I don’t know why but I didn’t do the banners on Friday, guess they weren’t that important to being with. But I have a lot to write and do by this Friday for issue 4. Time to my brain off busy work and do something that actually makes me happy and gives me the best feeling in the world. That means writing opinion essays, designing essays to put in a social media magazine, and then posting it. I have to write, then create artwork, then design, and post. The last two doesn’t take really much. I just need to block out everything thing and just focus, which is hard when my family doesn’t leave me alone to something that’s really important.
I can’t put all the blame on the fact I get distracted easily, well I can put most of the fault on them. I grew up in an environment where my opinion, wants, and anything that has to do with me had to be dropped in a dime to do what they wanted me to do. I get distracted so easily at home not because I’m not trying to focus, it’s more because everyone is pulling me all different directions, and whenever I say “no” it always starts problems. The very people who keeps telling me to stand up for myself, to stay focused, to cry when I need to, to be more expressive, to talk more, to voice out my opinions are the same people who does the opposite of what they say when I do try to do what they always told me. This very place putts me in a position where I’m confused, conflicted, where I am too afraid to make the wrong move because I’m scared I would get punished for it. I grew up hating myself because I was always put down. The very sight or mention of my older sisters scares the living daylights out of me. Yet these are the same people who makes plans for me as if I don’t have my own mind.
They go about how my own mother didn’t even want me, and that I was dying, and that my mother was rapped by my own grandfather! First off when I met the woman I finally felt what a loving mother felt like. I was at peace and happy when I was with her. She understood me even though I spoke little Spanish, and she took very good care of me to the point I felt I was repaying her for her kindness every time I cleaned for her. The very woman my sisters spoke so down about was the opposite of what they said. She had a choice to either let me die of sicken to the point I could not eat, or give me to someone who could give me a better life!  In August of 2009 she dead of ovary cancer, plus she had HIV, so it really hurt when I found out the news. What hurt more is that I wasn’t even able to go to see where they placed her. And when I started to cry for her death 2 days later, after it fully soaked in, my sister has the nerve to say how I’m crying for nothing! My mother was going through hell, she choose to save my life, the only daughter, and yet I’m crying for nothing when it comes to my mother! That was last person I wanted to die, I wanted to at least see her after high school, but that was taking away from me.
My sisters talk about I have problems with my mind because my father is my grandfather, that doesn’t come close to what I put up with living with them. There’s two types of hell on this world, the mental and the physical. I went through mental hell, and the very people who put me there is saying how I’m the one who has problems. 50% DNA 50% environment, in my case it’s more 30% DNA and 70% environment.
Every damn time I try to better myself before my mind puts me down it’s usually my own family who pulled the rope before I had a chance to get off that chair. I been called suicidal, I been called homicidal throughout my childhood and teen years. I been through therapy since 5 years old, but because I was always to God damn terrified of my own family that I never said anything. Multiple times people say that I do shit for attention! Yes there are time I want someone to pay attention to me, and usually the only type of attention I could ever get is the bad type. That’s why I’ve lasted so long in an emotional draining relationship throughout high school, he was the only one who listen to me, who actually saw me as something else.
Throughout my childhood I kept questioning if I was even a girl. I been forced to find peace inside my own mind because the outside world only hurts me. The nightmares of my death weren’t just nightmares, they were me wishing I could just end the nightmare I wake up to everyday. I’m crying while I write.

This Monday I’m going to see a councillor to talk and see what’s going on up in my head. But you can clearly read I’m in pain and I’m trying to end it, but I’m living with a roadblock at every turn.