, everyone just thinks I’m being bitchy. And that may be true depending on the situation or topic….but no one gives a ******** about Sarah’s opinions ‘cause she doesn’t know anything. I know a shitload more then you think I do. I know a shitload more then the average person too. Because I actually like thinking and studying and learning new things. Although the studying doesn’t happen too much now, but that depends on the subject matter. And being out of high school, I am allowed to choose witch subjects I wish to study and learn.
You guys don’t know why I’m always bitchy and rude. Think about what I go through every day. Think about how you treat me. Think about how I hate you and why. Use your brains. I’m sure it’s all in there somewhere.
Do you know why I sit on the computer every damn day? Do you know why I start yelling and crying at random? Do you know how the brain damage actually affects me? I don’t either. But I have to deal with it every damn hour of the ******** day, whereas you can just write it off as being disrespectful and ungrateful and leave without apologizing or helping in any way. If you don’t want to be around me, don’t. Easy solution.
I can’t drive and that’s a pain in the a**. I know I can always ask for rides, but 1-I don’t like asking for help unless I am ******** desperate. 2-I don’t like you. At all. I do not want to be with you. Do you know why? No. You don’t give a ********. And that’s reason number 3. 4- You don’t like, or even know in some instances, my personality or my likes and dislikes. Let me tell you something. I DON’T CARE. The only approval I need is my own and those I ask it of. If you don’t want to be with my friends and I, you can leave. You don’t want to watch a movie with me, you can leave. You don’t like what I choose to do, you can either leave or just not do it.
If I do not request your approval, DON’T SAY ANYTHING meaning you don’t approve or you do. I don’t give a s**t either way. As done many times before, I will do what I want no matter what you say. But I do tend to have a hard time living my own life with you guys circling like vultures and setting down blocks and restrictions everywhere and taking advantage of the fact that I can’t drive.
You lock me up in a chicken coop and expect me to lay golden eggs that come from nowhere? No. It doesn’t happen like that.
Do you know why I chose to stay in Asheville? Have any idea….any at all. Please humor me with your thoughts.
You say I’m a genius. Okay. Great. Why am I not allowed to do s**t then? Why, if I’m so freaking intelligent, do I need legal guardians such as yourselves? Why do I not live on a bus route or near some public transportation as I’ve requested many a time? Why is everything kept at such a far and unreachable distance if you believe I am a genius? Why am I not allowed to gain knowledge that I seek? Why am I not allowed to experience life, O Wise One? Why am I not allowed to participate in certain activities? Why do you refuse me passage into adulthood? Why am I not allowed to seek company I shall be happy with? Why do you refuse me material items I would posses? Am I not entitled to have an opinion and speak my mind just as you are?
I am not allowed to shop for myself…either for clothes or food.

You push me into scenarios, without heeding my warnings, witch are many and firm I should say, that I do not like. There are reasons I don’t like certain scenarios. But you expect me to be happy, witch is bullshit. I warned you, you did not listen…then I go into the scenario, whatever it may be, knowing exactly how it will turn out. And you expect me to….just…deal with it. Witch I do. But having brain damage is not an advantage in these types of things. It should be remembered. And carefully planned with. You expect me to come out of this experience happy and thankful and more respectful. After being warned many a time for a very long time that it would be as it was.
Hmm…if my warnings were taken into account, things would be better for everyone.

For example: Dad is taking two of my sisters and I to the Bahamas in a tiny little house boat that is made for only one person for six days.
I do not like or approve of my father’s plan for family time. I do not do well in small spaces. Of the two sisters who are going I only get along with one fairly decently and my …erm…approval of her is growing less and less by the day. I have been to The Bahamas before…and didn’t like it for many reasons. I do not like dad, nor do I get along with him.
Daddy dearest should know this, considering how long I have been his daughter. He refuses to acknowledge that I have issues with everything he is suggesting: the space, the people, the amount of people in that space, sailing(he likes to speed through the water and jump over wakes…it physically hurts me.), the location, the insect inhabitants of said location, the amount and the insects themselves, the heat and also the result being in direct line of that heat. Being in the sun is what the beach is for. If you don’t like it, don’t go. Witch is what I choose to do. Nor do I like the host of this little outing.

I would rather die then go on this so-called “vacation“. This would be a torture chamber for me. I now hate boats. And beaches. I think he should know why.
I have asked him to cancel my ticket, but he flatly refused. And did not look up to see that I was crying and shaking in fearful anticipation.
This is a death sentence.

