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 Posted: Mon Oct 29, 2012 8:02 am
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Live in the past
It’s said that I live in the past. I guess you can see it that way.
I know I’m strong. I know I’m lucky. Above everything, I know my flaws. I need no one to point them out.
I know I’m not as good as the average U.S. second class citizen. I know where I could be in life.
I know I’m better then everyone. I know I fail in comparison to others.
I know my own sisters can bluff better then I can. I know I’m untrustworthy to them. I’m left out. And I know exactly why.
I know I’m disrespectful and rude, but I know how to control my words when necessary.
The way I see it, I have powers that no one else does. They dream of them. But have no hope of attaining them. But I have them all!! And yet…I dream of being average.
Everyone knows exactly what I think of my father. Thoughts of my sisters elude them all. Thoughts on myself are completely foreign to anyone.
People have dreams to see like I do, to …excel with words as I do, to have the understanding I have, the patience, the strength. My own mother admires my depth and compassion.
Brain damage is not what they want.
I have never once claimed to be perfect, and I never will. I am far less perfect then you, I can assure you.
You want this crap? You have to deal with it! You have to pay dearly, and you can’t give it back.
I’m Sarah. And I’m ready to tell my story. You, …you just better be ready. Open up your eyes and see my world.
I’ve always been into mystical powers and mythologies. At this point in life I know more then the average person about Greek and Roman tales. I point out when things are wrong in the movies.
I am of no faith. I want to learn and study faiths and cultures of the world. Study, not practice, mind. The way I see religion…is sure to cause dispute. That will happen in it’s own time and I will not shoot the first bullet. I wish to be well out of that fight.
I’m one who sees beauty in everything. I search for beauty. When I have it, I don’t let it go easily.
I’m the fighter and peacekeeper. I am the memory holder. I’m the photo-journalist and the advise columnist. I am the sweetest darling that has ever been spawned by the devil. I’m a passionate lover. I’m a real b***h. I have friends who are there when I call out.
I’m an observer. You better clean out your panty drawer before you call s**t on me.
Full of myself, you say? That’s the point.
I know who I am. Unlike many. And unlike many IN that many, I love myself. I am a very rare being.
My confidence level is way lower then it should be. I need ego boosts.
I’m a very soft and easy going person. But if you get on my a**, I’ll…let you know. And I’m not kind about it.
I may as well start at the beginning, or MY beginning.
I was born on November 14th, 1986. The details are unknown to me.
On August 22nd 1988, I walked off a dock into Lake Michigan. This is where the complications arise.
A swimmer stepped on a “doll”, meaning that the water was less then five feet deep. Apparently no one knew I was missing. There were a lot of people to entertain and three kids to watch and …lots of stuff.
This was a family gathering. Or what I call the clan.
I have no idea how long I was under. My father was showing off on his jet ski. Bruce was supposed to be looking after me but he’s a narcissist. For the folks that don’t know that word, look it up and you’ll find Richard Bruce Councell. A person who cares only for himself. Doesn’t know how or want to learn to care for others. But does a very good acting job. He fools everyone.
I can see right through people; one of my “powers”.
Anyway, I was oxygen deprived. From that, I have brain damage; which makes me a Traumatic Brain Injury or TBI in the medical world.
I am special needs. The damage was purely mental. Physically, I am no different then you would expect.
There are incredibly specific things I cannot do. I am incapable.
The way I think of it is, the brain damage took ..I don‘t know…my hand-eye co-ordination away, but gave a tremendous writing skill. It took some, and gave more power to others as if in apology. And gave me my “powers” too. I’m proud of it. If I hadn’t drown, I’d be an entirely different person.
My damage is the one thing I wouldn’t change about myself. I love it dearly. Although it complicates life for everyone involved and kicks my butt at times, I still wouldn’t give it up. Well, not like I can anyway.
Now, when I was an infant and practically came back from the dead, my dad should’ve seen, right then, that I was capable of bringing down his house of cards, forcing him at gunpoint to walk to the gallows he built solely for me; metaphorically of course.
