Billy and The Biggest Let Down: Chapter 9

Anyone that's ever been in love can relate to the feeling you get when you first fall in love with that person. They are every thought you have, every day. They are the sun and the moon, the wind and the rain. They are everything. They are your world. Billy, was my world. When I met him, I knew I was going to love him like nobody ever could. It had been a year since T.J. and I had broken up, and I was ready to find Billy's love. 

We spent every single day together. We were inseparable. Billy was five years older than me. His family was always great to me, but I know some of them weren't exactly "on board" with our relationship. I mean I was eighteen and he was twenty-three. Billy and I were fools for one another. Oblivious to everyone else around. In the beginning, everything was perfect. Well, as perfect as you can think perfect is when you're that age. I always wanted to be around him. He made me feel so needed. Loved even. 

It only took a couple of weeks for Billy and I to drop the "L" bomb. He was scared to say it because everything was so "fresh" still. I was watching his mouth, just begging for the words to fall off his tongue. Then he said it. My life was complete at that moment. "I love you too". Now my life was complete. Being with Billy gave me an entirely new purpose in life. I was already thinking about our future together and how meant to be we were for each other. Let this paragraph alone be a lesson to all you girls and boys that are in the 16-20 age range. We girls are psycho at this age. Do not, I repeat DO NOT get yourself into a relationship this early on! I was ready to marry and have babies. For real.

So, as I was saying. We spent every moment together. I would spend the night at his house or he would spend the night at mine. He still lived with his mom at the time. I pretty much immediately made the "poop list" for staying the night at her house. Stupid mistakes. At the time I had my own apartment and he stayed there some nights. We were just living life together.

I eventually discovered that Billy was quite the drinker. We spent most of our relationship in a bar. My fake i.d. got a lot of miles when we were together. Ironically, I drank maybe a handful of times we were together. A beer here, a beer there. I wanted to keep him safe so I would often be the designated driver.

 I never realized that Billy drank a lot, at first. I didn't see anything bad about him. He was everything I wanted in a guy. He was totally my type too. Him and T.J. both fit my type, actually. Tall, blue eyes, brown hair. I liked my blue eyed boys. He was a musician, well a rapper. He was great at basketball, so he fell into the athletic category. He had his views on religion and Christianity too. He wasn't a believer and was holding on to Christians skinning Native Americans somewhere in the course of history to validate his disbelief. I was neither here nor there with what I believed in anymore, I hung on every word of his anyways. He has this confidence about him that drew me in and completely blinded me to everything else, for a while. 

I will never forget our first fight. It was drastic. We were eating at Buffalo Wild Wings, he was drinking. We were there with a bunch of his buddies and we had been there all day. It was football season so it was packed there. We were sitting outside on the patio and he was acting strange. He seemed mad at me. I could not get him to answer me when I asked him what was wrong. He was genuinely upset with me. I didn't understand. I finally just asked him, "why are you being mean to me?" He was drunk. He had seriously thought two guys came up to me and talked to me and I didn't introduce him and they walked away saying something snide. I can't remember exactly what these two imaginary people said. I was baffled. I was going over the whole day sitting out there trying to think of when this actually happened. It never did. He was just drunk. We fought there, and the whole way back to my apartment. When we got there I just started crying. "Why are you acting like this to me? I didn't do anything."

I had finally convinced him that, that never happened. For the first time in our relationship I saw an ugly side to him. I didn't even recognize him. We were already three months in. I didn't heed the red flag.  He promised me he wouldn't get drunk like that again. It didn't take long for that promise to meet an exception.

About six months in to our relationship, we moved in together. He had bought a house and we moved to Surprise. Like most people who think getting married will make all their problems go away, I thought moving in together would do that for us. Quite the contrary, though. Now we had a private place to fight. Now, it wasn't like we were having these knock down, drag out fights. I was very emotional in our arguments. It would normally happen after a drunk night, I would wait a while to say something and then we'd have it out. There were countless drunk nights where he would be a jerk to me. I'm a little sensitive to people being mean to me. Especially when I'm trying so hard to be good for them. We struggled. He struggled.

Billy didn't just drink a case and be drunk. Billy drank a case, mixed it with a bunch of energy drinks and vodka, a few shots, and pills. In one night. Those were the nights I feared what would happen to him the most. There were times I thought he died when he was hunched over in the truck and I didn't see him breathing. I would try and shake him awake and it would take a few tries. There were nights I would sleep on his chest to make sure he was breathing and I could hear a heartbeat. I feared that the next time would be the time that it killed him. He always felt as though I was overreacting. In hindsight, he's fine now, and maybe I was. But, the fear was real. It would get us fighting when we had bad nights.

He would lie to me if he was doing pills or not. I could always see it in his eyes though. They were so glossy, and his pupils were so tiny. He had a lost look about him when he was popping pills. I hated everything about his pill addiction. I hated the creepy dealers, the late night phone calls, the all nighters. Sometimes he would be up all night puking. Sometimes we had to go to the hospital because he couldn't digest anything. 

I used to cry myself to sleep. I know people say that, and we have become numb to what that means. Let me explain to you what it feels like to fall asleep crying. You're embarrassed, but secretly wishing they will wake up and ask you what's wrong so you can tell them why you're hurt. But, they don't wake up. So you sit there in your pain alone. Your heart hurts and the back of your throat gets tight because you don't want to let out the sound of your cry. You can't breathe right because your nose has been filled with snot that you don't want to get up and wipe it up, in fear of actually waking up the person next to you. You have memories fly through your head, hypothetical conversations, secret validations. Flashbacks of the reasons you're crying and the reason you're even staying in that bed in the first place. You try to find your happy place, but that memory is quickly thrown away with the hurt. Then, the good memories start to fade and all you're left with are reasons to leave. Maybe, just maybe you get some sleep that night. Then in the morning, put a smile on because nothings wrong. Crying yourself to sleep is one of the saddest things someone has to go through.

He never woke up from my cries. I had a few panic attacks when we were together. I woke up and couldn't breathe, I was gasping for air, literally feeling like I was suffocating, crying for no reason. He had woken up for a couple of them. I couldn't explain why I was having them. I was tired of fighting. 

We just kept going through life. I was working at a coffee shop and had landed a job as a telemarketer. Sorry again, I was the cold caller asking you if you were interested in being your own boss. I hated my job. It was forty-five minutes from our home and it was not exactly lucrative. I am a terrible sales person. I am way too sensitive to be asking some poor old man for his last one hundred dollars so he can purchase a website and grow his business. Keep your money mister. I'm quitting. That didn't exactly work out. I went to quit, I had found another job as an office administrator. The owner of the business asked if I would be interested in a human resources position. Really? I'm an eighteen year old, barely graduated high school, sucky sales person. Sure, I'll take the job I have no experience in. 

I caught on quickly. I had no choice, I wasn't going to just be doing human resources, I was going to be doing payroll, and running the deals, and hiring, and firing, and training, and the list goes on and on. I had two days to learn my position because the guy I was replacing was leaving to open another branch. Cool, I got this. I got it. I moved up fast. I had a salary of sixty thousand dollars a year at eighteen. Imagine my surprise in the turn of events. We moved offices closer to where I lived and I was a happy camper. I was turnin and burnin there. Welp, that lasted about seven months before I discovered the scam. I was out of there that day. It got ugly fast. Long story short, I-Fortuity, don't give your money to them.

I was driving home one day when I got a phone call from my mom. This was one of the single moments in my life I can remember not having the words to say. She had informed me that she was going to enter the business of escorting. Now, for those of you who are unaware of what that entails, I will regrettably be the one to inform you today. My mother, God love her, was now a forty-two year old, high end prostitute. I was baffled. She was on and off with stripping over the years but this was a whole other ball game. What do I say to that? You're too old? It's dangerous? Are you sure you want to have sex with men you've never met before? I can't remember if any of those questions came out of my mouth. I was certainly thinking them, though. I mean, stripping was one thing, but now we're crossing a line. I didn't really know how to handle that conversation. So, I just did what I always do with my mother. I love you, and I accept you for who you are. If that makes you happy then, I support you.