I have made up a quote to describe him. “He will take care of you until you starve.” And you will too. He keeps food much longer then what is suggested by the expiration date. He only buys food that he likes that, in my opinion, is very gross and tasteless. Or spicy. He like spicy things. I do not. He knows this and yet does not seem to remember that little fact when shopping or cooking. He grills lamb every night. It’s good, but quite irritating to not have any other meal. He likes salad. I do not. I’ll eat a bit, but I’m just not a fan. And yet he piles it on my plate saying “it’s good for your colon.” Of witch I have no doubt. But …still, I do not like salad.

I know my limits very well. And so should everyone who knows me. I tell all my friends upon the first meeting that I have issues.
This “vacation” is surpassing all of my limits and will not be realized by anyone but myself. I can’t go on this vacation. It is a death sentence.

It’s very hurtful that I am being forced to go and have no say in the matter whatsoever.

I have starved myself just because there is nothing I like to eat in the kitchen. I have also gotten fat off of one thing he buys that I do like. My eating habits are now in better control then that, but the past is not forgotten.
Sometimes school lunches would be the only meals I ate during the days.

I live in fear of my father. And I dislike the sister who is my legal guardian. This should be specified as abuse and neglect by law. It has been said that I do not live. I survive. As I see it, that’s exactly what I do, nothing more.

Don’t think I don’t know anything. I’m a very insightful child. I pick up on a lot. And I know myself very well thank you. I’m intelligent too. Surprising, no?  

[Green_crayon42]

bla 2

I hate my life. It’s like nobody gives a damn. They kick me around like a dog and yet they all expect me to be grateful. Yea, sure. I live in a super nice apartment and get pretty much whatever I ask for because I have a rich father. But that’s just money and therefore they’re only material things.
It’s just money! If he wasn’t rich and abusing us with money, what else would it be?

Why am I not allowed to have my own life? And live how I like? Then they’d all be rid of me and I wouldn’t be the cause of so many fights and squabbles. They’d have a nice life…not having to drive me around, not having me starting arguments, I wouldn’t be complaining to them all the time. They wouldn’t have to listen to me trying to stand up for myself and what I want.
Why can’t they just let me go? Everybody would be happier if I was gone. Everyone’s life would be easier.

No one sees it my way. I’m always forgotten. I never get asked for my opinion on anything. Though I give it. If I was gone, everything would be so much easier for everyone.  

[Green_crayon42]

bla 3

You say write? Fine.
I know I’m good, but where will this go if anywhere at all? No one reads it but you as of yet. I can’t write imaginary stuff that’s never happened. I can’t write history if it’s not in my personal memory. Do you know how tough it is to get published even if you do have connections? Do you have any idea how hard and long it takes to write anything of interest to the general American public? I can’t write about stuff I don’t know. I can only write what I feel, and nowadays it’s anger, anger, bitterness, hatred and anger. Crap that nobody gives a damn about. Because I say the same things over and over again. It looses interest in like two sentences. The publishing market is cut throat. You’ve got to be amazing. Phenomenal even to be published and even bought by one person. No one can make money like that except for children book writers and romance novelists. And people like J.K. Rowling, who’s books have become like a national staple.
No one will be interested in a 20 year olds life story. Not even mine, interesting and unusual as it is. No one wants to hear someone else say “my life is worse then yours”, especially when they’re not even over 30.
No one will care about me or my life. No one wants to read about real life. Everyone wants to live in their castles in the sky. If I can’t write like that, how am I supposed to get anywhere with this oh-so-lovely talent of mine? No one will care about my castle in the sky unless they know me personally and very well too.

Right now, all I want is independence. And I’m ready to strangle someone. I’ve been out of high school for 5 years. Great. Then I moved in with mom. I was fine for the first two years. Then I got raped and she sent me back. I was fine here too, for a while. I took a few courses at the local college. I volunteered at the nature center. I got someone to help me find a job, but she didn’t do her job…witch made me mad and fire her. I volunteered again. I took another class.
I liked having things to do that got me away from my psycho family. Err…dad really. When dad asked for guardianship of me right after my 21st birthday, I didn’t care. I was fine as long as I got away from them all I wanted.
When we went to other houses for dinner…I decided “I’m just going for the food because it‘s ready, it‘s good, and I‘m hungry.”, when we went down to South Carolina to see my stepmother I decided “She’s not my mom, but she’s a good person and she has a dog.”
I rationalized everything! I still do.
In that time, I decided what to major in and how I wanted to make money. I took the most advanced Sign Language class in the school. I received a sewing machine on my 23rd birthday.
I’m ready to go. I’ve got what knowledge I need to proceed in the fields that I would like. There is still a lot I don’t know, but who says I have to stay here to get it?
I can volunteer at other places. There are plenty of jobs and schools out there. Plus people always need clothes mended.
Yes, I am self-centered currently. That’s because I haven’t let myself be self-centered for the past 23 years. I’m done with holding my self-importance back. I want to be paid attention to. I want things to happen that are beneficiary to me.
I’ve got the knowledge I wanted. I’ve got all the knowledge that this particular city has to offer in my interests. I can learn more elsewhere.
I want a planner with three or more things to do on every day. I enjoy being busy. I want a reason to get out of bed at 9 AM. I want to pay for myself and choose the food that I will eat. I want to make my own friends no matter what race, gender or religion they are.
I don’t want people on my back because I spend hours on end on the computer.
I may not know exactly everything that I want, but I have no problem telling people what I don’t want. Although sometimes…they have trouble understanding it.
I want to throw things at people. I want to break everything in this house. I kicked a hole in a wall a few days ago and it felt good. But I had to get it fixed. Didn’t want to. If I do not, however, people I hate will begin to yell without even asking me a thing, I will get angry again, and ….things will happen that I do not have any desire for.
I know everything that will happen here. I know what everyone will say to everything I ask. That’s not really a bad thing, but I’m sick of hearing “No.”, “Tomorrow.” or “I’m busy.” all the time. I’m sick of knowing what the answers will be. I’m sick of watching the same movies every night because I only have eight.
I love the mountains and the trees…but I can’t stand the bullshit I have to put up with. No one my age should be living like this.