Let me straighten your mind. I do not believe in any particular religion. I’ll get into that later, but I see deeper into the subject. It wasn’t a miracle I survived my drowning. In fact, I speak of it with undying pride. The true miracle was that I survived my family; Bruce in particular.
Now do I have your attention? If not, it doesn’t get any better; put the book down now.
I call my father Bruce. He’s a jerk and deserves nothing from me. I don’t call him by his name to his face or to my sisters; only when speaking to myself, mom, the walls or people not associated with my family. I suppose some people would say I have no guts. While it may be true that I have a very limited patience, I say I do have guts.
Why? Because most people who have gone through anything like what I have gone through, are afraid to speak and they would choose to forget it entirely.
The memories are hurtful, yes. But they make me who I am. And I love who I am. I’m not afraid of it. So...I guess Bruce does deserve some thanks. For making me tough and able to stand for what’s right. Of course, he was not aware of this particular lesson, but…it worked.
I also know that I am not the only one who has been through this. I am not the only one who has brain damage, or finds it hard to fit in, and…I’m not the only one who has been treated like this. Most who have been through abuse, have had it worse then I have.
And for those who have, it is my dearest hope that what they learn from me and my situation will help them feel stronger and more able.
I’m not a devious person. I never have been. What I have done is what was necessary to survive.
This is my story. How I saw everything.
My memories may be faulty at times, but…that happens to everyone.
I couldn’t write because I was deathly afraid of my sisters finding my own personal thoughts and burning them, literally and figuratively.
For some, the outlet is art or music or martial arts…or...I don’t really know. But my outlet always was and forever will be words; beit writing or talking. Some say I’m rude. And I understand that. I am at times. I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you. My sisters don’t like me. They leave me out. They don’t approve of me for several reasons. I’m the black sheep. I don’t have friends, because I‘m not enough. I’m not gifted enough to fit in with the gifted people. I’m not enough special needs to fit in with the special needs people. I’m not average enough to fit in with the average people.
However, I am all of those things. Just not enough to fit in with any particular group.
Making friends was against my rules. I couldn’t have people come to my house and see how my father treated us. Only later did I realize that when there were others, he was somewhat kind.
Anyway, I was without the friend making gene. I couldn’t do it.
So I was alone in dealing with all this.
Don’t forget I have brain damage. I’m not exactly sure what all it entails, but…I have made some observations.
Sound. I cannot handle loud sounds. I screamed when others did, simply to get them to stop. Of course I realized this didn’t work, witch made me more frustrated.
Bruce liked to scream. I realize that he has a demanding and difficult career, but…that…doesn’t mean he can scream at…me; his special needs child, may I remind you; who is unable to handle loud sounds.
But, again, he’s a narcissist. He doesn’t care. |
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Posted: Mon Oct 29, 2012 8:09 am
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my story
I wish my father would have left after all four of us were born. Either that or realize who and what he was and made some drastic changes.
My whole family’s life could have been different if it weren’t for my father…if he was a normal man, or human even.
Why do I say he wasn’t human? He isn’t, simple as that.
He didn’t treat any of us as a human would have. Or man. He doesn’t deserve those titles. He was a pig and he was king. A tyrant. Trust me, I can think of lots of names for him.
He was a b***h. Why do I use a derogatory term usually reserved for women? I suppose you have to read on now, don’t you?
Honestly, if having children doesn’t rock your world and force you to rethink priorities, then having one nearly die on you from drowning, before 2 years of age should do the trick. Nope. He chose to move to a neighborhood that circled around a pond.
Hi. I’m Sarah Councell and this story NEEDS to be told, if only to help my sisters, who I have tried telling, showing and protecting but they will have none of it.
The immediate family, except for my mother, will tell you that everything revolved around me. Not true.
This is why I have to write this.
We weren’t children to my father. We were slaves, dogshit to be scraped off his boot. And he treated our mother the same after marriage.
This is difficult to write. It’s my own personal version of hell. Before you read any further, let me tell you some things. This story is long, complicated and emotional. It runs deep and has no ending as of yet, but the ending I foresee will not be happy for anyone. He almost killed me. Letting insults roll off you like rain off an umbrella is an art form. Not letting actions cut you through takes training. Burying the key to yourself takes years. And digging it up again takes longer. The walls you build cannot be broken. The gates you create are invisible to one who does not know how to see. The fear and hate you have will not leave.
