This is my story

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is my first try be kind please. English is not my primary language but I love it so much. What I wrote is about part of my personal life. My friend told me is good. So why can't I try this. This is the story of my life. My life can be yours but the feeling is there. This is what I've been through at such a young age. Intimidation, abuse, verbal abuse, control mind. We have to talk to each other. Respect the other with their struggle and their life. Because we know it's hard. How make it so hard when all can be so easy ?

Submitted: April 03, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 03, 2017





This is the story of my life. My life can be yours but the feeling is there. This is what I've been through at such a young age. Intimidation, abuse, verbal abuse, control mindWe have to talk to each other. Respect the other with their struggle and their life. Because we know it's hard. How make it so hard when all can be so easy ? 


Has it ever happened to you that you feel hopeless ? Trying to see the positive but that there is always something negative that gets in the way Believe me, I know what it isI feel like I've lived that way since I know how to speak. Sometimes, I wonder what the hell am I doing here ? You surely say she's not well, she's crazy. Maybe am I ? We must not judge by appearances. Each person fight theirs problems as best he can. What is it the use of fighting without support or feeling supported ? No matter what you are going to say or do, people only see the negative. That may be what you think. Is it true ? Welcome to what is going in my head or my madness as he told me. Do not worry, I'm far from being suicidal or whatever you're thinking. 


Since my childhood, I have been struggling to be a part of our "perfect" society. This society that wants everything so perfect that it rejects people in difficulty and puts danger signs at every hope they have. This society that expects a drama to occur before reacting. Well, I am one of his people too naive to see or perceive when things go wrong. Because I do not have enough interaction with this society. I know that I have misery, but to the point of targeting me because of the choices I made. It is the worst feeling ever known. You see, I spent 6 years outside my hometown with my husband. His work that brought us into the asshole of the earth. Yet, I started loving our new life. Far from stress and endless family problems. For the past 5 years, I have penalized what I would have had a future because I decided to take care of our children. I do not regret having done it, even if this little voice in the bottom of my head tells me the opposite. I ignore it. I do not regret my children I love them more than anything in the world. Being perceived the severe mum, as the saying goes, we retain not the neighbor. I try with all my heart not to become like my worst nightmare, And yet I am her step. Every day that passes, I am afraid of becoming like her. This person who is supposed to help you and set an example on your actions; my mother. My mother suffered very young from a trauma that changed her whole life. She was raped by her adopted brothers at the age of four. What do you think she has becomeI do not blame you, mamma. I know that you did the best you could with your demons that you have not yet fought. Because of her "brothers", my mother was not fit to integrate this "perfect" society. Having no help, except my father, she tried as I do today. Here I am, writing in this newspaper white speckled pink and gold. On the cover it is written: Inspiration is everywhere in gold. My inspiration is on my life. If one day it becomes a book, I will probably change some real fact. I write at 8pm watching my children listen to the turtle ninjas. They are so happy. I tell myself, I would like to return to this age. The more I think about it and not it really tempts me. 




When I was very young, my mother was very worried about me. I hardly spoke. I had no friends except my sisters. I often made crises because I did not express myself properly or like the others. Sometimes I wondered if I did not restrain my mother's behavior when she was drunk or drugged. I never asked. I always put this on the fault of my language delay. Then one day in our old quarter of the "River", Helen came into in my life You became my everything. Since the age of four, we had "never" stopped talking to each other. I never say. Not quite true. At that time, we understood each other. You who was anglophone and me who was dumb. We were inseparable. As you get older, you introduced me to your friends and I was happy to socialize as best I could. How could I get socialized in this shit society? Delayed, crazy, bitch and so on . All because I was not like all of you. You, you who were supposed to be my "friends". You who put me in a garbage container, broke my bike and threw sand or tocs in my beautiful long hair. I kept my head high despite the problems at home and outside. Then for my first year, this society so "perfect" has found a school for people with problems X. There was a class of which 12 students all had difficulties: Dysphasia, Dyslexia, ADD, ADHD, delay language and so on. At the end of that first day, on the bus, I met you. Finally, a person like me. You had become my inseparable friend. You lit up my darkest days, you understood me and above all, you appreciated me for who I was. 

Yes, it's you Jordan. I know being young, I've given you trouble, especially when you crushed my remote-controlled car with your bike. Know that I felt bad about doing what I should not have done. It was an accident, I should not have been harassed to make me refund. Children are cruel. I'm glad you're still my best friend in my life. 

