A Letter to You

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
A letter to you. Who decides my life, to know what I am, the person I am, what I have left and what I have lost.

Submitted: April 26, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 26, 2019



My given name, Amaira, means princess in Arabic; my mother was a traveler when I was young, she lived on military bases in Kuwait and traveled to the middle east when I just a baby. She wasn’t a soldier or anything, actually, she taught school kids. I think I was jealous of those kids becouse they got to spend that time I never did with her. When I first found out who my mother was, I wasn’t much older than 4 or 5 but I still remember the first time I met my mother. She came from Kuwait and I found a strange woman sitting in my garage with luggage, a box of strange looking food, with long red hair. She gave me a pink furry poncho, and candy; that was when I stopped calling my Aunt “Mom” and began calling her Val.

My Mother named me Princess, becouse that’s what she thought I was. I thought I was too; I was so proud of my name when I was younger “Amaira Dawn Chamberlin”. It fit perfectly, rolled right off the tongue. As a bonus I grew up in Arizona, so of course I called it “Amerizona” but that name is curse on me now, something I wish to throw away and completely forget about. Dawn, I thought, came from my father; that’s how it was supposed to work at least. My half brother’s middle name was his father’s name, I have many siblings all half sibling, I think my Mother wanted to have something of them. But my father wanted nothing of me. To be honest I don’t even know if that’s truly his name, I never got the chance to meet him and the very few times my mother told me about hi she told me vaguely. He had gotten sick when I was born and left; he didn’t care that I was sick two that I got pneumonia twice as baby and was hospitalized. No, he already had a daughter, my sister, and that was enough.

Chamberlin, comes from my grandmother, it’s not her maiden name either, I couldn’t tell you where it comes from becouse I’ve never been told myself. My Mom wasn’t in my life much after that she’d come and go every few years to see me and my brother; eventually she stayed in America. Not with us, she jumped around, and eventually found herself someone. She’s married now and lives in Nebraska with my Stepfather, half-sister, and two siblings in law. I visited them in the winter of 2017, during my Christmas break me along with my brother. He didn’t return with me though, he stayed with her,  another person I was jealous of.

I know you probably don’t want to hear my life’s story, but this is the story my name not my life, the reason I’m abounding the only thing that’s ever maid me, me. Becouse that name is no-longer who I am.

On one occasion when my Mother came home, she came to live with us, at this point we were living in Boise, Idaho; my Aunt had begun her first year of Residency to become a doctor there. As I said, my mom was a teacher, so she’d give my brother and I lessons. I was the only one who’d listen to her, my brother is mentally handicapped and was especially troubled when we young, but that didn’t matter. She taught me how to read and wright I’d spend hours at the kitchen table. I took breathing treatments at that age, sit there and breath through a tube or mask hooked up to a machine that’d clean my lungs, that’s when I’d practice my cursive read every book I could. I wasn’t healthy so I found a way around it with school.

Before we’d left Arizona I was a dancer, but I broke my ankle and my Asthma and lungs began to get worse and worse ending my happiness. I found refuge library I had collected. I also started 1st grade ounce we moved to Idaho. This was especially difficult for me, the teachers expected average of me, but I was brilliant. The teachers thought of me as disruptive and arrogant; I was punished becouse of it. My Aunt and Mom were furious and had me placed in second grade. I was happy there, but it took a lot of pain and suffering to get that far.

We returned to Arizona after a year in Idaho. My Mother left again.

I don’t remember everything after that, we moved every year. A new school every time, with that school became harder and harder, as I got older the divide between me and my classmates grew stronger and I became more anti-social, at some points I became violent. It was anger I could take at school that I couldn’t take out at home. My Brother who was five years older than me, and my cousin who is three years older than me decided I was something they could play with, or more like torture, they’d take any chance they could to hurt me in any way. We never had any parents around either. My Aunt was always busy with work and was never home, and every so often a family member would come to live with us and take care of us, but that’d only worsen the problem. I feared for my life when I was a kid. I was only 7 or 8 when I began to sleep with a knife under my pillow.

One night I just began crying, I didn’t understand why at the time, my family found me, and I told them it was a stomach ache. I spent the night in the Hospital. I realize now that I had depression and it was bad. I didn’t go to far, but I’d try and hurt myself, for attention for release, I don’t know, but I tried to break my wrist at one point. I just grew numb.