I dealt with a lot in that season. The time was June. I'll never forget June. I had a couple off days and I knew something was wrong with me. I went to the doctor a few days into feeling weird. To be more specific, I went to planned parenthood. 

My heart is literally pounding right now as I'm typing this. I'm dreading telling you this. 

I knew I was pregnant. I just knew. I don't know how, because I had never been pregnant before, but I knew there was a child growing inside of me. I was more than certain. I went and took a pregnancy test. I waited impatiently as they were doing the test. I was in a little office, pacing, shaking, sweating. The girl came in and sat me down.

 "You're pregnant."

I started to cry. I called my mom and she was ecstatic. I couldn't talk to her. I needed someone to be scared with me. I was terrified. I didn't want to call Billy and tell him. We had talked about kids and I was more than clear on his opinion at the time. He did NOT want them. I didn't either, I was nineteen. 

They moved me to another small office. I waited in there for about a half an hour alone. Crying, thinking, stressing, worrying. This was the first time in my life I didn't know how to get myself out of a situation. There was no way out. I had to face it. Finally the woman came in and threw some pamphlets at me. "So, are you going to keep it or have an abortion?" What? Are you high lady? I just found out that I'm pregnant and these are the first words out of your insensitive mouth? "I don't know right now, I don't want an abortion, I just need some time to think." I left the office. 

I got in the truck and started to cry again. I knew I just needed to call him and tell him. I lived about twenty-five minutes away from the doctors office. It was the longest conversation of my life. "Hey, baby." "Baby, what's wrong?" "Mmm" (I'm sobbing here and can't get the words out). "Baby, what's wrong?" "I'm pregnant, I'm sorry, I don't understand." I was on birth control when I got pregnant. I can't remember missing a pill. I was a statistic at that moment. We talked the whole way home. He told me it was going to be okay. He said just get home and be safe, he kept me on the phone to comfort me. When I got to the door, he was waiting there for me. I dropped everything and threw myself into his arms. He had never held me that way before. I was devastated, yet surprised at his reaction. We went into our guest bedroom and sat there.

There was a lot of silence for a while. I was thinking about our next move, what we were going to do. I don't know what he was thinking, but the words that came out of his mouth next might have told me what he was thinking about. "Baby, I'm not ready to be a dad." Confused. I was confused at that moment. That statement was about five weeks too late. I told him I was sorry, I don't know what to tell you. We are adults, we made adult decisions, we took proper precautions and sometimes we have to face the adult consequences. He kept at it. "I'm not ready for a kid. I want them one day, I'm just not ready." I told him I would do it alone. I had already raised four kids, I could handle raising one more. He flipped.

He stormed out of the room. I didn't move. I stayed there silently, little tears coming out of my eyes, rolling back to my hair. I remember that feeling. I remember my hair being wet from crying. I heard his mom come in to the house. I went out there and saw him in the kitchen, curled up on the floor in the fetal position, in front of the cupboard below the sink. He was pounding his head on the cabinet, sobbing. Not like a normal cry, but the incoherent words and fight for air kind of cry. I had never seen this side of him before. At that moment, I hit survival mode. For the first time in our relationship, I pictured myself without him and I needed that picture. I couldn't have him holding me back here. 

He and his mom went outside and talked for a while. It felt like hours, it could have been. I can't remember. I sat on the couch by myself for a little while, then I moved into my bedroom. I picked up a crochet needle and sat there in my thoughts. Ya, I crochet. Badly, but whatever. At some point later on, they came to meet me in the bedroom. They ganged up on me. "Mie, you're not ready to be a mom. You're still so young. I think you should have an abortion." I couldn't do it. 

She had accused me of faking the pregnancy. Behind my back. 

I took Billy with me to the first ultrasound. They normally don't let people in the room at planned parenthood, but I wasn't taking "no" for an answer. I took another pregnancy test and it was positive, still. We sat there together, well, I laid. The doctor, Billy and I, anxiously looking at the screen. The doctor told me there were a few things to look for during an ultrasound. She said that, the lining of the uterus gets thicker, and that most women form a cyst to assist during the pregnancy. Oh, and of course, a heartbeat. Well, I had two of the three criteria for the first ultrasound. Thick lining of the uterus and a cyst. But no heartbeat. She said, maybe it's too early to tell. Come back in a couple of weeks. I was only five weeks along at the time.

We came back again a couple of weeks later. I took another test and it was still positive. When we got to the ultrasound the cyst was gone. The lining was there but there was still no heartbeat. She said to come back again in a couple of weeks. I did. I took yet another pregnancy test and it was still positive. Did another ultrasound, and this time the lining was back to normal. And no heartbeat. The doctor said it looked like I had miscarried. A wave of relief came over me at first. Is that wrong? I felt relieved. That relief did not last long. 

I realized I just lost somebody close to me. I just lost my child.

I couldn't watch television. I couldn't see a happy couple. I couldn't see a baby. I couldn't go outside. I was a mess. Everything made me think of losing my baby. There was a life that was inside of me that I couldn't protect. I was going to be a mom. Now that was gone. I never saw a beat. I never felt a kick. I never picked out names, decorated his room, bragged about ultrasounds and my baby bump. The doctor thought it was stress from the situation that caused me to miscarry. I did puzzles for three weeks. I was a zombie. I could not keep the tears away. I would hold Billy and cry. Then, I would cry some more. He would cry with me. I think it hit us both too late. Each day got a little better, a little less devastating, a little easier. Eventually, we got back to normal. I wrote a song about him. I think he would have been a boy. 

I remember being scared

Those words will never leave me

 I just wasn't prepared

Maybe this was just my destiny

I came home crying to you

You never held me so tight

I said, "Baby, what should we do?"

You said, "Everything would be alright."

I cried everyday, I watched his life fade away

Protect this life inside of me

Protect him as you set him free

Protect this life inside of me

Protect him as you set him free

He never had a chance to breath

His heart never even beat

Protect this life inside of me

Protect him as you set him free

Into the heavens

Into the heavens.

There's more to that song, but I have a hard time keeping it going. I had a hard time writing it. I couldn't get through it for a while without crying. It helped me heal tremendously though.

After the miscarriage, I started picking up jobs left and right. I am terrible with money, I truly am. I definitely added stress to our relationship because of that. I was doing my best being nineteen and having half of every bill including a mortgage. I worked four jobs. I didn't want to be home anymore. I worked at an Italian restaurant, a private F.B.O., and two golf courses. I had a half a day off a week.

Our relationship was falling apart. When Billy got really messed up is when I hated being around him the most. I was a glutton for pain for sticking around. He would make comments about how he thought I wasn't sexually attractive anymore. Or that I needed the gym. He would never say it hurtfully. But, it hurt. He would reject me in the bedroom. It was humiliating and devastating. My self esteem was no longer existent.

Billy always seemed to be at the bar. One day, I got off of work early and wanted to spend time with him. He was at a bar watching a Suns game, GO SUNS, and said he would call me when he was done. I went home and got dolled up. I rarely did this, by the way. I did my hair, I put a nice outfit on, I wore heels. I kept looking at my phone wondering when he would call. I called him. No answer. I called him again. No answer. I called, then text and then I started worrying. Nothing. I went to the bar at a local restaurant, busted out my fakie and got a margarita. I sat there thinking he would call. Then I started crying because I was sitting at the bar by myself, dressed up for nothing, and I couldn't find him. I paid my bill and went home. Still nothing. I must have called him a hundred times. He never came home that night. I stayed up all night worrying about him. Finally, in the morning he called me. He got drunk and passed out. He didn't hear his phone.

