When I was no longer as a child

When I was a child I spoke as a child, I behaved as a child, I thought as a child and I was after all a child! As I sit here today I am reminiscing of the time that I was able to be a child. It wasn’t for very long, mentally, but it was a great time.

I was born to a wonderful mother who just so happened to have me at a young age. My father was young as well and advised to join the Navy. I no longer blame either of them for the choices that they made as young people, after all one of those reckless choices did bring me into this world.

My mother was young and my father went to the Navy. My mother was a strong woman, she had me and eventually she went to the big city to continue her education. I was left to be raised by my grandparents, her parents, until she completed her education. As a child, because as I’ve stated I thought as a child, I was a bit resentful of both of my parents. I felt, even as a child, that they had both abandoned me. In my childish thoughts and mind I believed that for whatever reason I wasn’t good enough for them to want to take care of. I know now that they were young and they did what they thought was best for the future, not only their future but mine as well. My grandmother and grandfather were not extremely young but they were not terribly elderly either. Well, from what I am able to recall.

My grandmother was a tough lady. She didn’t play. She expected you to do as you were told and there were no excuses to be made for not doing so. She was a beautiful woman. Her heart was of gold and her arms were of the finest silk you could ever imagine. My grandmother loved me and was never shy of saying so. There was never a day that went by that I wasn’t told by her how beautiful I was or how much it was that she loved me. She was stern yet the most loving human being I’ve ever met, even to this day. She had long black hair, caramel colored skin, dark piercing eyes and a heart that was good and loving. She was beautiful not only on the outside but ever so much more on the inside. She was my everything.

My grandfather was a handsome man. He was tall and lanky. He had chiseled features on his face. He had the features that the actors of yester-year could only have wished to possess. He loved me very much. He also, never let a day go by without telling me how much it was that he loved me or how beautiful and smart I was. He would often try to protect me from the wrath that I rightfully deserved, from my grandmother. He was the only man that has ever truly said he loves me and will protect me and honestly meant it.

I don’t recall when it was that I moved in with my grandparents but I do remember that I lived with them from my earliest childhood memories until I was six. They both passed away with in seven months of one another. My grandfather passed away first in a house fire that I at the age of five almost six drove up to see, followed by my grandmother seven months later of heart conditions.

As I wrote those last lines I realized something. I actually never got to say good bye to either one of them. My grandfather was in the house that burned and consequently I only saw the fire, never getting to tell him good bye. No one was able to, so it’s not that I was purposely kept from doing so. My grandmother had heart problems and she suffered, I believe, a heart attack when she and I were making cookies one day. She was taken to the city and I, being six, thought she’d be back. I never said good bye to her either. She was in the hospital in the city for a length of time that my years have now no longer allowed me to remember. I wasn’t ever taken to see her. Saying good bye to my grandmother, this I believe I may have actually had an opportunity to do. My mom, aunts and uncles however, were grief stricken and perhaps this is why no one thought to come and get me so that I could say good bye to the woman that I loved so much and considered to be my mother, by all accounts. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t get to say good bye so again it’s not that I believe I was purposely with held from her.

As a child being raised by the two most amazing human beings I have ever met, I had a wonderful childhood. I know now that we weren’t rich. We were on food stamps. Perhaps we weren’t looked upon as the elite, but we were rich in love as cliché as that may sound. I would help my grandmother separate the pinto beans so that she could make a crock pot of them. I would watch her make tortillas and sopapillas. She was a wonderful cook and I loved the way our house smelled when she would cook. Every time I smell a pot of beans being cooked I always remember my house and my wonderful childhood with my grandparents.

I had cousins that lived near me in the same little town. I would play and yes often bully my favorite cousin. She was a year and some months younger than me. She had a brother whom I loved like he was my very own baby. We actually taught him how to walk and I still can remember exactly what we were doing and what he was wearing the day he took his first full steps across my grandmother’s living room.

My life was the happiest that I could have ever wanted it to be, well for a child of course. Within seven month’s time it was all taken away. No ones fault but it was gone. My entire existence was no longer what I had grown to love and cherish. My existence now, in my six year old mind, was uncertain. This is when I was no longer a child.