I used to love my family…  

[Green_crayon42]

bla 4

Gaaah! My head hurts. It is now 3:02 AM, witch isn’t surprising for me.
This whole deal is driving me insane. Literally. No one will understand. The people who can help won’t. I’ve been yelling at the ceiling for the past hour and a half, witch also isn’t surprising, because I’m ******** pissed and do it every night.
I’ve set a goal. Won’t do much, but if I stick with it, it could help me out a bunch. I’m not gonna say it because if I do, everyone will be on my back about it 24/7 saying “you said…”.
Mom said she’s actually got something planned for all this writing she’s begged me to do. Do what mom? Save it in archives and not do anything with? Knowing you, you’ll wait 10 years to do what you’re “planning” and then I will be in my 30’s and a real loser.
I can’t talk to anybody about what I think about anything.
I’m going crazy about this. I mean “in less then 10 years I will be in an insane asylum” scary crazy. And no one gets it. I can’t even talk about it.
I want this legal guardianship OFF!! NOW! Not in a month or two. NOW! I’m sick of dealing with all this restriction crap and knowing I can’t say s**t about anything that’s done to me. I’m 23. I’m over the legal age of consent AND over the legal drinking age. I am allowed to do pretty much anything I want by law. Well, except if it’s against the law, and if life keeps going like it is for much longer, I have no doubt I will do something I’m really not supposed to do. I know what the law says. I know my ******** limits. I know I have more limits then everyone else. I know I have problems. As long as I know all this, I should be competent, right? I know I need to eat and sleep. I have trouble with that, but I’m working on it! I do it when I want to, not when it’s ******** ordered. I’m not a chicken you can keep cooped up and expect eggs, in any form, from every other day. I’m not a dog who comes to your every call and does every command you give. I am not a robot on witch you can just press buttons to get what you want.
I talk to myself as if there’s another person there and rock myself in the fetal position already. I’d say if things don’t change, I’m very well on my way to an asylum. Witch I will not be happy with. And witch will unquestionably be your fault.
I can’t even get a job to prove I’m competent. How lame is that? Because I live in the middle of ******** nowhere and can’t walk anywhere except a freaking high school that I’m too old for.
Nor can I open a bank account because no one has ever taught Sarah about money and taxes and banks or interest rates. And I’m a freaking minor!!(supposedly) I have to go through somebody else to have any amount of money.
Dad put me in a TBI class a year ago. This is why the bus stopped taking appointments from me. Because I skipped the damn class. Do you know why? I don’t ******** need it! There’s no point. You try taking a TBI class someday for about 2 years. See if you’re not tempted to skip.

But even if the guardianship does come off, I’d still need to ask for rides and s**t. So there’s really nothing to be gained from my goal, unless I move somewhere on a freaking bus route! Witch I am working on. I’m thinking of California, Florida, or Maine. Why? I have no idea. They’re just thoughts for now. Who knows if I’ll ever be able to move on it anyway? With the way things are going, I won’t be out of the deal until dad’s dead, even if I do count on mom’s memory of her promise to help.

I can go to court myself and explain. But wait, wouldn’t I need a ride from somebody who thinks dad is the greatest person ever and will not listen to me saying I need to go to court about him? Yea….I’m pretty much ******** unless mom does something! Soon too. Like I said I’m going scary crazy about this. I need something DONE!

