When you look at your life from the end first, it's hard to not see your life differently. I don't know how else to see the world and see my life. It's changed me, changed my view on my life. Life happens in stages and cycles and spontaneous combustions. If your family is anything like mine you'll understand why I say that.
I've wondered before if I was normal. If my situation was normal. If my reactions were normal. I've also wondered if my life would have been different if I had been born to a different family. What life would I be leading now? Would it have mattered? Would I still haven't ended up where I am now?
The world has different views on where we should be at different ages of our lives. The "norm". But my sisters and I were raised in a different situation. Our lives started at different points… mine started when I was 11. The first time I saw a dead body in person it was my mom's. How could I be okay? How could anyone? Just the thought of it, of having no control over it, makes me cry.
I look around and see everyone's lives, and wonder if anyone else has thought about the same thing? Because of it, or maybe despite it, I am who I am. I'm learning. I'm expanding. I'm trying to do better every day. There's still so much to tell you…
My childhood after the death of my mom became a roller coaster. There have been sharp turns and loops and drops that never seem to end. And people have gotten on and off the ride while I remained…watching the whole thing.
My relationship with my older sister (whom I had met the year before my mom died) had changed now that she had become my guardian. She tried to step in as a mother of four at the age of 21. She wasn't married. She didn't have any children of her own. I didn't see her as a mother, and I made it clear to her. I slammed the door in her face, yelled, fought, cried myself to sleep every night… at the realizations that I made.
Death was a strange concept to me. I had dreams of my moms death before and after it happened. I use to dream that I would hear a knock at the door, and when I opened it, my mom was standing there, her face bloody, her body torn in half… I'd slam the door and run to my room to hide. I can't remember how many times I had a similar dream but I can remember different versions of the same dream. Sometimes my older sister opens the door. Sometimes my mom would knock and knock… but I'd be too afraid to open it.
People would tell me that my mom was in heaven. Others would say my mom is always with me. That her spirit was always with me. It was very confusing as a child, it didn't make sense. I could never understand why a God that has everything would need a mother more than a child. And when I thought of a spirit always being with me, it felt that she wasn't really "resting"… that didn't make sense either.
After the incident with my older sister where she hit me in the face, I was placed in foster care. I felt free. And I decided to tell people how I felt about my life. Without holding back.
I don't remember why I started thinking about killing myself. I was mad at the world. Mad at God. I saw death everywhere… every moment felt fragile. And then I realized that I could take my own life. I had gotten control back. So I thought about ways to do it. I wanted to make a point and go out with a bang. And I wanted to hurt one person when I did it.