Now of course physically and for the most part mentally I was a six year old child. Emotionally, I was no longer a child. I don’t think there are many who would argue that when a child loses both parents, and remember by all accounts these two wonderful human beings were my parents, that some part of their childhood existence is no longer there. I’ve seen it even so when a child loses only one parent. There is something that is taken away from a child when they lose a parent that can never be replaced. I believe that when they both left the carefree child in me left as well. Again, this was no ones fault and I was not the only one that lost them. They had seven children who were grieving them as well as other grandchildren. I was not the only one grieving these amazing people. However, I was the only one of their children, because again I considered myself their child, who lost them while still a child.

In the shuffle of who gets what and how do we split this and that, I felt like I was invisible. I was never so scared in all of my life as to what final outcome would come in regards to me and where I’d be heading. I know as you read this, you all will say, “well of course you’d go to your mother or father.” Yes, I know that is the logical thought, but again I remind you that I was a child and in my childish thoughts my mother and father had just been buried next to each other in the mountains. I remember thinking those days that followed, “Why would they both leave me alone with no one to take care of me? Why would they not take me with them? What had I done that they both wanted to leave me?” I know now, that they didn’t leave me by choice but rather by time. It was their time to leave. They had raised seven amazing children and it was their time to be with God and rest. The days that followed my grandmother’s funeral left me sick to my stomach and uncertain of what was to become of me. I started to get into a routine with my aunt and cousin, and believed that this was the most logical place for me to stay. I was in my little town and I had my aunt and cousin and of course this is where I’d be.

However, that was not the case. I went with my aunt and cousin for what seemed to be a visit to the city to see my mom. We had visited my mom before when my grandmother was alive and I always went back home, why would this time be any different? Of course you all know what I didn’t know then, this time was indeed different. This time, when we were packing up to come home, I was packing my stuff as well. My cousin came into the room that I was in and was crying. I asked her what was wrong and she told me that her mom said that I wasn’t going back with them; I was staying with my mom. Well, of course I didn’t believe her and I marched right into where my mom and aunt were and confronted them regarding this horrendous claim my cousin had just made. And yes you guessed it, the claim was true and no I would not be returning to the place I once called home. Again, as I typed that I think … no good bye.

And so I was in the city living with my mom, who was grieving the loss of my grandmother. I was an only child and we weren’t well off by any means. We went to work and school and we came home. I’d hear my mom crying at night and when I’d wake up on the weekends and go into the living room I’d hear her cry. She was from what I know now; very depressed as anyone would be who just lost their parents in such a short time. I would often play alone in the living room and imagine my grandparents playing with me. I’d talk to them and I swear I could see them sitting on the couch with me and the sun peeking through my grandmother’s long black hair. I could feel them hug me when I’d lie on the couch and want to be snuggled with. I would talk to them and they’d talk back to me. I don’t actually recall the length of time that my mother was depressed but to a child it seemed like eternity. We wouldn’t answer the door for anyone and we didn’t have a home phone. I would look forward to going to school where I could interact with children my own age and do the things that children like to do. My mom was and still is a great mom. She was just very depressed.

Eventually we moved in with a friend of hers from work. She had a daughter that was one month older than me. We would go to the same school and be in the same grade. She was my best friend and the sister I never had. I was no longer alone. I had someone who I could talk to and confide in and play with. My life seemed to be getting back to what I believed it could be. My mom was happy or at least she seemed happy. I was happy. I’m not saying that four women in the same house with no testosterone were ideal, or that there were never arguments or disagreements. I’m saying that I was once again happy. My best friend and I lived in the same house and we had each other to play with. I loved it.

Then my mom and her long distance boyfriend decided that it was time for us to be a family and we weren’t going to be a family in Albuquerque. We were going to be a family in Texas. This time, I did get to say good bye. I cried nearly the whole way to Texas. The car was stopped so that I could be given a spanking and told that my crying was enough and I needed to dry it up and be strong. So that’s what I did. I dried it up, wiped the tears and sat stone faced the rest of the way to Texas. I would look out of the window as we drove to Texas and think, “When I’m 18 I’m coming back here, where I belong, with my real family.” I also remember thinking that yet again my entire life had been decided for me. I was now off to another state with a man who wasn’t nice to my mom and I was ripped away from the only family that I had left. When would I see my aunt and my cousin? When would I see my best friend? Of course everyone says they’ll visit or that we’ll come back to visit but I know now more than ever that is not what happens. Life happens and people get busy and things change and in that change you aren’t necessarily forgotten but you’re not at the foremost thoughts in peoples minds.