 I remember sleeping in the truck outside of the bar on several occasions. I would wait for him to be done so he wouldn't have to drive home drunk. I was too tired to even go inside. I remember one time, I got a pedicure after work and I was so tired I fell asleep in the chair. They let me sleep there for like three hours. Strange, but sweet. 

I was reaching my threshold in this relationship. I would be at work at the F.B.O. looking on Craigslist for apartments in California. Billy and I used to escape to San Diego often and it became a safe haven for me. I just wanted to be happy. I wanted San Diego. I wanted the beach that we would walk on. I wanted the view of our hotel room. I wanted joy. I made up my mind.

I had to tell him that I was going to leave. I got drastic. I will never forget how we broke up. We were sitting on the couch, he was laying on my lap and I was playing with his hair. I was sitting there trying to work up the courage to say the words. I said them. He was calm and rational about it. He even understood. I told him I was going to move out. I did. I moved in with a friend from work and her family for two weeks. I saved up some money and left to California. I packed whatever I could fit in my car and I was gone. No bed, no friends out there, no idea what I was going to do next. 

I found a place to live on the way to San Diego. I transferred restaurants and picked up from there. I met my roommates the day I moved in. They were awesome. San Diego was awesome. I picked up a second job and lived the life. I met some guys from my job and a couple of them were from Brazil. We had steak and margaritas almost every night while we played poker. I went surfing, ate a ton of Brazilian food at Brazil By The Bay. If you ever get a chance to go to that place it's behind the Sports Arena and it's a little slice of heaven. I would suggest the Pave`. I never wanted to leave this place.

I picked up a second job and was working and making good money. I really had it made out there. I wasn't too far from Billy though. He called daily. He cried often. I cried only sometimes now. He wanted me to come home. I wasn't going anywhere. Billy was having life changing epiphanies while I was away. He finally realized that he had a problem and that he didn't want to drink anymore. I was convinced that if he changed for me that he would resent me down the road. I begged him to please do this for him. He assured me that he had made changes for him. I still wasn't budging. That state of mind only lasted so long. I came home three months later.

I remember driving home through the mountains, stopping in a little town, grabbing breakfast and a carton of smokes. I called him every so often on the drive and we would share the excitement of me coming home. When I got home, he was in his bedroom and we just held each other. It was an amazing feeling to be home.

Even though I was so excited to be home, I decided not to move back in. I wanted to start over as best as we could. It didn't take long for Billy to get back on the wagon. He drank for an entire twenty-four hours straight, literally. I am not exaggerating. It took about another three months for us to officially break up. I went to Chicago for J.D.'s wedding and got to spend time with my friends again. By the way, she's amazing. They are still happily married and expecting! It gave me time away and some perspective on the whole situation. As soon as I came home, we had "the talk".

Even though I had initiated the break up, it didn't make it any easier. We sat and talked for hours, smoked an entire pack of cigarettes, and said our goodbyes. Sensible Heart by City and Colour was playing in my stereo. I'm sentimental like that I guess.

I didn't handle the break up well. He handled it worse than I did. I think we were both pretty devastated about the entire two years coming to an end. I was pretty down for a few weeks. I just couldn't get enough tears out, or talk about it enough, or feel better in general. I finally had to force myself to let him go. I sobbed and wrote this letter to him. It took me a few hours of a good hard cry and spilling my guts out to feel ready.

I remember the promises

Every hollow word you spoke

I wish I could easily dismiss

Everything that you broke

This is me letting go...

       When we met, you were poisoned from this heavy axe. I saw no axe, I only saw you. You told me to sing to you and your heart was mine, and mine was yours. I did not see this poison consuming you. Consuming us. I fell so fast and so did you. It was "fresh", do you remember? We spent every day together. We didn't experience each other until love entered our hearts outspoken. You were mine, I was yours. Everything felt so natural. The poison grew stronger still. I did not recognize because your love for me was so very blinding. Hope, you set me free. My heart beating for only you. Your heart beating for me. Trust. Every "I love you" meant more each day. "How could he love me just as I love him? I'm so lucky."

         Then the poison leaked. In a quarter of the passing time, it was strong. It broke you and in turn broke me. Tears rushing down my cheeks, you turned away. My tears were caused by your self medication, this poison. I cried on. "Please, where did you go? I don't want to lose you, bring my love back!" Was it me? Did I do this? Why are you telling me this is my fault? Yet, the guilt was not mine to bear. YOU were poisoned. You realized while I begged you to come back to me. Come back. Then you promised me, "Never again, I promise. I don't want to hurt you. I love you." I believe you. Like a fool I waited on hope. Damn you hope. I hate you.

       The poison grew stronger, stronger than you and me. And then, you did not want me. You did not wish to experience me as you had so passionately before. I should have known the passion was in the poison and the medication not meant for you. What's wrong with me? But, it was not me. The poison, how it burns.

        One day, you made a prediction while the poison intoxicated your heart. A time. A rightful prediction. Our love. You said it would last only as long as your others. I wept again as I have so many times already. As I cried, you mocked me. You accused me of being a child for feeling this way. I walked away to be alone in my pain. You called me back for more. Then you looked into my eyes and saw it was a genuine fear and my tears were real. You apologized again. Oh, this poison. We carried on.

      You needed your poison and I wanted none. I waited for you, without you. Alone, you left me alone. You have every excuse for this poison. Can you excuse me? Please? You love this poison more than me. When the poison betrays you, and I look in fear of losing you, I nurture, I care, I heal. Here I am for you, you do not want me? I will not betray you! Then, you turn your back on me again! Again! Again! Again! Forever...

       Back to the poison who so easily betrays you. You still need more. Do you remember the time I worked so much, my presence was rare? Still, this poison controls you. "Five more minutes." I wait, and wait, and wait. I tell you I'm hurting. You blame me for feeling so hurt. You could never hurt me unless it was my fault. I tell you, "I'm not happy with myself. You make me feel so small, and ugly, and unworthy." Your response? I make myself feel this way. HOW? How could I? Look at your problems. I still love you the same. I don't treat you this way. I still love you the same. I slept alone that night. You never came home to make things better. You were poisoned. So poisoned you couldn't get home. I called for you all night and morning. I wept all night. You weren't there. Do you even love me? How could you do this? Why do you want to break me? I love you, this is not fair. You finally answered my call with more promises you'd never intend to keep. "Never again", you said. And then, you finally broke me.

     I escaped far away. I told you, "lose the poison, then we can be, do it for you, not for me. "A quarter long I was gone. Everyday we talked, we cried. I missed you. Why? You made me more promises you did not intend to keep. I returned. You needed me. I could not help but love you. Hope, damn you. I hate you hope.

       When I returned, everything was worse than before. We fought every time you were poisoned. Every time for a quarter more. You must not love me the way you made me believe. Trust has so many meanings. I told you, "you have my heart, please don't break it, it's the only one I have and it's yours." You did not understand. Now, I lay broken with tears falling from my eyes. Again. Now, I am alone. Again.

       You still poison yourself. Regardless of everything we'll never get to do again, you still poison yourself. Never will you hold me again. You will never get to comfort me. Never kiss me. Never hear me say, "I love you." Never hear me say, "I need you." Never hear forever. Never make love again. Never hear I miss you. Never hear me call you," My love." "Baby." "Deuce." Nothing. You'll never smell me, feel me, touch me, caress me, snoogle me.