Do any of you have any idea how maddening this is? I’m even scaring myself with my craziness. And I’m not joking this time. This is not a good thing. I’m crying and screaming almost constantly. I do not allow myself to be with any of my immediate family if I am in any kind of a bad mood. And that’s freaking tough. My family is around me all the freaking time. They never leave me alone. It’s part of the insanity.
This is why I want to leave.
Extended family is barely even tolerable nowadays. I can’t stand them pushing Christianity all over me or talking about dad.
I know very well what I’m risking, what my issues are and what I am ******** doing.
I’m boiling over and will not stop complaining or insulting harshly until this is over.  

[Green_crayon42]

bla 5

I don’t understand. Do I mean anything to this family? If so, they’re doing a very bad job of showing it. If not, then why can’t they be excited or stand up for me ever? I really don’t think anyone cares. And if that’s true, why don’t they just let me go? Why the hell do they still maintain this vise-like grip on me if they don’t give a s**t?

For instance, I applied for a job yesterday and it looks very likely that I will be hired. I applied at Subway right up the road. I can walk to it, granted I have to cross a busy highway, but…still it’s a good thing. The road isn’t always busy anyway.

Dad took Judy and I out to dinner tonight. I already told Judy I applied, but didn’t get a good reaction out of her anyway.
We were waiting for the check. Dad started to ask Judy about how her time in California was, because she had just returned the night before from a week long trip.
I don’t know what I expected. I knew it wasn’t a huge deal, but, to me, it kindof is. This is my first job and I’ll be able to walk to it. I won’t have to bother people to get me there and back, I’ll make money and I’ll make friends(hopefully--but that’s sortof against my rules anyway).

Nonchalantly, I said, “I applied for a job yesterday.” They went on talking like they didn’t even hear me. I said it again. “I applied for a job yesterday.”
Dad turned his head in my direction with these half-closed eyes and said, “That’s great.” in a voice witch meant the complete opposite. Then he turned back to Judy. She kept on talking.

I didn’t expect a huge celebration, but he could’ve at least looked at me more brightly, like he actually cared that I applied for a job or even asked where and what I would be doing. He could have said, “I’ll cross my fingers.” or something of that nature. But no. All I got was a dull voice saying, “that’s great” and then he turned away.
I know this is how he works, but it’s still painful. It’s just like he hit me in the stomach.
I don’t get it. Does anyone actually care for me and my happiness? Or believe in my capability to be independent? I certainly do, but that isn’t enough to prove anything. When you have brain damage believing in yourself can only get you so far.
Nobody gives a flying rat’s a** for me. Not even my own mother or psychiatrist. Or even the court system of Buncombe County. And the court is the one I have to convince. They’re the only ones who can drop the guardianship.
Witch is the main reason I decided to get this job. And for me as well.

The only people who seem to give a ******** about me are online. I’m not even allowed to have real friends.

If I can hold this job for more then a few months, the courts will see I’m able to have a job at least and hold onto it. Next comes the whole paying for myself part witch scares me greatly, but I know I can do it. But aren’t my bills already taken care of? Oh. So I’ll have to wait more to actually prove myself in that way. God damnit. I’m sick of waiting. I never should have agreed to this guardianship. This is hell. I want something to happen. Now! Not in 2 or 3 years, but right now. For god’s sake, what is everybody waiting for?

I should’ve spoken for myself in the courtroom. But I couldn’t. Even if I tried, I wouldn’t have been able to.
I’m good at writing but that doesn’t mean I’m good at talking.  

[Green_crayon42]

bla 7
(I deleted 6)

My Journey to the John

On the night of December 30th 2008 I had quite an interesting and desperate trip to find a bathroom.
At 5:15 on Tuesday nights, my mother has choir practice. This particular night, I was not in a good humor. I sat in the lobby crying and just feeling miserable. I decided to go take a walk. I just pushed open the door and walked out. When I had crossed the courtyard, I heard the sweet sound that was my mother’s voice calling out. “Sarah!” I turned my head and pushed away all the tired out sympathies that were surely on their way, “I’ll be back in an hour.”, wiped my tears and walked on. I looked over to the Cypress Inn across the street, debating whether to use the bathroom or not. I refused and went on my merry way. Now, as we all know, when we are angry…we think about nothing but what angers us. Therefore I paid no attention to anything until I started passing art galleries. I liked one in particular and stood out there for a little while. I started to feel the need for a bathroom coming on. I looked at the signs hanging above the doors and resolved to come back when they were open.
After passing a few more galleries, I decided my first priority was to find a bathroom.
I asked an elderly woman where the nearest restroom was. She looked surprised that a random kid would ask a thing like that, but very sweetly answered. She said there was a bar a little ways down the street called ‘Sadies’, the owner might let me use the bathroom. She said it was a “hole in the wall”.
When I found it, I went in and very politely asked the bartender where the restroom was witch turned out to be a mistake; he refused to let me use the thing. A man sitting at the bar with a cigar in his mouth said, “Just let her use the bathroom!” in an exhausted way. “It’s right over there.” Before I had taken three steps toward the door, the bartender got up looking very alarmed and said to the man, “This ain’t your ********’ establishment. The restroom is for paying customers only. Besides, there’s someone in there.” I doubted it. He looked at me with something like fire in his eyes, “Get out.” His voice dared me to do the opposite. I made an ‘I don’t know’ gesture to the guy that helped me and walked out, damning all bad-smelling, smoke-filled bars and bitter old men. All the same, I wished I had 75 cents.
I considered pulling down my pants and peeing right on the sidewalk, snickered at my imaginary self doing it and all the mothers covering their children’s eyes.