It wasn’t all bad though I had the Boy Scouts and the Girls Scouts, I could go camping and hiking, river rafting, and canoeing, swimming, and playing with the few friends I had. I loved the outdoors, and I still do, and slowly my health improved. But then, we moved again. This time we left my home and our family to go to Nevada, Las Vegas to be exact. I got my first cell phone when we moved there; I was in fifth grade, I had to walk to school in one of the highest areas of kidnapping. I was fine though, I maid it home safe.

My anger got worse though I was back at making death threats to the other kids. My teachers found out and punished me, but it didn’t work. My aunt tried to take me to see a phycologist, she tried that a couple times, but it never worked, I was too smart for the phycologist. I figured out exactly what I needed to say and how to get them to leave me alone.

I started middle school in Vegas, but I didn’t finish it there. They took me out and I did online school for most of my sixth-grade year. I was having even more problems, my lungs got worse again and I was back on breathing treatments, and I had lost my friends, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I chose online school, so I could get some quiet. I became even more numb.

We moved again, I started 7th grade at Fox Creek, the most important school of my entire life. I honestly owe my life to Bullhead City. I was still having problems in class; I was smart enough to be passing without problem, but I didn’t care. I maid friends, or rather a friend, I insulted her on my first day and she invited me to sit with her. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I was awkward and stayed close to her. Eventually I became infatuated with her. It wasn’t a new feeling, I had felt it for a girl once before, only now I can realize those feeling o so long ago. I directed my feelings towards a boy. But I knew it wasn’t real, I came out that year, not to my family, never to my family. That year ruined my life as much as it saved me though. That year I hurt, and badly. I broke one of the lower vertebrates in my back, I wasn’t able to walk properly, and the pain was incredible, some days I couldn’t walk or get up at all. We didn’t figure out what had happened for a long time. I healed but I’ll never be over the pain. To this day, I can’t do everything I love, I can no longer backpack, or sit for long, and I can just about crack every bone in my body. I became frail, and numb, the pain blended into my life, it’s still there, I think, that if somehow, I had the power to give someone my pain for just a moment, they’d cry be lying on the floor, it’s debilitating. My lungs got worse again as well, I was soon going to see the doctor every weekend, getting shots that’d keep me alive, keep me from coughing myself into oblivion.

That was a long time ago; all of that was a long time ago. I’m sure it doesn’t matter to you, you who I depend upon to make the decision of whether or not I get to leave all of that behind. Every sad memory, every realization that I’m weak, that I buried deep under my skin.

I don’t believe in a soul, but I think that there is something, something driving us all that make the day go by. I think a normal person would have given up by now, given in to every temptation. If I were a normal person, I’d have chosen all the drugs that were offered to fix me. I would have broke and hurt myself or someone else. In my freshmen year of high school, my uncle came to live with us, and as much as I hate to admit it, I was terrified of him. He had all the power over me. I slept with a knife, I even slept in my closet for a time, for months I planned going down to the courthouse, I even mapped out the walk I’d have to take from school, and the papers I needed to file a restraining order.

My friends don’t even know this, but at one point I began starving myself so that I could avoid going in the kitchen and seeing him. I stopped cooking, one of the few things that kept me sane, and I ate what little I could. School was the only place I was safe. I would stay after school any time I could just to be away from him. I hid behind my culinary classroom at school one of the few places that maid me happy. I spent time with the people who understood me and little by little I regained myself. I stopped hiding behind a mask that I had put on so many years ago.

But we moved again. We left the city, the people, the friends that saved my life, that gave it back to me. I put that mask back on. The only thing I have left of that person is my name, the person I was finally becoming. Dane. I am no princess, and I never was. I’m slowly returning to what I used to be, someone who doesn’t understand themselves who hides everything from the world. Now I’m struggling to keep the few pieces of me left.

In truth there is only one way for me to truly escape, to take the mask off again. Maybe. If I were to leave again. To find a new place far, far away. I’m not an ordinary person, I am not weak either. As long as I have that piece of me, as long as I have my name left, I know that I can return to what I had. To who I was. You don’t want my life story, but you got it, you got the only thing I have left: the truth. The one no-one person has ever heard, and hat no one person will ever hear again. You hold a decision that’ll change my life, that’ll be the difference between a mask, a façade of a life, and myself. So please, take your time, becouse I’m not someone to take lightly.

© Copyright 2019 Dane-14. All rights reserved.

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