I lived in constant worry, frustration and ultimate fear for 24 years. It was agony of the heart. Confusion and hurt left me long ago and gave way to bitterness and anger. Being strong in these ways, as a child, is not a good thing. Watching my three gorgeous, unique and clever sisters voluntarily become furniture…twisted my heart in ways that are not possible from a man.
Hearing my mother cry from her bathroom….I don’t even have a word for it.
You hear people make light of narcissism; call their friends a narcissist in a half joking tone. When they barely know the problem. Same with brain damage.
Maybe my father wasn’t a serious case. I have no clue. But he was a demon to all of us.
Why is it that when people have real stories to tell, people always think they’re crying wolf? Some of the s**t TBI’s and abuse victims go through can’t be made up. I’d pay money to anyone who can challenge me in the area of life stories and presentation of life stories. Besides military personnel, I don’t think a civilian could do this.
K. I wrote that when I was angry. I’m calm now. It’s been about a week since I wrote that. Maybe two.
Those things are true though. And TBI=Traumatic Brain Injury. I will use those letters constantly, so …just know it.
I’m not even sure where to start. The politics of my family are all messed up. I’m not sure I’ll explain all of it correctly. But let me say this, you don’t know s**t until you’ve been through it. Images appear in your mind of how you think things go. Those aren’t necessarily accurate. That happens to me, and I’ve found they’re nearly always wrong. I have an overactive imagination and tend to think so much more then I should.
Basically, what I mean, is ..you can picture stuff…like abuse, but until it happens to you, you don’t know anything about it.
I am what’s known in the medical world as a high functioning TBI. Basically, it means I can get by in the real world without too much trouble, so…I’m not…in a home of some sort. I look and sound just like your average person. My handicap is purely mental. Sometimes I can beat it. And sometimes I can’t. Not all TBI’s are like me. In fact, I consider myself to be a very lucky person indeed to have got off the way I did.
I’m not deformed, in fact I’m very beautiful. The mechanics of my body work just as well as anyone’s. I was born before I received my handicap. I did receive it at a very young age; 21 months to be exact. Young enough to die from anything in the world and not know it. Too young to even be aware of my own existence.
My strengths are: putting colors and words together(decorating, fashion etc. and writing/talking), my long term memory and photography. I am far more creative then my limits allow.
My weaknesses are practically everything else.
I love to learn. Gathering intelligence is fun for me. Though, sadly, I will never excel in academics. Not that I desire to, …that option is just cut off. I honestly have no clue why, but my brain just can’t handle that. It doesn’t hold the knowledge. Plus my dream was never to be a doctor or anyone important. My passions lie elsewhere. So…I mean it does suck, but it’s not the hugest deal in the world.
What are my passions? That, I will get to later.
School was difficult for me. As it is for everyone I’m sure. Not because of the social ladder though. That was difficult as well, but it’s another story. How to describe school? Treacherous, vicious, mortifying. And ya know, I would describe my home life the same way, except add in horrifying and wrong and abusive and neglectful and a lot of other words. My young life wasn’t fun.
School. Um…the social ladder did bother me immensely, but not even a third of how the academic pressure got to me. Let’s see. When I was around 10, I made a plan. It was to get into college, study something important, get a job, a cat, a boyfriend and apartment.
I was already pressuring myself. Story of my life. I tend to do that a lot. I also go off on tangents. Blame the brain damage. Easily distracted I am.
Ok. Stay on topic, Sarah. School. Academic pressure.
I’m not really sure how to describe this. I did get good grades. But it was hell to do so. Literally. Lucky me, I have only had one bad teacher in my 12 years of school. Well, actually, I have around 15 under my belt…possibly as high as 19...maybe. It’s debatable. In my own mind as well.
12 years of required schooling. How’s that? All of my teachers were good ones. I can name just about every single one of them.