     I hope you realize now. I am deprived of the same comforts I once held so close to me. And you can not blame me anymore. Blame the poison. Blame it for taking me away from you. For taking you away from me. I hate this poison! It took away my love. I'll never get to keep you. The worst part is, I love you so much still. Every part of me wants to hold you and feel you. I want to tell you I love you. Kiss you one more time. I have to be alone again. Without you. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I have to sit back and let you go! Do you know how bad I hurt everyday? I can't make myself stop loving you. I wish I could hate you! Even through all you put me through, I still can't hate you. I want to though; I don't want to hurt anymore. I've cried from the beginning of this and harder all the way through...

Please don't drink anymore. It poisoned everything.

Ya, I'm emotional. I know. It was liberating to let it all out, though. After I wrote this letter I let him go. Once I'm done, I'm done. I moved on and had unintentionally commenced "The Wrath of Mie".

Hello There Single Life: Chapter 8

      It had to have been the day after T.J. and I broke up, that I picked up right where I had left off. I had been working at this place called Paul Lee's Chinese Kitchen for a little bit and I had adapted to being as adult as everybody else. My bestie at the time, Lia, had picked me up from home and I convinced her to go to the gas station to get a pack of 27's. We were constantly confusing everybody with our names because they are so similar. I was back on the smoking thing again. I had literally changed who I was overnight. I was ready to get my life back. I did a lot of blaming on T.J.. I mean, I almost converted to Mormonism. I was a little church girl when I was with him. I made sure to flip the script as soon as I had my freedom back. Not like he was the one holding me back, but you know how "us"  girls can be. It's always YOUR fault.

I met some lifelong friends at Paul Lee's. I met my best friend to this day, Landon. He was a cage fighter/college student/server. He and I have a rare friendship. You know, the kind of friendship where you're actually just friends. Most guy/girl friendships don't work that way. Ours did. Him and I were party animals. Besides the partying we did a lot of constructive things. We trained together, he taught me everything I know about Jiu Jitsu and Muay Thai. He's one of the only men in the world that can punch me in the face and get away with it. And trust me, he still would. He has been there for me and more occasions than I can think of. We would go shooting together, eat Angie's and Jimmy's in the ghetto together, you name it, we probably did it.

 He introduced me to my three other best guy friends too. There was the Bosnian, who is loud and obnoxious. Sorry dude, you know it's true. He has a crazy story all on his own. When I first met him he told me he was Japanese and I believed him. He was such a jerk. It ended up solidifying our friendship though. He is the most loving, caring, jerk you'll ever meet. I went bowling with his family once and he told me how to say something in Bosnian to the effect of "great job"! I had actually called his entire family "ass-faces". See what I mean. There was J.D., a fun loving guy from Chicago. He was the master of shenanigans. We have jumped off roofs into pools, also gone shooting, watched Boondock Saints countless nights, and did a lot of partying together. There was also Andy. He was from New Mexico. He's an incredible soccer player, normally babysitting us, and I love him to death. We are all still friends to this day.

Now, slowly but surely, I began to transition into a "mature" seventeen year old. I had acquired a fake i.d. with Lia. I was from Jersey and the I.D. was held together with a cheap laminate and a piece of foil in between so you couldn't see through it. It looked just like a Blockbuster membership card, because that's where they got the laminate from. With that I.D. I had a new power. I could buy booze. Who has two thumbs and just became the coolest high school student? This guy! I didn't hang out too much with kids from my school. I partied a lot with kids from the other high schools.

I had picked up a second job at Circuit City and met my friend Ray who introduced me to "The Root". I would spend a lot of time over there partying with them. I had learned about beer pong for the first time. I'm actually not too bad at it. At first, I was pretty awful, but I got the hang of it. I learned how to chew tobacco with them, and also how to smoke hookah. We never did any drugs over there, shockingly. We were just a group of high school kids trying to have a good time. The cops were regular visitors to "The Root's" house. We always had some sort of craziness going down.

If I wasn't at "The Root's" house, or with the guys, I was with my new group of friends from Circuit City. I had met a guy named Tom from Washington and him, Ray and I became pretty close. Tom was a student at U.T.I., which is a vocational school for cars, and he had been installing stereos for Circuit City. We were always hanging out at his apartment, drinking and watching a lot of Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Then one day, one of Tom's friends from Washington moved down. His name was Jerid and he rode street bikes. I don't know if you've picked up on this, but I love extreme things. I was so anxious to get on this bike. I begged Jerid to take me for a ride. He did, and I was hooked. We all became pretty hooked. I would go everywhere with Jerid on that thing. He could stunt with me on it! I had so much fun doing wheelies and stoppies and things that are so stupid and dangerous.

Eventually, Jerid, Tom, Ray, Greg (from Oregon), and Sammy (another friend from Circuit City) all moved in together. We got a house on forty-third and Thomas. Right in the middle of what is known as the Iron Triangle. Pretty ghetto. We loved it though. We had major keggers there and our house was always filled with people. Meanwhile, I was still working at Paul Lee's AND going to school. I had picked up another job at McGrath's as a food runner also. So, I was working three jobs, living on my own, and going to school. I also took full advantage of my fake i.d. and every Tuesday night I would sing karaoke at Native New Yorker betting drinks for songs sang well. I eventually got caught. One of the best things anyone could have done for me.

Did I mention I was in a band also? Like I said before, I met a lot of life long friends working at Paul Lee's. My sister Leah was working there also. There was a girl that had started hostessing and her name was Nancy. She was a platinum blonde, heavy make-up, quiet kind of girl. I was in charge of training her as a hostess and we got along. At first. There was J.J. and Michael, they were brothers and they could jam like no one's business. They were bussers at the good ol' Paul Lee's. Then there was a server named Nathan who could rip up a bass.  There is a handful more to tell you about but we'll stick with these guy's for now since they work with this band story. J.J., Michael, Nathan, and Steve were in a band together called Musical Fusion. Steve also worked at Paul Lee's but his place is brief in this story. They played shows, they were good. The band was looking for something different though. They had asked me to sing with them at one point. For some reason it took a little prying but I eventually took them up on the offer.

Our first time jamming together we wrote a song. "Animus". It means more spirit than man in Latin. It was our first "hit". We started playing shows and recording and we had a great time together. Nancy and Leah were always around. They had become really close. I had a period of time that I didn't like Nancy. That's another story in itself, but she was always there. She and Michael had become best friends.

So, as you can see, there are a lot of stories in this chapter. I did a lot in my year of seventeen. I'm sure I could tell you eight more chapters of that year alone. I'll spare you though. Instead, I will prelude a the next chapter for you with one more story. I had just turned eighteen and I moved in with a friend I trained Jiu Jitsu with. I was either stunting street bikes all night or at some sort of house party. Well, I happened to be at a house party for a friend's brother one night. I was just minding my own business, drinking my beer, and someone had asked me to sing. This happened often, I hate it. It did, however, catch the attention of the man I would fall in love with that night. Billy. He kept asking me to sing. He couldn't get enough of it. He took my heart and made it his that night. We got each others number, and the rest is....In chapter nine. Better bring out the tissues. Chapter nine is a tear jerker. I'm not looking forward to writing it. I've been avoiding this chapter just so I wouldn't have to be ready to write the next one.

The First Love: Chapter 7

For the sake of privacy I will refer to my first love as T.J. When I was fifteen going on sixteen, I met him. I had some friends that I met in the Mormon community through another friend, and we were all going to work at Manzanita Speed Way. It was an extra twenty or thirty bucks in your pocket a night and we were all just kids working concessions. Meeting T.J. was like the visual of what love at first site looks like. I just wanted to be around him. He was only a year older than me but he was a giant! If I had a type at that age it was the tall, blue eyes, brown hair, type. I found my six-four, eyes that melted me, light-brown hair guy. He had this confidence about him that made me want to be everything he wanted. We spent the whole night flirting back and forth and it didn't take long for me to do the good ol' number exchange. It didn't take much longer after that for us to start dating.