With each step now, my need was becoming more desperate. I walked in a tea shop and pretending to be looking at the cups and pots while I was really looking for a bathroom sign. A sign on the wall said MORE UPSTAIRS, I went, hoping I could find what I wanted. It turned out to be just a small balcony area with more little teacups and sugar spoons. “Grandpa would like this.” I remarked cynically to myself as I walked out the door. I went into a candy shop next door that was crowded with happy, laughing people. I was lucky that two men were right behind me. “Look at all the candy.” Said one. “Look at all the people.” Said the other. They laughed. After a quick look around, I turned around, lifted my hands in an exhausted manner and sighed, “I just need a bathroom!” The men laughed cheerily and one of them said, “There’s one in the library; big white building just around the corner up there.” I thanked him and took off at a run.

I had passed it before when the need wasn’t so pressing. I chastised myself for not going in earlier. I went up some stairs to a little side door; before I even reached for the knob, I realized this door was probably locked, and stupid me should’ve used the front doors! Why didn’t I use those? Luckily, I opened the door and was in a work station. I asked the first lady I saw, could I use the restroom? She said I should probably ask the woman at the main desk, as she didn’t work there. The main desk was right behind her. Lucky me. I repeated my inquiry to the lady there, she told me where it was and gave me a card key. Finally! I went down the stairs and came to a pink tiled ladies room.
When I came out, relived, I decided I still had some time in the hour that I gave myself to just look around. I started to walk aimlessly around. And then I realized I had to fart. Badly. I had to find a chair. I went into a random section, pulled out a book and sat on the floor. I realized I was in a music section. But I kept sitting there, looking but not paying any attention to the book. Finally, I was able to get up and walk around some more. I decided that if I was going to fart, I might as well get out of here. So I left.
I decided I better make my way back to the church. I had no idea where I was, so I tried to backtrack. When I got to a street called Lincoln, I recognized the strings of Christmas lights a bit ahead. I walked along and eventually found the church. I went in and mom said I had perfect timing. It was 7:30.  

[Green_crayon42]

bla 8

I don’t even know where to start. I hate not knowing when the next storm is going to hit. It’s like there’s a big void in my stomach because I can’t ever decide how I feel. Sometimes he’s nice and normal and a decent man and a loving father. But then…just when you start to get comfortable with him…he’s mean and evil again. I remember I described it once as a pebble in your shoe. One moment you’re in pain, and the next you’re just fine.
I’ve always found it ironic that the only one of his offspring who is not brainwashed is the one with actual damage to the brain. And because I was underwater for a long time too. That seems to make it more hilarious.

I just don’t understand. I’m so confused. He’s nice, and then he’s mean, nice then mean, nice, mean, nice, mean. It makes no sense. It’s a continuous cycle and is very disturbing. It just keeps going and doesn’t stop. I can’t think of an example. But it’s almost like I block out my own emotions because I’m so used to having them backfire in my face. I’m not allowed to be happy anymore.
Because of all this crap I’ve made myself become emotionless…witch is bad anyway. I’ve turned into something I never wanted to be. I’ve become a loser, and too lazy to get dressed. I’ve also become far too detail oriented. I’ve made myself be suspicious of everyone I encounter. And very untrusting. I find another person’s emotional pain highly amusing and I love to start ‘emotional wars’. And then I take it almost too personally when a person leaves me. When I decide I don’t care about something, I really and truly don’t give a s**t. I loose interest in things almost as soon as I start them and finding distractions from everything has become my life.
And yet I hate gearing up for war every time I …say a bad word.
I am so confused. I want to be the true me, but I can’t find me anymore. I’ve buried her somewhere. I’ve become this…thing that just…is bad.
Nothing makes sense anymore. It’s like I barely know myself anymore. I don’t know how to be pleasant and friendly. The real Sarah is in there somewhere but….she’s just built so many walls up around herself and buried the key.  