Ok. For one, it was difficult to navigate to all the different rooms in the crowd of children upon children, some friends, some not…and in five minutes?? Scary. I wasn’t one to be late though. I was tardy a few times. I got detention for tardiness in 8th grade. Was the only time I had detention. When the bell rang to end class, I almost ran to the next class for fear of being late.
I was a good kid and student. I wanted to learn and be polite. I was not a trouble maker. I paid attention and asked questions. Though I didn’t always raise my hand…just spoke out. I’ve never been one to wait. No one cared. They answered me anyway. But I did need to learn to let other people have turns. When I didn’t get something, I asked and asked and asked about it until I did get it. I’m better with the one-on-one teaching method. I’m sure I made everyone annoyed with me questioning things they understood a week ago. Everyone was nice though. I think just that the school knew I was special needs helped a lot in that particular area. In fourth grade I got my first tutor, Mrs. Duckworth. I thought her name was funny. She taught me to twirl a pencil between the index and second fingers on my right hand. Never could do it with my left. If my left arm got cut off, it wouldn’t be much of a loss. The pain would be great, yes, but…my right is the one I couldn’t bear to loose. I did that pencil trick constantly. I loved it. Still do. I thought I was so cool because I could do that. I guess the reason is that it was very difficult to learn. I don’t recall learning it, but hand-eye co-ordination has been a constant problem, so I’m guessing it was difficult and I was just proud.
I learned to tie my shoes in 6th grade and got made fun of for it. In kindergarten, Mrs. Miller had to take me to the bathroom. In 5th grade, Mrs. Nelson had to undo and redo my pants when I had to use the bathroom. Brenna Wilson also peeked at me in the bathroom. She was mean to me. I remember the name of the first book I ever read and what it looked like. MUGGY GOES TO THE ZOO. I can remember details of the picture on the small, square cover. It was 10 pages long I’d say. Every sentence began with Muggy. Muggy was a purple hairy round gorilla-ish creature with big goofy eyes and enormous brown hands with three fingers and a thumb. Could’ve been the start of my fascination with purple.
Nobody liked Mrs. Standly. She was too happy. We all knew it. Or maybe it was just me. But she wasn’t liked. By the kids. Her smile was fake. Her brightness was too bright. She was too chipper. Something was wrong with that lady. She was a cute lady, but her smile was completely fake. I’ve always hated people who are too happy, so much that their cheeks are red constantly from that bigger-than-big grin they paste on the face, and how big their eyes are creep me out. It looks like they’ll pop right out, veins and all. Tori’s mom was like that. I stayed away from Tori. Unfortunately, I was seated next to her in class. She and Sara Beth were talking so much and with me only being able to focus on hearing one thing at a time, I shushed them loudly and pointed to the teacher demanding them to pay attention. Tori’s mother’s face still comes to me when I see creepy things.
----------------------------------------
Yea, I feel sorry for myself. I drown and was abused. Yea, I talk about it. It’s in my past though. I dealt with it and hell, I’m alive. And a damn good person too.
I have damage that will effect me for the rest of my life. I’m sorry. Yes, I do cry about it. I deal, and people need to know what I’m dealing with, but it’s difficult to understand and explain. I can appreciate that.
I deal with more then people know. I’m sorry that I don’t hide every single problem I have like everyone else. And ya know? I think I have a hard life, but am indeed one of the luckiest people to walk the planet.
I have problems, ok? I don’t hide it that I have damage or was abused and never had decent love from a male figure. I see things differently then people. I think deeper then most.
Look, I kept my individuality and my thoughts ok? I’m more scared up then people realize. I’ve been through real s**t. Not that others haven’t. and I’m not saying I’ve been through the worst either. But, it is s**t ok? That’s my point.
I’m okay to talk about this. Do you realize how much strength it takes to even do that? Most can’t. They’re very uncomfortable with talking about their abused past.
I don’t talk about it so you can feel sorry for me. I talk about it, because it happened and s**t like that really effects you. I let you know, that’s really it. I let you know what problems I have from it, and what I gained from it. I don’t put myself on a pedestal. I talk about it a lot because…I have a s**t ton of issues because of it, but am proud of it all. Yes, proud.