We were a couple of puppies. Oh man, were we in love. T.J. quickly turned into my world and there were no other planets in this galaxy. Just him, revolving around me, and me revolving around him. I pictured myself married to this guy. We would even talk about marriage often. Of course we did! We were a couple of kids trying to be grown ups. The only downfall in our relationship at the time was, that I lived in Phoenix and he lived in Mesa. It was about a thirty to forty-five minute drive for us. I obviously didn't have a vehicle so getting to Mesa every weekend was a challenge. We talked on the phone all night, every night. Being with T.J. was all I knew.

If you haven't been able to tell already, I'm a people pleaser. It was absolutely no different in this case. I would find any way to get to Mesa every weekend. I was determined to never miss one of his football games, dances, or any weekend for that matter. I would stay at his house, in his room, and he would sleep in his parents room. T.J. was Mormon so the fact that I was even allowed to stay under the same roof is still a shocker to me. Naturally, in a Mormon lifestyle, they want you to date other Mormons. I wasn't exactly what his family was hoping for. They still took me in as his girlfriend with semi-open arms and let us do our thing.

"Our thing" was more than a stretch from what they had in mind. In the Mormon religion the men are expected to go on a mission for two years when they are nineteen. To be eligible for said mission, you must uphold a reputable lifestyle. Having sex before you were married was not considered reputable. In fact, it was considered blasphemous. Him and I both had the best intentions of upholding this standard, but we were just a couple of teenagers with too much alone time. We obviously did not make the cut here.


Being intimate with a Mormon is a serious mental attack! We were always trying not to do it because of his fear of not being able to go on his mission. Then we would fail and it would be an instant guilt trip. Holding that weight on your shoulders at sixteen can be really heavy.


While I was with T.J., I decided to look into becoming Mormon. I read the entire Book of Mormon, I had my first few discussions and I went to church with his family. I was sort of on my way to converting. I probably would have taken the jump too, if things didn't start taking a turn for the worst. Do you remember me telling you I was a people pleaser?


T.J. and I had, had the "if you could have one thing, what would it be" conversation. I don't remember what mine was but I promise you it isn't relevant to this story. I will never forget his, though. He wanted what almost any guy would say he wanted. If you're thinking it, you're probably right. It was my worst nightmare. It was something I was completely foreign to and so unwilling to do. I was such a naive putz. Things didn't go down quite how he'd anticipated but I still wasn't comfortable with any of it. After that weekend, our relationship changed drastically.


He started talking to some girl in his class after that. I was so desperate to be the "cool" girlfriend that I acted like I didn't care. He even kissed her and told me about it and I pretended like everything was fine. I told him something like, "whatever you have to do to figure out what you want". I'm an idiot. I cried for a couple of days. I never told him though. I couldn't explain at the time how badly it hurt me because I didn't want to fight with him. We had never fought before. I was a puppy that had been trained into a show dog. I did whatever he wanted.


I think that everything could have gone on like that for a while if what happened next never occurred. It was winter time, I remember that because we had the fire going in his living room. His parents went to bed and we did what two teenagers do when you leave them alone. Except, we got caught. To this day, that very moment is still the most embarrassing moment of my life. I have never been as scared or shocked as I was in those few memories. I remember her screaming his entire full name at the top of her lungs. I remember us both scrambling to collect ourselves, just praying this wasn't actually happening. I remember her scolding us in the living room. Terrifying.


She drove me home that night, obviously. All the way back to Phoenix. We didn't talk that entire thirty minute drive. I was going through the speech in my head to my father. I wasn't going to let T.J. get in trouble alone. I didn't have to worry about that, though. She walked me to the door and knocked. Like I didn't have the key. My dad answered and she made me tell him what happened. My dad's reaction was surprising. He asked a few questions, then said, "get inside." That was it. We never talked about it again.


After that, we weren't allowed to see each other. It didn't last that long though. Once Christmas came around we were allowed to exchange gifts and spend some time together. It wasn't the same though. Things started becoming different, and then he turned my world upside down with one sentence. "I want to date other people." It wasn't so nonchalant, but the words were still true. He wanted to see what was out there. I was convinced that there was nothing else better out there for him. I didn't see how he thought he was ever going to find something better than what we had. But, because I loved him I didn't argue it. I let him do what he wanted to and we broke up.

It wasn't long before he started calling me to come see him. We hung out here and there and it was o.k. One night we went to a movie with some of his friends. He had his arm around me while they were all getting snacks during the previews. As soon as he saw his friends walk into the theater he took his arm off from around my shoulders. Not smoothly either, abruptly. I had finally gotten to my boiling point. I stormed out of there as fast as I could and went to my car. He followed me, and was just baffled at my reaction.

I went off on him. I told him if he was embarrassed to be with me, then don't invite me to a movie. If you want to see other people, then don't call me. If you think you can do better, than do better! I'm sure there were a few other things I said but point of the story is, I was done. I quickly moved on after that. Like, next day quickly. I learned a new trait about myself that day. When I'm done, I'm done. No looking back or second considerations, I was over it. He called me often trying to get back together and I wasn't having it. In fact, he still calls me to this day.

When we broke up, I took to the single life rather well. Maybe a little too well.

One Is The Lonliest Number: Chapter 6

I started packing that night and waited for my dad to come home. When he came home, Lacy and him talked about it. He told me I was going. I didn't know how to respond to all of this. I was devastated and confused. Was I really being kicked out at fifteen? I didn't have anywhere to go. My mom was still out of town and I was going to be alone. I had this trunk from all of our moves and here I was, packing it again. All of my belongings fit into this one trunk. My freshman year was just ending and I had no idea what was going to happen next.

The only place I had to go was to Mamacita's apartment. My dad dropped me off and I will never forget asking him this, "when can I com home dad?". He didn't have an answer for me. I imagine this not being easy for my dad. I don't think he wanted to take custody of us just to see me go. For the first time in all of this, I wanted my dad. I didn't want him to go. I didn't want to be left there. I was starting to get my life together. I had stability and structure. I wasn't smoking or drinking or talking to boys. I was on the straight and narrow and I was happy. The first night at Mamacita's, her kids and I sat in a circle on the bed and passed around a joint and a bottle of tequila. I became so sick and thought I was going to die. I passed out on the bathroom floor in tears.

At first, staying at Mamacita's was like a vacation. It was summer time so it didn't seem so permanent. Eventually, my mom got a house together on nineteenth avenue and Northern with her new boyfriend Chris. Everything was great. We had the family together. The kids were with us for the summer and life was okay. Chris had a son also that came to stay with us occasionally. This kid was a redhead and he had the worst temper I had ever seen! I had to babysit here and there throughout the summer and it was hell.

My mom was still dancing of course and Chris had just lost his job. Money was starting to get tight and we didn't have a vehicle until the very end of the summer. My mom was having trouble paying the bills so she stopped paying the rent. Then the electricity. All we had was gas and water. The pool we had been using at the beginning of the summer was starting to turn green because we had no electricity to clean it. The house was slowly turning into a dump. We kept everything in a cooler and we didn't eat anything that was perishable, unless we just bought it. That meant that myself and my sister right below me were walking a mile to the grocery store every day in the one hundred and twenty degree heat. We would go buy groceries and ice every single day. If there was any change leftover her and I would go to McDonald's and get an ice cream cone in secret.

At night, it was so hot. I tried sleeping outside by the pool where it was slightly cooler. I was attacked by mosquito's in my sleep and was miserable for a few weeks. We took cold showers and never used covers at night. It was not the best living conditions and it wasn't our best summer. At the end of it, my dad came and got the kids. My mom decided to hit the road with Chris and his new, used truck. They lived out of that for a while when my mom was dancing in New Mexico. She told me I could come along. That would mean dropping out of high school and living out of a truck with her and her crazy boyfriend. No thanks. I asked my dad if I was allowed home yet and that was still a no.