[Green_crayon42]

bla 9

2010, February 20.
Karate Fundraiser

I woke up at 10:30am as I have been doing recently--no idea why, but it’s an improvement. I dressed in my dark jeans and super cool rooster shirt(Yes, I name my clothes.). I even put on a belt, because my pants have been sliding more and more often, witch is good I suppose. I also tied up my hair with a little string an 8 year old friend gave me. I wanted her to feel important.
I then heard Judy’s car pull out of the driveway as I ate a bowl of Cheerios. Then I realized my bag smelled, so I spayed some Fabreeze in it. I put everything in the bag and proceeded to call Jake, as he was supposed to drive me. He happened to be pulled over at a gas station in Newton, but couldn’t drive me back. So then I called my friend Daniel Luper, who I call simply Luper, he said he could drive me home.

I did my bathroom chores, then sat and read. Jake called and asked if I could be ready in 30 minutes since he returned home earlier then he thought. I just had to tie my shoes. I stuffed $30 into my pockets, since I thought it would be weird to bring a purse. I was waiting for him as he pulled in the drive. I threw my bag in the back and we were off.
He said he had just come from a Flogging Molly concert in Charlotte and had a hangover, asked me if he looked like s**t. I thought it was funny that he was talking to me more then he ever did in school, but maybe that was the hangover. He gave me a pad of paper with directions and I read them out as we went. I practiced my Sign Language and we didn’t really talk about anything much…we just talked. I gave him five dollars for gas. I remember being very shocked and surprised when I learned he had no interest in Sign Language. Who wouldn’t be interested in Sign?
When we got to Candler we ended up being lost for about 10 minutes, finding the place and then finding out we had a bit more time then we thought. I said randomly that Emma was irritating me with constantly asking me things and being an energetic child, to witch he simply answered, “She looks up to you.” I hadn’t thought of it like that. I stopped talking, immediately. For the rest of the day, that thought stayed with me.
Jake kept saying he was dead to the world and needed coffee, so we went to a gas station, witch turned out to be the only place that sold coffee, and I decided to practice my kata. I was practicing when a Jeep came by and two men asked me what I was doing, how long I’d been taking karate and could I do a kata to show them. One of them said he used to do karate as well. They seemed harmless to me. I ran the kata I was working on, and as I put my jacket and phone on the back of Jake’s car, I heard one guy say to the other, “She’s gonna really go to work.” Or something of that nature.
Soon after I began, my phone rang. It was Jeremy Sears, the Sensai of the school holding the fundraiser. I had called before Jake and I learned that we were in the right place. After a little bit of confusion, he asked me what kind of a car I had and came out the door with a phone in his right hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The Jeep drove away as soon as the men learned they didn’t have my attention anymore. Mr. Sears and I stood talking for a little bit and he asked me if the car was mine, and told me we weren’t going to run katas this time.
He left just before Jake came out the door. I told Jake I had met him and we should just go to the dojo.
When we got there it was still empty, and I was thinking, “ How can we have a tournament here?!” It was so small. I changed into my karate gei and stretched while other people began to arrive. Jake asked me to run out and find a key he had left in the car--he had brought his swords, not exactly sure why, but he needed the key to open the box. I ran across the street to his car, found the key and locked the car back up. As I ran back across the street, I saw Jake standing outside the door waiting. I hoped I hadn’t taken too long.
I sat on the floor and continued to stretch. I heard Jake say my name and sat up. He had just been telling the other kids to use me as an example and stretch as I was.
I recognized a lot of the kids there, as I had seen and learned their names in tournaments before. Mr. Sears began to try to sell Gatorade for three dollars. I didn’t want to spend my 20 dollars in case I needed it later. I ran Shino--a beginner kata--with Joseph, a white belt and corrected him on his stances. I keep telling those kids to have their backs straight, but they never listen.
Jake called Emma, Joseph and I into a little huddle and gave a short pep talk, saying we were better then these kids. Afterwards, he asked if he could use my phone to check the time because he had to leave early and had left his phone in the car. Soon I learned that we were holding up the fundraiser just for one person, my friend, Luper. He and I texted back and forth for a bit before we learned he was ten minutes away.
He finally came and everything got started a little later then planned.