Why? Mostly, because I lived through it and kept my sanity.
Look. I drown and was supposed to die. I could be a hell of a lot worse off then I am. And well I know it. My brain works differently then the average one, but I deal. Ok? Is it wrong to be proud of yourself for dealing with s**t that should’ve killed you? I don’t think so. Is it wrong to be proud for I don’t know…graduating high school when you weren’t supposed to make it through middle school? Not in the least. Wrong to find ways around problems? Nooooo…..and thinking of things in a different way then most others? Seeing things in a different light and being capable to use words to make others see? Not in the least. I can’t drive a car. Yes, that sucks a**. Poor me. Do you know how lucky I am that that is one of the worst problems I have??? I do.
At times, yes, it does suck the most in my life. But ya know, I never ask “Why me?”. The answer I give to that question is, “Someone’s gotta do it.” And ya know? It’s gotta be someone with great inner strength. And if I contain anything, it’s that. I’m not a leader, no. That would scare the hell out of me. But I’m not a follower either man. I’m proud of that. I can’t survive on my own, hell, I can’t even remember to eat on a daily basis. But I can stand alone; make up my own mind, which is a hell of a lot more then I can say for most(people without damage of any kind). I know what and who I am and what I can and can’t do. And I can say no when I want too. That’s another part of inner strength.
Do you realize how lucky I am? Here. Look at this. I’m a Traumatic Brain Injury. That’s enough to be proud of right there. That I can realize it and admit it of my own free will. My brain is injured. Not nonexistent. Maybe it doesn’t work exactly like yours or as quickly, but it’s there and it works DAMN well in my opinion.
I can pull off that I’m just like you if I wanted. But I don’t. Why? ‘Cause I’m ******** proud of who I am. And it’s on my official papers. I most definitely can’t fake out an airport guard or anyone of an official status, but I can fake out the woman at Starbucks and people on the street and…anyone I want, really.
I can’t and will never drive. Sucks, yea. But ya know what it means, right? I haven’t gotten a ticket in my life. I am a model citizen. I can’t be blamed for a crash. I don’t pay for car parts or insurance. And the best one, I can get as drunk as I want. Not that I do, but I can; it’s an option.
On the down side though, I have to ask permission all the freaking time. Imagine being under 15 for the rest of your life. “Can I go here?” “I need a ride” ………………that kindof s**t gets really old. And then hearing “No.” “Later.” Or… “Tomorrow” that never comes. I can never go anywhere secretly. Unless I have a ride there and back. And I’m picky about drivers. I’m not a good secret keeper anyway, so even though it sucks, it’s ok. Not that I would do anything retarded anyway. Which I’m sure you can tell by my writing.
Another one is, “I just need _____ really quick. I’ll only be two minutes.” “Not now.”
And another, “Becky invited me to her wedding. Can we go?” “Who’s Becky?”
“The place is only 30 minutes away.” “No.”
………………………………..........I need a ******** bus route people. Trust me, whining, wheedling begging and bribing is involved. Usually has a dramatic end. It gets tiresome.
“I’m a non driver.” “Why?” “I have brain damage.” Explanation required…
“I can’t drive.”
“Sorry, I don’t drive.”
“non driver”
“non driver”
“non driver”
Irritating.
I’m stuck where I’m put. Literally.
Can’t leave when it’s too loud or something….fuuuun times.
AND I’m not even allowed to choose the music. Lucky me, I don’t have problems with very much of it.
On job applications, I hate the question, “Do you have reliable transportation?” Um…not really. Yes, but what if mom gets sick or something that means she can’t drive? What if SHE’S working? That and experience is why I don’t get hired.
Hello? I can’t get experience if I don’t get a job in the first place…
Why don’t you just put me in an apartment on or near a bus route and give me some kind of monthly allowance? Would solve a lot of problems that I present. It would be the easiest solution. Of course, I’d need like an army trained guard dog. Who is okay with cats, because I love them. I love my animals, the only exception is birds. I will never own a bird. Or spider.