I contacted my old neighbor, from the house we lived in with my dad when he first took custody of us, and asked her family if I could live with them. They said yes and off I went. They were in the same school district and area for me to continue going to the high school I started out at. Although, I am grateful for having a roof over my head at any time, living with them was miserable. I never felt at home, I never felt comfortable, I missed my family. I would get to talk to them here and there and I would just cry. I would cry myself to sleep at night often. Taking them away from me was the worst punishment Lacy could have ever given to me. We were a team, we were together through it all and she broke us up. I never wanted to forgive her for that.

I would try and be at my friends house's as often as possible so I wouldn't have to go home to this family I was miserable around. My friend David and I would hang out and toss the ball around in his backyard or play video games. I was inserting myself into my friends lives so I could feel a part of a family for a little bit. I am thankful for friends like him.

I met another friend, from J.R.O.T.C. that year. Ya, I was the dork on campus wearing a uniform every Tuesday. I loved it though. It gave me a sense of purpose and I was thriving in this class. I met friends in that class that changed my life forever. Jose, was one of them. I would walk home with him after school and hang out with his family so I wouldn't have to go home. His family took me in and made me one of their own. They offered to let me live with them, and I jumped on that so fast you could have seen the dust whip up off of my heels. I moved my things in and I had a home. My dad was still in the picture at this point. He was giving the families I lived with fifty bucks a week to help with food or clothes.

I loved being a part of this family. It was so comfortable because there was so many of them. I was used to the big family atmosphere and it was familiar and safe. The best part about this family was not just that Jose's mom and sister and Tata took me in, but the ENTIRE family did. Tia's, Tio's, and everybody in between. I was officially family. I was not alone anymore. I was surrounded and I was happy.

My dad ended up separating from Lacy and got his own place not too far from where I was staying. I moved back in with him and my siblings. We jumped right back into the swing of things as a family. I started working at the beginning of the summer and was gone most of the time. I would help my dad out with money and around the house. We had a system and we were a team.

Prior to Lacy kicking me out, we were in church and we were very involved. I became very close with the youth pastor. I would help him with basketball clinics and I would spend time with his family and other girls from our youth group. They used to braid my hair, we would eat well together, and it was a strong fellowship. When Lacy kicked me out, I obviously stopped going to the church she went to. The youth pastor kept in contact with me and when we moved in with my dad he would come to the house and talk with me.

His methods were strange, but I never thought to second guess them because I really trusted him. I would lay on the couch and close my eyes, and he would rub my feet while we talked. I never questioned it. I would beg my sister to talk to him and be open with somebody. She is not the type of person to open up to a lot of people. She finally agreed. I remember driving to work in a co workers car and I remember that phone call. She was hysterical and told me just to come home please. We flipped the car around and sped to my house. When I got there she came outside and hugged me like she had never hugged me before. I went inside and he was there by the kitchen sink washing his hands. He started trying to stand up for himself but he was falling over his words. She came outside again and told me what happened.

While her eyes were closed, he was rubbing himself on her feet. I was disgusted. I felt sick and so responsible for what happened. I told him to leave, that my sister did not make things up and I believed her over him. This guy had the nerve to call our house and try to talk to me. He tried to convince me he didn't do anything wrong. I didn't even know what to say, but she did. She told him off! She was so brave and I wasn't brave enough for her. I felt so bad. It was one thing that it happened to me. It was a tragedy that I put my sister in that position. She didn't want to tell my dad what happened. I told her it was her choice but I thought that she should. She did. My dad walked in the door and we told him and he walked right back out. He handled it with the church and we put it behind us. I never saw my sister so strong before. I realized I wasn't the only one in the family that was holding us together.

It was around this same time that I met my first love. I was head over heels and he loved me back. Puppy love was an understatement, I was in love.

I Did Not See That Coming! :Chapter 5

Moving in with my dad was as close to a culture shock as I have ever been. We had rules, we had bedtimes, we had chores and we had no clue what we were up against. My dad started dating Lacy right around the same time we were in church with my dad. They married around the same time my mom and Brian were getting divorced. We were not invited to the wedding so I had no memory to share with you there. I remember being pretty crushed that we weren't a part of it. My dad said it was sort of spur of the moment and that's why we weren't invited. Try telling that to a teenager and see if it makes sense.

Lacy, was a crazy woman. At least to me she was. Initially, I really liked her and looked up to her. Lacy was a Christian woman, that's how my dad met her, and she put off that persona for a while. Lacy's husband before my father had passed away from a tragic mistake in the hospital. She had a son and a daughter, Matthew and Brittney, and her mother Beccah lived with them too. Lacy was obsessed with "I Love Lucy". That stuff was all over her house! Lunchboxes, magnets, pictures, and there was plenty more paraphernalia involved, trust me.

Since the house was pretty crowded, I was on the floor in Britt's room or in the living room. They were working on building on to the house but it still left me without a room. When my dad took custody of us, I was furious with him. I would pick out any reason to fight with him. We had screaming match after screaming match. I was such a jerk. See, you can read these chapters so far and come to a conclusion that my mom might have had her priorities mixed up. That did not appeal to my heart at the time. Even though she isn't the average "Susie homemaker", she is the most loving mother I have. Her methods were certainly impractical, but she had the best intentions, I believe. Taking me away from the free for all meant I now had boundaries and rules. I was not having it. My dad and I were at war and I was bringing out the big guns. Or, so I thought.

One day, I wanted to wear my short shorts over to his friends house where we would watch the boxing matches. Naturally, my father said no. He told me to change, to which I replied, "no". DING! DING! Our own boxing match was about to begin. All but one of the seven kids were in the van that day, I can't remember who, but it doesn't matter. We are screaming back and forth at each other and I wish I could remember what I mumbled under my breath that made my dad do this...He pulled that van over, slammed the brakes, opened the door and started smacking me. My dad had never struck me like that before. I have been thumped, which is worse than a smacking, with my dads fingers, I have been spanked, or back handed in the arm, but NEVER hit in the face. Not only was I traumatized, but it was like the hit heard around the world, every child in that car was crying. Looking back, it's rather comical. I was such a little turd and I needed a good smacking.

Now that we lived with our dad full time, we were at our mom's on the weekends. She was going back and forth between here and New Mexico, dancing. She would get a hotel normally and we would stay with her. They were like mini vacations. She would get our favorite things and we would have a great time together. At one point she got a house in Paradise Valley. She was dating this guy that had a limo for a car. I think his name was Peter. Weird guy, stuck up daughters, and I don't think any of us wanted them to date. I remember we didn't have a whole lot at this house. My sister below me and I were sleeping on box springs because we had no mattresses and we had thirteen inch television with a built in VCR. The only movie we had was "Superstar" and to this day it's still my favorite movie. We literally watched that movie every single day, at least twice a day. It was the only form of entertainment available.

Paradise Valley is in the same area as the middle schools I went to and some of my old friends lived in the area. There was this guy, that I was friends with at the first middle school and he was in the neighborhood with a friend of his. I ran into him and we started hanging out while I was at my mom's. One day, I went to his house to hang out. I'm pretty sure I lied to my mom about where I was actually going, but his mom was okay with me being there. I hadn't seen this guy in a while and he was so different. He wasn't a virgin anymore, he had guns, he was some stranger I was hanging out with practically. He asked if I just wanted to stay the night. It seemed fine to me. I didn't even consider what happened next, to ever be possible.

