ashamed

i was supposed to be more magnificent than this.
i was supposed to be something great.
i was supposed to be something redefined.
i was supposed to be a show stopper.

emotional slave

what makes a recipe of someone? i'm not talking about looks, body fat index, or eye color. i'm referring to the complex diversity of the mental status.what is the recipe for a sound mind?for as long as i could remember, i have been a slave to my emotions. i hear a song, i read a book, i watch a movie, it's as if i am right there in the middle experiencing everything.sound crazy? maybe. but that is my reality.i hid all the time. inside music, books, movies. growing up there was always a struggle of some kind. from not enough money to fighting about money was a daily ordeal and my mother told me e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. that happened when it was out of my ear range to overhear.

i have so many memories. very few of them are good. i am currently just starting therapy, and she says i need to write down my thoughts and my memories. she says that emotional scars, or memories, shape and form the mind. so what are my memories?

• i remember when i was very small, dropping jelly on the carpet underneath the bar table that was in our house in the corner. i had snuck some, and it was about midnight, and i heard my parents arguing and could see them from the mirror on the other side of the kitchen. i was petrified. i knew my mom would kick my ass when she saw the carpet. i knew i'd get a lecture from dad on sneaking food from the kitchen. i knew my mom was chucking a clothes basket at my dad. i do not know or remember why they were arguing
  
• i remember the last time i saw my sister (#2). i was 6, she 13. she gave me her hair crimper and told me she loved me. i lived out the remainder of my childhood & teenaged years clinging to that memory, because after that, my mother told me my sister hated me and wasn't going to be my sister anymore. [more to this story to come i'm sure in a later post]
  
• i remember when i decided food tasted better than pain. at 12, my other sister (#1)moved back into the house, 6 months pregnant. she was critical and bitched and complained all the time. she did things behind mom & dad's back and blamed me for them. she'd start arguments or hit me for no reason and then would make sure if i retaliated i was the one who got caught. so i buried myself in comfort carbs which made me the lovely flabby woman struggling with her weight loss today.
  
• i remember being so excited the summer of 97. i had just been on a life-changing trip, i was happy and excited because we had finally been in one place long enough for me to actually have friends. i tried out for cheerleading and was starting advanced placement and college prep classes with my peers who were finding out that i was very smart, and were including me. then my father comes home on a friday and says god was calling him to the midwest and monday morning we left. i entered a state & town i'd never been to, and was dropped into a school that was much less educational than what i was use to. i had no one. no friends. no memories. in 11th grade, you already have your friends in place. i did not.
  i remember being teased in middle school about the size of my breasts.
  
• i remember my mom being so angry at me that she yanked me by my ponytail and dragged me through the living room, kitchen, and into my bedroom [which was the back porch] and throwing me onto my bed.
  
• mom always screamed and hit and yelled. i hear her in my head all the time.

there are more horrid, more alienated, more shocking stories i could tell. none would mean a difference to those of you reading. you might think OMG or how could a parent do that. some of you may even wonder what the details are. i'm more than happy to share those in time. these things SHAPE the mind. they enter it and mold it and move it around and they imprint images that stalk you in the shadows and creep under your bed at night. the demons of your mind encompass you, and there is so much that you want to do...say...feel...and even then i am just tired of feeling everything all the time.
reading over this, i have realized that even though i have the right to my over-emotional mental status [don't like it, but have a right to it], i could have easily have been one of those kids who opened fire in a school. i could have been the serial killer.
but im not. i don't intend to be. its about choices. will this make me or break me? what will i do when i am made or broke? will i wallow or will i move on?
sometimes i wallow, eventually...i'll move on.