The Alaska Tapes: Welcome To My World ...

The Alaska Tapes: Welcome To My World ...

Status: In Progress

Genre: Young Adult

Houses:

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Young Adult

Houses:

Summary

A teenage girl with a little known physical disability shares her story.
Share :
Twitter

Summary

A teenage girl with a little known physical disability shares her story.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Who I Am

Author Chapter Note

A teenager talks about living with a little known and understood disability.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 13, 2017

Reads: 47

Comments: 2

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 13, 2017

A A A

A A A

*Click!*

Fairbanks, Alaska, May 13, 2017, 1:49 p.m., Alaska Time~

Dear Pattye~

Hello!  I am doing as you asked: to talk to you about myself and let you know how I am faring since moving to Alaska from Tennessee earlier this year.  You want to know how things are going for me.  Well, here goes nothing:

To those who do not konw my story, my name is Alaska Dawn Morgan-Singh.  I am 16, nearly 17 years old.  I was born in Nashville, Tennessee, to Brent and Martha Morgan, who are my dad and mom; but when I was thirteen, about four years ago, my dad was killed while serving in Afghanistan; he was killed by a bomb.  It totally rocked my world; my daddy was my hero.  He and I were exceptionally close.  I still miss him terribly and can't talk about him without crying.

Mom and I tried to go on with our lives after Daddy died, but it wasn't easy.  I gave my Mom holy heck; she and I butted heads constantly.  Typical teenage mouth, you know.  Attitude from you-know-where.  I was not pleasant.  Add to that the fact that I was born with a physical disability that affected my joints and my movement (my hands, elbows, arms, and shoulders were more affected than my legs): I faced numerous surgeries and/or hospitalizations so I could learn to move my arms and legs more effectively.

I was teased in school by the other kids: they didn't understand why I needed extra help or time in doing things, and they didn't understand why I couldn't brush my hair, brush my teeth, or even feed myself: someone has to feed me because I am unable to bend my elbows well.  Or else if I am desperate, I just smash my face right into the food and make an ungodly, disgusting mess; it's gross.  But such as life with arthrogryposis multiplex congenita, which is the name of my disability; I was born with it.  I also needed help in getting dressed; I felt like such a baby because there was a lot I couldn't do for myself.  Still need help in doing a lot of things, but since the last surgery (back in March), I am able to do a little more for myself.

Kids would try to trip me when I walked; if I fell, I didn't have the ability to brace the fall, so I would often do faceplants and end up fracturing my nose, breaking teeth, or even fracturing my arm or my jaw.  It was really bad.  They also picked on me about my father and the fact that I am half black, half white.  (My father was black and my mom, white.)  They called me terrible names.  They would make fun of my name and of my Southern drawl, even though they were Southerners like me.  I had very few (if any) friends; nobody wanted to even take the time to get to know me.  I was very lonely and sad.

The fights I had with Mom about my attitude (and everything else) didn't help matters any.  This was when I wished I had my father to confide in: as I said earlier, Daddy and I were very close.  I could talk to him about anything and everything and he would never get mad or say stupid things to make me feel unworthy; Mom, on the other hand, was always griping at me about the least little thing and would threaten to ground me if "I didn't drop the attitude or shape up" (her words, not mine).  She knew I missed Daddy terribly; this was part of the reason why I was often so nasty towards Mom.  I didn't mean to be or want to be; but this was how things were.  It was very tense; it was akin to walking on eggshells.

I escaped my boring, sad life on the computer; I had Facebook to keep me sane.  I would post pictures and some of my poetry or writings, in the hopes to get friends; it backfired.  Things went horribly wrong.  The kids I thought were my friends started saying really mean things about me, calling me stupid and ugly, saying my writing sucked, and saying that I would be better off dead.  I became more and more depressed; life was becoming harder and harder to bear.  School and the problems I was having with Mom (and missing my Daddy) didn't help, and neither did my health troubles, what with all the surgeries, therapy appointments, or hospitalizations.