That night, he told me to sleep in his room. I don't know what my problem is but for someone who has seen a lot of life at a young age, I was so naive. I am also the kind of person that will throw myself under a bus before I let you get run over. I am too nice to a fault and this night it showed the consequences. I slept in his bed with him, but I laid as far away as I could on a full mattress. I was nervous, and had no idea where this was going. He started making his move towards me. I just went with it. I don't know why, I wasn't attracted to him, I didn't want to date him, I just didn't want him to be mad at me. He started to try and have sex with me and I kept telling him that I didn't want to. I was a virgin and even though I was experienced with other things, this was the only sacred thing I had left. He didn't stop. I couldn't scream, I didn't want to wake his mother up. I kept thinking to myself that she wouldn't believe me anyways. No one would. This was my fault for all the other things that I had done with boys. No one would believe that I didn't want to do this. I just closed my eyes until it was over and pretended to be asleep when he was done. I was fifteen and I had just lost my virginity.

He said he wanted a "quickie" that morning. Oh, now I have the courage to say , "no." A whole night too late. His mom was finally awake, I could hear her in the kitchen, I just asked to her to please take me home. When I got home, I didn't know what to do. I needed to tell someone, but I couldn't tell anyone that I had been raped. I spent the night there, I got in his bed, I didn't scream, I didn't do anything to stop it from happening. It was my fault, so how could it be rape? I had to own it like it was my choice. I called my friend and told her that I had sex with someone. That was it, now I wasn't a virgin.

When we went back to my dad's I had to pretend like nothing happened. Besides that one friend, I never told anybody about what happened until much later. I told everyone I was a virgin because I was so embarrassed. I had to act normal around my dad and siblings. It eventually became the truth to me. I was still a virgin and I had never had sex. Lie.

Lacy and my dad had to have a house built because our home was too small. When we finally moved in, Lacy and I had grown to dislike one another. I don't know if it was because she was a control freak and couldn't stand my siblings responding to me more like a mother than her. Or, if it was because I reminded her of my mother, whom she despised. Either way, we had major issues between each other now.

One day, all the kids were sitting around the dinner table eating lunch. Matthew and my youngest sister were arguing back and forth and I pushed Matthew's head with my hand and told him to stop. For me, a very normal thing to do with bickering siblings. For Lacy, who was standing behind me, an unbelievable act. She screamed at me to go to my room. "Don't you ever put a hand on my child!!" "Did she hurt you Matthew??" To which he replied with tears perfectly on cue, "ya". Sniffle. Sniffle. Apparently, I was a child abuser. I stayed up in my room crying from the unjust act I had just been accused of.

The next day, Matthew and my youngest sister are at it again. Arguing back and forth because she won't move from in front of the television. Annoying? Very. Does it justify him kicking her in the head? Not on my watch. She came to my door crying and and told me what he did. I went out there and ripped him a new one. Didn't hit him, but if my words were nun-chucks he would have been out for the count. That night Lacy came into my room and told me I was being kicked out, going to my mom's and never coming back. She wasn't lyin' either.

A Whole Mess of Crazy People: Chapter 4

Here we go. Moving all of our things, saying goodbye to my dog, leaving it all behind. In a lot of ways, I wasn't that upset about the move. I had really destroyed my reputation here and maybe another clean slate was in order. This time we were headed to fortieth street and Camelback, where my mothers oompa loompa resided, except there was no candy there. For some reason this guy hated kids. I don't know what would compel a man to date a woman with five of them, but to each his own I guess. This new apartment complex was significantly smaller than our previous six bedroom, two story, game room having home. It was seven hundred dollars cheaper but still cost over a thousand dollars to live there. I was baffled at the move. Did we seriously just leave our mansion for this?!? Now, we had four girls in one bedroom and our brother in the living room, my mother had her own room. Things were cramped to say the least.

My mother was dancing again at this point and was gone often. She was either with her boyfriend or at work. I think at some point they broke up, because my mom started dating a guy that lived in the complex also. He was a creeper. Like, breathing over my mother while she slept,  creeper. He was just one of the characters that we met that summer in our new apartment. There were others...

As a fourteen year old girl, your social life is top priority and I took no time at all to start making friends. I made friends with the group of kids that could have definitely been the "cool kids" of the complex. We went swimming every day, we smoked cigarettes, drank whatever we could get our hands on and it was like I jumped right back into the swing of things. I pulled quite a few stunts at this new place. One of the neighbor girls, Nikki, decided streaking would be awesome. We were in the pool one day and she dared me, then I dared her, and you just don't back down from a dare. Well, I did. On the count of three, I chickened out and all I saw were butt cheeks running away from me. I did not live that down easily. In fact, she counter dared me and later that night I had to streak the complex, and Camelback.

The next day, the office ladies were sitting around the pool talking and called me over. My sister and I were on our way to the gym, not to work out but to play, and we sat down with them. They of course began the interrogation of the rumors that someone had seen my naked body running the halls of the complex. My siblings and I had perfected Pig Latin growing up, a secret language, and started figuring out how to lie to these ladies. "Ey-thay ink-thay at-thay I-ay as-way eaking-stray!!" Roughly translated it means, "they think I was streaking". We went on in our conversation and one of the office ladies interrupted us and told us that she also spoke our secret language. Busted. I just denied, denied, denied. When will I ever learn?

Towards the end of this awesome summer of freedom and no rules, we were told to start moving our things. We were being evicted again that day and needed to be out. All of our new friends started helping us move and we had to put our things in storage. My mom came by, gave us some money, her car, and where the storage unit was and took off. For some reason, I don't remember seeing her but once during all of that. She got back with the oompa loompa and we were not allowed in his apartment. We didn't have a place to stay. I think my mom arranged it, or we did, I can't be sure, to stay with one of the neighbors. We had a twenty piece McNugget that day between the five of us. This ladies apartment was disgusting. Like, dog crap all of over the floor along with every piece of clothing that they owned, disgusting. We had to sleep on the floors, and go through all of the crazy drama.

Nikki was one of the daughters of this lady we stayed with. One night, her and her mother got into a tremendous fight. Nikki was pushing her mom and screaming at her. The cops came and had to put a net over her head because she was biting and spitting at them. This chick was crazy. We were all terrified, everyone was crying, and I had no idea how to get us out of this. I finally told our dad what was going on. He took action.

The next day we were on our way to live with him. He took custody of us and now we were going to live with his new wife Lacy, her two kids, and her mother. I wouldn't be there long but, we'll get to that.

My New Identity:Chapter 3

Up until this point I have been Mariko Mie Yamashita my entire life. I have always been called "Miss Boo Boo", because of my affinity for climbing on counters and having no idea how to get down other than face plant it, or "Boops", short for "Miss Boo Boo". It wasn't until my first day of seventh grade, at my new middle school, that I became a new person. In North Phoenix the seventh and eighth graders had their very own school before high school. I will never forget first period, computer class, when I changed who I was. The teacher was going around taking attendance and said, "if anyone has a nickname that they go by, let me know when I call your name". My last name starts with a "Y" so, I had plenty of time to come up with a nickname. I thought to myself, "here's my chance to change my stupid name". Now-a-days, I wish I would have stuck with my first name. It is so original and cultured. But, growing up I was, "Mario", "Miracle Whip", "where's Luigi?!?". I was over the name calling and wanted a new start. One of the benefits of moving so much, was that nobody knew me at all. I was the new girl, I was a clean slate. As she started closer to my name, I felt my heart beating fast, my palms getting sweaty, and my nerves sinking in the pit of my stomach. This was it, I was going to do it. I'm changing my name. "Mar-ri-ko Yama-she-ta?" To which I replied, "Mie". I come to find out, she meant, if your name was "Michael" and your preferred "Mikey", let her know. Oops.