I will own cats, a snake, a rat, a dog, a lizard, and quite possibly a horse. Possibly more then one of each. And fish. The tank will be named Molly.
Depends on what I do for a living…which circles back to the experience thing. And ya know, a job kindof does depend on driving…
I know that there are many non drivers. And they probably think it’s lame that I’m complaining. There are things I can do, yes. I’m just complaining for now.
Nope, can’t ride a bike either. My balance is off. I have an adult trike, which is a ginormous tricycle for adults. But I don’t have a lock and chain. L …..Still stuck.
Walking, yes. I love to walk. Problem is…I’m a lazy a**. I very rarely get dressed, ‘cause I very rarely go out. And the weather needs to be thought of too. I have strange temperature readings. My brain stem was damaged. Brain Stems control all you do not voluntarily control. Breathing for instance and body temperature. It is incredibly rare that I am warm. When it is said to be just chilly out, I put on my winter coat. When cold, it takes me a long time to warm up. I’m always the last one to be warm and the first to get cold. Extreme temperatures are not for me. I already sleep with three thick, heavy blankets.
I used to say I was the first human reptile, and I’m cold-blooded. Can very easily be cold-hearted too. I’m more of a friendly, warm, caring and affectionate person though, but that can change when necessary. I choose not to be that way normally. |
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Posted: Mon Oct 29, 2012 8:19 am
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story 1
The white rabbit nuzzled into the crook of her elbow as the man approached.
“It’s okay, Max, it’s okay.” She cuddled the little being against her chest. Deep brown eyes looked out from a curtain of hair, “May I help you?”
“Yes, mistress. I would like to speak with you a moment.” He said in a smooth voice, suggesting something vague but horrible.
She stood, shook her hair back and motioned for him to follow. “What’s this about, sir?”
“Where you’re going.” He said quietly.
They maneuvered through the throng of people in the inns common. Sarah’s heart was pumping fast, but she kept control of herself. Where was Becky? Her eyes darted, all the time, trying not to betray any of this to the man, who was following closely. He wore a weather beaten trench coat and black boots that had gone many miles. She couldn’t see if he wore the sign of the order, but she suspected he did. Either that or this was something far worse then she’d suspected and she needed Becky’s help.
Suddenly there were pricks of pain in her chest. She whispered to Max, “Sorry, buddy. I’m on the lookout here.” She adjusted her hold on the creature and kissed him. “We’ll be okay.”
Her steps on the floor, to her, seemed like the steps of impending doom.
“Tell me, sir, does this have anything to do with my father?”
“Perhaps. Young ladies shouldn’t ask too many questions.”
She pushed by a drunk in front of the door. The man passed her quickly, opened the door and motioned her inside. As she crossed his path, she gave him a sidelong glance, her eyes searching. He closed the door swiftly.
She waited until he chose a spot to stand, then went just out of reach of him, staring coolly.
“Okay. Now, what is this about? What do you want of me? Who sent you here and where am I supposedly going?”
The man smiled. He seemed to be enjoying this! He removed the trench coat and hung it on the coat rack behind the door. Then she realized this was a room she’d never been in. There was a table with cracks in the middle, and five chairs surrounding it, each needing replacement. It wasn’t a large room, that was the only door and it had only one window, of standard size.
She moved her gaze to the man. He was dressed in the shabbiest clothing she’d seen witch made her blush. The boots, she realized, had silver buckles witch might make them the thing he most valued. There were bracelets and large rings on his arms and fingers. She studied his fingers for a sign of the order.
“Look too long, princess, and you might miss something.”
She looked up to his eyes, shocked that he had let her look so long. She began absently petting Max, who rested on her shoulder. If nothing had happened yet, he wasn’t an enemy.
“May I ask to see the sign you bear if I am to trust you?”
He chuckled and took a ring out of his trench coat pocket. “Doesn’t fit. It needs to be resized.” The ring was silver with a lime green crescent moon engraved in it.
“I couldn’t find Becky.” She said, still examining the ring.
“She’s here.”
“Who are you?
“My name is Mark Staffous.”
“Why are you here?”
“To take you.”
She looked up and handed him the ring with a new trust.