We had a rental house and I started a new school. I had an accent that I didn’t realize I had and the new kids made fun of me. I wore shorts the first day of my new school. It was January but it was Texas and I guess it was warm enough out that I decided to wear shorts. My mom and soon to be step dad didn’t know the rules or I guess bother to read the rule book and sent me as I was to the first day. Well back then, yes WAY back then you couldn’t wear shorts to school at all. Not knee length not any length. I walked into class and I remember the whispers and pointing. I wanted to become invisible again. I wanted to run out of there and leave. I didn’t even know what they were whispering about or why but I hated them already. The teacher then took me into the hall and explained to me that since it was my first day that she wouldn’t send me to the office but that shorts were not allowed ever at school and she proceeded to tell me that my parents should have read this in the handbook. I thanked her and she let me go to the bathroom to wipe my tears. She told me that it would be ok, that as soon as I knew the rules that the other children would stop whispering about me. I wiped the tears and asked her when I returned if I could get a copy of that rule book so that I could read it. I read it during whatever free time I had so that I would never be made fun of or whispered about again.

I eventually made friends and even a best friend. Her mom took care of children and I don’t remember how but my parents eventually either asked or didn’t I don’t know but I would go to her house after school until they got home. However, it wasn’t until her mom saw me sitting by myself on the school sign early one morning that she asked if I would want to come to their house in the mornings. My mom and soon to be step dad had one car and they both worked at the same place. I was dropped off at the school on their way to work, sometimes as early as 6:45am. So when my friend’s mom let me come to their house in the morning I was more than happy to go. I’d get to walk to school with her and not have to worry about what everyone else thought about me when they drove by the school and there I sat. Life again was getting to be somewhat normal.

My home life wasn’t great but I won’t get into that now. I again found myself wanting to be at school. It wasn’t always bad at home but when it was bad I’d find myself again conjuring up my grandparents and laying in their arms until the incidents would go away. My mom and soon to be step dad fought and he was sometimes violent. So I’d sit in my room and talk to my grandparents. They’d get done fighting and life would go back to the way it was. I was still an only child so when they’d sleep in on Saturdays and Sundays, I’d not always talk to my grandparents but I’d play alone quite often. I’d pretend to be a socialite in New York and pretend that some tall handsome guy came to the door to take me on the most romantic date in the world. I’d use sheets to pretend to be a bride or make a ball gown. I’d play alone until they woke up and we’d clean or do yard stuff or go grocery shopping or whatever.

Living with my mom after my grandparent’s deaths was not exactly what I had when I lived with my grandparents. My mom of course was grieving but she was also not as affectionate as my grandparents. My grandparents always hugged me and kissed me and told me how beautiful and smart I was. My mom would tell me she loved me and that I was beautiful and smart but she wasn’t the affectionate type. Now, I’m not saying she never hugged or kissed me because she did, she just didn’t do it everyday. Even when I lived with just my mom and we shared a bed I’d try to snuggle up to her and I could tell, even as a child that she would try to snuggle but I knew it wasn’t her cup of tea. Some people are like that. So I’d take the hint and that was that.

Eventually, I received the greatest news ever. I was told by my mom and soon to be step dad that I was going to be a big sister. I was 9 years old and the most excited ever at the idea of having someone to play with and to be my little sister and have around for always. However, I was also told that my mom and soon to be step dad were getting married. This I was not so thrilled about. I asked my mom not to marry him. I told her that we could raise our baby by ourselves. I told her that we didn’t have to stay with him we could go back to Albuquerque and raise our baby with our family. We could stay here and raise our baby but she didn’t have to marry him. She married him! Again, I remember thinking, “another decision for my life that I have no control over.”