Mr. Sears called everything to order. It was time to begin. All the students stood behind their teachers to bow in. Emma, Joseph, Luper and I lined up behind Jake--since Jerry didn’t come, Jake, being the highest belt, took the place of Sensai at the head of our line. There were only four schools there. In the tradition of Ti Qwan Doe, the students reply “Sir!” to every command given by their Sensai, especially as they bow. An energetic, loquacious and autistic boy named Billy, who I have seen and talked to in several tournaments, stood right beside me in the next line over and replied “Sir!” so loudly that my ears throbbed.
Afterwards we all tried to focus as we learned what the task was. This was a fundraiser to send one of Mr. Sears’ students, Rachel, to Japan.
This wouldn’t be a normal tournament. There were six people lined up, some were barely above age 9 and Billy and KC were 19 or so I believe. These six people would be fighting the entire time. There were 60 fights, each lasting for a minute. The rest of us would step up to fight the kids in line when we wanted.
I held my head in my hands as I tried to focus through all the sound. Jake asked what I was doing and if I was ok. I guess I didn’t look right to him. I still wonder what his reaction would be if I had said what I truly wanted to say, witch was, “I’m trying not to cry.” instead I think I said, “Oh, nothing. Just trying to focus.”

I stood back and watched in the beginning for fear of getting hurt. When the third fight was about to begin they found out they were one fighter short, so Mr. Sears called out for one. Jake came up and told me to fight. As he was the higher belt, and acting as Sensai for the time being, I could say nothing. I couldn’t really think of anything to say anyway, being the slow thinker that I am. I didn’t do so badly as this fight was with a young boy who held out his kicks for far too long.
After that I began to watch and study. In Jerry’s karate school, all the students think Ti Qwan Doe is a joke, because they use all kicks. They can’t punch at all. I noticed that none of these kids used their hands. My confidence began to go up. I have a terrific right cross. I came up with an idea a few years ago. When fighting a kicker, just get inside the kicks so they’re not able to use them. The only problem with that is you’re in close quarters…good thing I’m a puncher. Stay close to them so they can’t kick at you and keep going. It gets tough though. But when they don’t know how to use their hands, it’s much better.

My next fight was with Billy, the autistic boy. He hits hard. I told him to lighten up a few times but he just kept going. He’s a fantastic fighter with a great amount of confidence that makes me jealous, but he was hitting me so hard it felt like my head was on a swivel. I barely could bring my head up once he knocked it back. Once that was over, I avoided him for the rest of the time.
I took a break and got water.
My next fight was with a girl who kicked to my head the entire time. It was really annoying. I hit her really hard in the jaw, but after the fight ended she said she was okay.
Jake pointed to another fight, but I needed air. I stood outside the door, took a few deep breaths and returned.
Jake came up to me and said he wanted me to do at least two more fights, and because he was leaving I had to give him my word. I was scared but nodded.

After that, everything just flows together so well that I can’t pick out any specific fights. I fought about ten more times. I lost track.
The string I had tied in my hair was coming out of my hair elastic. I had already shown it to Emma and got a big grin from her, so I just decided to take it out for the time being. I gave it to a lady to hold onto. She gave me a funny look, but when I said my little 8 year old friend made it, she smiled and closed her hand around it.
At one point there were only five fights, so I had to fight Luper. I had to fight little Emma too.
I reconnected with my friend Ally and her father Sensai Ammons. Once, also, I was encouraging Emma to keep fighting. After Mr. Sears yelled stop, the little girl she was fighting came up and said very aggressively, with hands on her hips, “In our school, we’re supposed to give breaks.” I was surprised.

At another point I caught Emma crying in her mother’s car, her mom told me it was because her brother hit her hard…I held her hand and took her on a little walk. I got a few smiles before we went back to the dojo.
I fought a boy who looked to be around 8, and just kept poking at him. I told him to keep his head up about five times. I remember that he screamed when he kicked.
Near the end, I decided I was going to fight KC--the reigning black belt. I stood back and watched him for a little bit to learn some of his technique. He’s good at blocking and dodging, but has no hands. When I stepped up, I told him to go easy on me because I’m weak. I realized I shouldn’t have said that. He’s taller then me and I tend to go for the head, so I just kept right on going for his head nonstop but he kept rolling it out of the way! He told me to do three punches and then drill him with a kick to the ribs while his hand was up. --We all try to teach while we fight.

KC’s shirt was drenched with sweat. I thought it was funny. After it was over, everyone sat around relaxing. My shirt was damp. I was very surprised. But at the same time proud of myself…because my sweat had dampened the shirt.
I asked KC if we could get together sometime so he could teach me to kick, block and dodge. He agreed and gave me his number.
The woman I had given my string approached and gave it back. I was so caught up in other thoughts, I think I left it there, sadly. Now I realize I should have put it in my bag or given it to Mr. Sears.
I met Luper’s girlfriend, Nicole.
Luper asked me to run Ro-Hi with him to show her. I got lost after a certain move but they didn’t care. I ran to change into my dry clothes. I think I will consider dry clothes a miracle from this day forth.