I was only thirteen then, so my feelings were especially vulnerable.  I believed everything; I took everything at face value.  I saw myself as others perceived me to be: unloveable, homely, stupid, unworthy, disgusting.  I hated myself and I hated everything about me.  I felt I had no way out of my miserable life, so I started thinking about ways to kill myself.  I didn't want to live any more.  I had had it with life.

It was difficult for me to even try to think of ways to do myself in because I couldn't move my arms or hands affectively; yet I was desperate for a way out.  I wanted to join Daddy in Heaven; life had to have been better there than here on earth.  I wanted nothing more than to die.

One afternoon after a particularly bad argument with Mom, I was alone in the house.  I went to the bathroom and tried to take matters into my own hands. I found a razor blade of Daddy's and slit my wrists, to where I could bleed and bleed and bleed until I passed out (or died, whichever came first).  I didn't care any more; I was just too fed up and frustrated with everything.  Mom had been at work; when she came home that day, she was shocked to find me lying on the bathroom floor, blood everywhere.  Of couse, you can imagine that she freaked.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed.  My wrists were bandaged, and I had an IV in my hand.  Mom was by my bedside, a look of sheer fright on her face.  She tried to put on a brave front, but I could see it in her eyes that she was clearly disappointed in me.  I was disappointed too mainly because my plan to end my life had failed; I was still here on this miserable hellhole called Earth.  

After my release and after I had healed, I had to go to counseling.  I balked at first, but Mom was adamant.  She could not be persuaded.  I was to go to counseling, no questions asked.  In addition to talking to my therapist, I had to do a journal and send the entries to her.  I told her I couldn't write or move my hands or arms that well; she had me do tapes, which is what I am doing now; it's far easier than trying to write all of this down in the physical sense.  And it's perfect because once you get to know me, you'll find out that I like to talk.  LOL

If you are wondering why I am named Alaska, here's the background on that: Mom had always wanted to go to Alaska (as did Daddy), so they went.  While there, they made love, right in Denali National Park, in front of God and everybody; I was conceived.  They fell hard in love with The Great Land and they decided that if they ever had a child (a girl, presumably), they would name her Alaska, as a tribute.  They did exactly that; their first (and only) child was a girl, so that was why I was named Alaska.  Alaska Dawn Morgan.

Anyway, back to my story.  

Mom worked two jobs: she worked at a convenience store in the evening and in the day, she worked at a mom-and-pop restaurant as a server.  She had to work to be able to keep up with the medical (and other) bills that kept coming in.  I went to school and tried to get through yet another day without crying or wanting to kill myself again.  Her bosses were nice, but I really liked Bindu Singh, who was her boss at the convenience store: he was originally from India and had the pretitest accent.  He was very sweet and treated Mom with much respect (and me, too; I always got to get free Cokes or burgers, "on the house".  Well, eventually, Mom fell in love with this gentle man, and I did too; he became like a second father figure to me.

Well, Mom and Bindu eventually fell in love with each other.  It felt good to have a new man in my life.  Even though he wasn't my real father, he treated me like the daughter he had always wanted (he had never been married or had any children of his own); he worked all the time.  But Mom and I forced him to slow down a little and to have some sort of a normal life, to where he didn't spend all the time working.  Well, Bindu knew that Mom and I loved Alaska and wanted to go back, so he surprised us by paying for an Alaskan cruise for the three of us (his words).  We were dumbfounded.  

Well, I have to go, so I will post part two next time.  You have not heard the last from me, Alaska Dawn Morgan-Singh!  Stay tuned for more details about me and my life!!  God bless; see ya!  Bye!

*Click!*

 


© Copyright 2017 Karen Lynn. All rights reserved.

Chapters

Add Your Comments:

Comments

Booksie Spring 2017 Flash Fiction Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Karen Lynn

Popular Tags