“Where am I going?”
“The Tower of Si.”
“You’re not saying I’m the only option, are you?”
Mark Staffous sighed and went to sit against the wall. “Yes. I can go only so far with you, but after you must continue on your own.”
“What? Do you have any idea what could happen if I fail? Or even if we fail to get there? Is Becky coming with me? I would need her. What is the Tower of Si anyway? I’ve only heard whispers of it in fairytales of strange lands. And who will take Max?”
Again, the man chuckled. “One at a time, dear girl.”
Sarah sat near him and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think I like you anymore.”
Laughter seemed to come from behind. “Oh, you silly girl. You’re getting ahead of yourself again.”
An apparition appeared before them. Sarah flicked her eyes up. She spied Becky’s violet eyes and pink mouth. Her red hair fell to her neck and her face filled out to give her that funny look she had sometimes. Her plump little body appeared. She wore a simple blue top and grey pants. On her feet were grey sandals and in her arms she held a large covered basket.
Once she was fully formed, she grinned. “I just love sneaking up like that!” She sat in front of them.
“Becky, what’s going on?”
“Anybody want a scone?” She uncovered the basket and dug inside.
Without hesitation or comment Mark stretched forward.
“Becky..”
“Relax, darling. We need to eat first. All will be explained.”
Sarah sat back, hearing this. She would place her life in Becky’s hands if she had to. It occurred to her that she might be doing just that. No fear came to her, only a warmth of friendship and the emptiness of her stomach. “I’ll take a ham sandwich if you’ve got one.”
One instantly appears before her. |
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Posted: Mon Oct 29, 2012 9:08 am
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Posted: Sat Nov 10, 2012 11:27 am
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Nov. 10>>1:00pm
Um...well...I'm a movie nut. I do not do horror.
I like to read, but not really a bookworm. I love reading Holocaust books.
I am a very dramatic personality, so I get that out at dramatic stories. Like the Holocaust. It's better then using real people.
Fan of Tim Burton, Fan of 80's music. I looove Journey. Fan of fashion. Origami's lots of fun..especially when I'm bored at 2am. I own the Indiana Jones trilogy. I like beading. I just like to do things with my hands. Always have to be busy. Not good at keeping still or quiet. I have no fear of stating my opinions of anything. I don't think I'm afraid of anything.
My brain damage affects me in lots of different ways. I can't handle academic pressure. So no college for me. other then "personal gain" classes.
I won't ever be able to drive a car. Fine with me, but it does get me down sometimes.
Um...emotions are all crazy. I have pills.
I love The Lord Of The Rings trilogy. and hate these books:
Harry Potter....not hate, just....they're not interesting to me.
Twilight...don't ever wanna read it
Golden Compass....-yawn-
Hunger Games...no skill
I usually base my liking of books on how good the writing talent is.
Let's see. What else is wrong with me?? Oh. My day/night schedule is backwards. Brain damage thing. I'm known for staying up well past midnight. I have pills now.
I have a very hard time transitioning from one activity to another. So staying in front of a screen for a whole day is quite normal.
I have absolutely no conception of time. If you say "I'll be back in 2 and a half hours." I don't know what that is. Say a specific time. Like 3:30.
No clue what 5 minutes is...except it's practically now. so do it.
I love to have deep discussions on stuff. Politics/Religion=Death topics. If the discussion gets heated and you don't storm off, I will love you.
I love to say my opinions about anything, and honestly, I love to be challenged. twisted Not with any real malice though. Just a fun argument. I don't want to loose friends.
I don't understand politics in the slightest and don't care to.
I love religion and culture but don't push it in my face. if so, i have no problems with being an absolute b***h about it.
It's incredibly rare that anyone can throw s**t at me that I haven't had before. I can deal. And I can turn around and attack you right back.
Um...I have some chub, but not a lot. I don't mind it. I looooove eating. ohmygosh so yummy. i can't look away from yummy foods.
i swim.
i have an athletic body, but no interest whatsoever, in sports. other then looking good and fitting into my clothes.
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Posted: Fri Nov 16, 2012 7:56 pm
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