Luper and Nicole had done a marathon before coming here. We were hungry and decided to go out to eat. I gave him the other five dollar bill I had for gas and we drove to a Mexican place. On the way, I lost control of myself and just kept right on talking and talking. Nicole and I laughed and got along great. I’m still not sure if I need to apologize for anything I said. I don’t even remember what I said, witch is surprising for me. I hope I didn’t offend them in any way. I really like them.
We got to the restaurant where I ordered two meals. They said they didn’t mind waiting but I still tried to eat quickly. We talked and laughed but they both were close to falling asleep right at the table. As we got up with a to-go box, after about an hour--I felt bad--, I gave Luper my 20 dollar bill. He said if it was one or two dollars over, he didn’t mind, but I hope it wasn’t.
Looking back, I think I was the only one who was hungry. Nicole didn’t get a meal--I joked about her having an eating disorder--and Luper didn’t eat much of his. I feel bad for making them go out just for me. They both said they didn’t mind…but still…I wish they had said something. When they dropped me off at my house, I said I wanted to see Nicole again and thank you.


I’m not sure KC and I are ever going to get together to practice. I certainly hope so, but I doubt it, because I’m …funny when it comes to requesting something of anyone, let alone someone I don’t really know.
I’d feel more comfortable talking to Ally and her father, I guess because I’ve actually spoken to them before and because she’s female witch I suppose is a funny thing to make me comfortable making a request of any sort, but …whatever works, right? As long as it gets done.

I also remember fighting Mr. Sears. I thought it was funny that he was paying more attention to his phone then the fight. He blocked me easily and without thinking. I want to be able to do that one day. He had a Sidekick phone in his hand and was looking at that for the timer more then he looked at me, his opponent. I just thought it was silly.

I don’t even know why I’ve turned into Emma’s role model but for some reason I can’t even fathom, she looks up to me and just loves me--she won‘t leave me alone!--; witch is great and I’ll try to live up to that title, but I’d like to know the reason for it. I’ve always wanted to be a role model, but…this is just…weird.  

[Green_crayon42]

bla 10

I really hate these restrictions. I’m not nine. I’m 23. That’s fourteen years over the age of nine. I know parents don’t like their children to grow up too fast, but, in all honesty, I am a little slow. So be happy for that, if nothing else ok? That’s the brain damage, not me.
Now, I would understand if I was under age 16, but …I am not. In fact, in three years, I will be exactly ten years over age sixteen. Three years is not a long time, but ten years…of missing out on life….yea, I’m sorry, but I really don’t understand what kind of person would do that to themselves by choice. But …as I do not have control over my life, I don’t really have a choice. And it’s really rather irritating. Extremely irritating, if you catch my drift.
I’ve made up a saying…I love making up things…it goes, “If you don’t like it, fix it. You can’t fix it, control it. If you can’t control it, get out of the freaking rain, man!” That last part can be taken in many different ways, but I just thought it was funny. Because some things, you can’t control, like the rain. If you don’t like the rain, you can’t fix it and you can’t control it. Get out of it. Leave it alone. That’s the point.
Now, daddio has completed the control level of me. Ok? He doesn’t like my brain damage(nor me, but that’s not the point, although it does add to it.), and he knows he can’t fix it. And that depresses him greatly. So he moves on to control, witch he can easily do. And I don’t like control. I’m sorry. I don’t like people controlling me. Not even my own freaking mother, alright? I prefer to be in control of my own life, thank you. So…I’m in the middle of the getting out phase. Witch is hard, considering my life. I realized a long time ago that I cannot do this on my own, so I asked for help. My mom being the first call I made. I’ve been waiting on her to do something beneficiary for me for a couple years now…not sure that’s gonna happen. Waiting for something really gets annoying. Especially when you, yourself, are not seeing progress being made.

I think everybody knows that Sarah does not particularly relish asking for help. Nor am I good at the art of being polite when something is wanted desperately.
This “thing” not being a thing at all but independence, witch I should have by age 21 at the latest, meaning that I have missed out on two years of my life, witch I am never going to get back. So. That’s actually very depressing for a person like me. Hmm…what shall we do?
I know that I thought I needed a legal guardian at first, and so I got one. I was okay with this decision of mine for a little while but then I wanted to pull my hair out by the roots it got so frustrating. I was blocked from everything letting me act my age.
Granted, people would kill for the life I have. No bills, relaxing all day…it’s like I’m in retirement. I don’t need retirement until I’m in my 70’s or something. Me…I like doing things myself. I don’t like following orders. I like going by my rules, not yours. You make a rule for me, I will go out of my way to not follow it. Of course, in jobs or schools, that doesn’t apply because it’s a different situation and has different and respected figures of authority, plus you actually know what you’re working towards, whatever that may be, it is your reason for being in that school or in that job.
I decided that this treatment is getting ridiculous, even if it is for my own ‘protection’.

I swallowed my pride and asked for help. Where is it?