When I was 7-8, I was starting to talk. Making friends. We were so happy together in this class. Class vs. Universe. The professors saw that I had a lot of potential. Enough to put me in the "perfect" society. The following year, they put me in a grade 1/2 class. I did not feel well. I was the oldest in that class. I still had misery in oral reading. Friends did not accept me. They scolded me because of my eczema and my inability to express myself as they did. One evening after school, in our beautiful neighborhood of the "River", my sister Stefanie did not want me to come and make the rope to dance with her friends. I should have stayed with Mom. Mom forced Fanie to bring me. I had very old and very ugly shoes. I believe they were to my 2 sisters before me. I had very old and very ugly shoes. I believe they were to my 2 sisters before me. Then, playing the rope to dance, I ran and I fell face first on the ground in the gravel. Half my face was scratched and full of pebbles. Fanie, I still remembered. I had begun to cry and scream. You said to me: Shut Mi! It does not matter. Do not go to Mom if she's going to punish me. I did not listen to you. Mama took you by the hair and took you to the apartment. I could not remember if she'd hit you. That evening, I knew that I had lost your confidence and respect. Mom I begged you not to send me to school. You did not listen to me. The next day it was worse. The children threw me rocks and called me a monster. The teachers asked me why my face was like that. I told them I had fallen. They did not believe me. They were looking for a guilty one. Since that time, I was the spoiled monster child of teachers. 

We had moved. In a beautiful ancestral home. I was unhappy. I left my 2 best friends in our small neighborhood. New neighborhood, new school and new friends. What's better for a new start? My parents even adopted a dog. A chance that my cat Jolie-Coeur was there. A beautiful Cat Spain who just loved me. It was said that animals represent their master. I guess it was true. I have always been the distrustful and meanful person. That was what people were telling me. It was not because I was anti-social that I did not want to integrate myself. I was just not comfortable talking about conversations. I was afraid of being judged as before. 

After school, I played with new virtual friends. These have taken a big place in my life. Indeed, my friends were all 16 years old when I was 13 years old. With them, I was not afraid to express myself or write badly, because everybody wrote badly. Then comes the moments when more explicit topics are approached; Parties, alcohol, drugs and sex. Just talking about it pissed me off badly. My mother was pretty addicted to alcohol and drugs. I knew the impacts, but I was curious to know from a different point of view than that of my mother. I learned a lot from them. 

At the secondary school, one of the inhabitants of the "River" district launched a party at his parents' apartment. I thought, why not? Was Helen going to be there? Curiosity had taken over. I was ready. I took a stroke of luck, went to Helen's house on foot not knowing if she was going to be there. Relief when she had answered me at the door. We went to the party. Her boyfriend was there. I was a little disappointed because I had not talked to him much. Anyway, she was too busy eating the face of her boyfriend. It was just party man and me. We talked about school and the good old days when I was here. I had a good time. I wanted to experiment. Party man was stoned and drunk. He asked me to come with him. I hesitated, I did not want to be the rejection girl. I did what he asked me. He took me by the hips and sat me on his thighs. The little bells in my head screamed danger. I ignored them. I continued as if it did not bother me. We continued to drink and talk. Party man had another intention. He put his hands under my sweater and grabbed my breasts. Everything has been so fast. 1 second he spoke to me and the other second after he had his hands under my sweater. I was terrified. I struggled as I could. Luckily he was under the effects of what he took. I managed to escape. What's the point of escaping me? I'll see him tomorrow at school. 

In high school, it was worse than in primary school. Party man was respectful. At least I thought he had not started rumors. I was not interested in the lives of others and less the life of a couple. Having a boyfriend, was not my priority. I hated and loved physical education classes. It was the worst to talk about the rumors and make bad moves. I loved letting go. I was nicknamed the Mega Wolf man. I did not like the dressing room system for girls. The girls changed into the empty dressing room of the palestra. When I said empty; No toilet, no lockers. We changed as usual, but on that day, something suspicious happened. The girls had started rumors on my breasts. I thought of party man. The bastard. 

They said I was padding my bra with fabric. Seriously? With time I knew why the girl had started the rumor. Her boyfriend had a crush on me because I had bigger breasts than her. Wow. We were in high school. It did not take much to get guys. He had left her to go out with me. As I said, the love relationships I did not want. I already had enough drama at home I did not want any more at school. I did not get away, did I? After 1 month of rumors, I got sick. I spoke with management and my teachers. They had done nothing. I said to myself; They did not want to help me so I'll have to help myself. After the gym class, I had too so much. I waited for the girl to be alone in the locker room. I showed her my breasts so she would stop belittling me every day. 

I was not ashamed of what I did. I was distraught and desperate. I had even earned her respect. The popular girl had returned with her boyfriend. 1 week later, he had left her after taking her virginity. He started a rumor about the popular girl. He left her because she was too hairy. Karma is a bitch right? We were 14 years old. 

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