I came home after school that day, still trying to adjust to my new name, and told my mom what I had done. My mom being the accepting woman that she is said, "ok Mie". It really didn't take that long for everyone in my family to adjust to it. That's how my family is though. They are very accepting and understanding. With a mom like ours, nothing was really "taboo". So, I'm this new girl named Mie and now all I had to was start the introductions.

I met this girl Jamie in my neighborhood. Her and I hit it off! Besties, BFF's, sisters, whatever you want to call it, we were. We did everything together. She shared all her clothes with me, because mine were all from thrift stores. We would go to the park, go to Kyoto Bowl, go swimming, we were inseparable. She was also a smoker so we had that in common too. Jamie went to the other middle school in our area, so she was my only friend really. I hadn't quite made friends at my school yet, except for a couple of boys, and she was the only girl friend that I had. As much time as we spent together, it still wasn't as much as the kids at school.

So, now I'm at this school, where none of the girls want to be my friend. I mean no one wanted to be my friend. I started becoming really mean. My mom would tell me, "if you want to have friends, you have to be a friend." Screw that mom, these girls teased me every day. I will never forget this girl Melissa offering me a Teddy Graham on the bus one day. I considered this a gesture of friendship, so I said, "yes please!". Big mistake. This girl rubbed that delicious morsel of friendship on the bus floor and shoved it in my mouth. I was humiliated. Everyone was laughing at me and I wanted nothing more than to jump out of a moving bus window. It took everything in me not to cry and show them anymore vulnerability. From that point on I didn't make any girl friends at the school.

This is where my life took a turn for the worst. My mom was always very open with us about everything, sex included. I had a good idea of what all of that was and what it meant. I always told myself I would be a virgin until I was married and I really believed that. Seventh grade isn't the ideal time for a girl to loser her virginity. Don't worry, I didn't have sex at this point. It was much worse than that. I didn't really know what self respect was at the time, because I was so involved in getting my boobs. What a power that was at thirteen! I mean seriously, all the older boys wanted to be my "friends".

Now, the boys at my school wanted to be my friend too. I couldn't think of any way better to get back at all the popular girls, than to be the girl that the guys they liked wanted. I would wear low cut shirts, booty shorts, anything provocative. No make up yet. I wasn't into that. This brought a lot of attention and I was all for it. I turned myself into a "hoe" without having any sort of experience except for a couple make out sessions in the good ol' game of "spin the bottle". The rumors started flying around about me. I was a "slut", "whore", "hoe", fill in degrading name here "__________", and that's what I was. I can't not take a lot of blame for that. I put together that image and they put the name on it. With all those rumors, all the guys wanted to see if there was any truth. I was a prude! I didn't know about "bj's" and such. I was so oblivious to any of that.

I eventually started dating a boy name Doug. Looking back at things, he was really unattractive, but all the girls liked him so I went for it. We held hands and sent notes and all that gushy stuff, but nothing serious of course. That was until one day he suggested I come over and we take it to the next base. Me and my being so eager please all the time, thought it was a great idea. I walked over to his house and was so nervous and unsure. I just did what he suggested. I had found out what a "bj" meant that day and felt so disgusting afterwards. It's hard to believe that I just typed that. I have never even told anyone about this before.

After that day, the rumors that were becoming true, also became overwhelming. I was teased, pointed at, and shunned by every girl in that school. Even teachers were looking at me funny. I had to get out of there, it was so miserable. I finally convinced my mom to switch me out of that school into the school where Jamie went. I was so relieved and excited to get another chance at my middle school years. Things just got worse though. I was on a spiral of self destruction! I could not stop myself from all of the negative attention. The older neighbor boys wanted to by my boyfriends now, they had cars and weed and cigarettes. It was so enticing and I had no strength whatsoever to say no. I had become this disgusting girl. I had no shame now. I was creating my identity and owning it.

So, there I was. A sleaze at fourteen. This new school was only different because all the girls were doing the same thing I was. We were just a bunch of hussies. I was more involved than I had ever imagined. I was known for being experienced and fighting. Jamie was more of a fighter than I was. She wouldn't get in near as much trouble as I would for fighting. My mom loved to ground me at that age. If I was grounded, she had a built in babysitter.

Besides my school life being a tornado, I still had my home life. There was so much going on all the time. My mom and Brian divorced only a year into their marriage. I still don't know the reason why, but it ended and my mom was devastated. She did not come out of her room for anything, unless she was going to work. She would come home from work drunk and myself or my sister below me would undress her, put her in her pj's, and get her a warm glass of milk. She said it helped her sleep. My mom always said she couldn't strip unless she was drunk. Her job was stripping, so she was drunk often.

This lead to a couple run ins with the police. She got two D.U.I's in 1 month. I remember the weekend of her second D.U.I. like it was yesterday. I stayed home from my dad's that weekend and that night I was waiting for my mom to get home from work. She would normally get out of the club a little after two and be home around three a.m. This night she did not come home. I started freaking out. I couldn't get a hold of her on her cell. I called this oompa loompa looking character she was dating at the time and he hadn't heard from her either. I knew something had gone wrong. She finally called me from jail and told me what was going on. I was instructed to call wee man and tell him to go get her out of jail. I made her promise to come home. I was there by myself and just wanted my mom. She never came home that night. She didn't contact me until the afternoon. I was so hurt and I let her know it when she finally came home. I would scold my mother when she was being irresponsible. Sometimes I felt like her mother.

That put a lot of responsibility on my sister and I. We called the three youngest the "little kids", and they were our children. We did everything for them. We made sure their chores were done, we made sure their homework was done, we disciplined them when they were bad, and we held them through their cries. We were parents. We used to do these surveys for a lady that would come to our house. They were just surveys about what teenagers were actually doing these days, and she would pay us twenty dollars each. I also babysat families in the neighborhood so I always had a little money on me. I would use that money to buy candy or things for the kids. Sometimes my mom would need the money to buy her alcohol so she could go to work that night. One time, my sister and I pooled our money to get Christmas presents because all we had was the tree.

When my mom would leave for work at night, I would sneak out to go to the neighbor boys house across the street. They always had a party going on in their basement. I was so low I would show my chest for drinks and cigarettes. I didn't ever stop to think how low I had stooped. I was living two lives at this time in my life. I was a mother by day and a hussy by night. Jamie and I would send notes back and forth to each other at school about things we wanted to do when the bell rang. We would talk about things we did too. One day, my mom found those notes and my whole life was exposed. She called my father and he read them all too. In those notes, I talked about the disgusting things I had done with guys and the weed I smoked and cigarettes I smoked and the booze I drank. I was completely put out for the whole world to see. I couldn't deny anything, lying was another one of my charming traits I had acquired, I was forced to come clean.

This was another very humiliating experience in my life. Talking with my mother about this stuff was one thing, but with my father, yikes. I couldn't look him in the face. I was so embarrassed! I couldn't even make the words come out right about what I had done with guys. 

After all that had happened, it didn't take much longer for Jamie and I not to be friends anymore. We had a blow out argument and our friendship was over. I was back to being the loner girl again. Then I met Christopher Ross Olsen. My, oh my, was I in love. He would buy me goldfish and as strange as that sounds, it was so romantic. He was loved by my family and especially my mother. My mom was really into this pyramid scheme called liberty league and we had to pass out flyers in major parking lots for her. Chris would come along and help and he was the KING of putting flyers on windshields. Ya, sorry, we were those annoying people that put papers under your wipers. I broke up with Chris eventually, which was my biggest mistake in  my love life at that age, but he really helped change me around for the better.  We never did anything the other boys would ask me to do. He was just a great boyfriend and the sweetest guy you'll ever meet. Now he's a stud and is making the most of life.

I thought things were finally starting to change for me in life. I had a little bit more control of things going on. Once again, I was wrong. We had just received the news from our mother that we were being evicted. Again.