My sister was born and I was able to witness it. I dressed her up and would play with her. I would hear her cry sometimes at night and get her and rock her until my mom had to come and feed her. She was my little doll. She of course, got old after a while when I realized that it was taking her too long to grow and I wanted to play Barbie and school. I have a picture of her as an infant and I put her on my bed surrounded by my stuffed animals and I was teaching her stuff on my chalk board. In the picture she blends into the animals with the minor detail of her screaming bloody murder face.
Eventually we as a family and I use that term very lightly, bought a house in the same city but a different school zone. Yes, I had to change schools again. I was in 5th grade and I was leaving my new friends who were now getting to know me and not whispering about me because I read the rule book. I was being taken to another place where I knew no one and I was about to have to start all over again. I was hopeful that I’d still get to hang out with my friends because it wasn’t like going from New Mexico to Texas. It was just across the city. We hung out for a while and then of course, life happens. I eventually met new friends, this time by going up and down the street singing “I want to be your friend.” I sang this more for myself but I met one of my best friends, still to this day. She was in my class at school and she asked me one day, “hey you live on my street don’t you” and I was so excited. We became friends and she introduced me to her other friend and we were the three musketeers. We fought of course because we were girls and the rule of threes always applies to girls. I made friends more quickly this time and was learning to adapt to the change that I had no control over. However, I was starting to realize that I didn’t like not having control over myself. I was 10 and I knew that I didn’t like the feeling of my life being decided for me all of the time.

My home life was still the same. I only had a sister now that I felt that I needed to protect. The funny thing is that I felt I needed to protect her and I resented her at the same time. I thought that if my mom hadn’t gotten pregnant with her then maybe we’d have left this man by now. He was always threatening to take my sister when they would fight and as much as I would resent her, I would have never let him take her. The violence in the house eventually incorporated me. I’d get a woop’n for almost anything. I’d be grounded for just about anything. The funny thing about all of this is that as I look back and even when I talk with the friends who knew me then, I wasn’t a bad kid. I cleaned the house and when I say cleaned the house I mean I cleaned the entire two story house. I made straight A’s. I never snuck out. I never snuck anyone in, well once or twice but that was in high school. I didn’t do anything that would to me as a parent warrant the punishments that I received. I’d be grounded for one week for every point I went down on my report card. So yes, if I had a 96 one six weeks period and the next I received a 94 then I was grounded for two weeks and I’d have to bring that book home everyday for the entire six weeks period and study for 30mins a night out of it. I’d not always, but most of the time I’d have to sign “contracts” to spend the night at a friend’s house. The contract would be signed by my step dad and me, it would include anything from washing the cars to ironing his dress shirts for work to doing yard work, and this would be on top of my normal chores and school work. I never thought anything about it because it was just the way it was in my house. My friends would come over to see if I could play and there might be a fight happening in my house and my step dad would make me answer the door and tell them that I couldn’t come out. I’d open the door and they could see that I’d been crying and they could hear my step dad yelling. I’d be so embarrassed and want to be invisible as I told them that I couldn’t come out and he’d yell for me to shut the “beep” door and I would as my friends looked at me with pity. I remember thinking then that I hated that look. I hated to have people look at me as if they feel sorry for me because for whatever reason their life was better than mine. Granted most of their lives were better than mine as far as violence in the home. I started to hate my step dad more and more with every pity look that was given to me. I started to resent my mom for not being strong enough to leave him. I would tell myself that I would never be like her. I would never let a man or anyone treat me the way he treated her. I was after all a Princess. That’s what my grandfather told me and he was the only man who really loved me and protected me and he was the only one I believed.

As the years went by and the violence kept on I started to stand up for myself. My mom still took it but I wasn’t going to. I’d maybe stop a slap or a punch. I’d maybe accidentally on purpose throw a punch back. I wasn’t completely brave but I was getting stronger. My step dad would make fun of my weight as I entered into high school. I was pudgy but not over weight. He’d call me thunder thighs and he’s pinch the fat on my stomach really hard when he’d want to make a point. He’d compare the fact that my mom was smaller than I was and I was 14. My mom has and will always be smaller than me. My mom is a petite woman. She’s always been petite. I am taller than she is, I wear a much bigger shoe size than she does and I am just built bigger than she is. This is something that I didn’t need my step dad drawing to my attention. I had always known even as a child that I was bigger, I wasn’t fat, than my mom’s family. My cousin was always a lot smaller than I was and she was only a year and some months younger than me. As I grew older I knew that my shoe size surpassed my mom’s in 6th grade. My aunts would come to visit and they were all so gorgeous and petite. I was taller than them by middle school. They had tiny feet and little bitty wrists. I had big feet and couldn’t fit their bracelets or rings on my wrist or finger. I knew that I must have taken after my dad’s family. I knew that I’d never look like my mom or my gorgeous aunts. I knew that I resembled them in the face but our bodies would never be the same. I didn’t need to be reminded by my step dad that I was bigger than my mom. I knew it, I’d always known it.

When I started high school I remember thinking that I was the ugliest girl that ever walked the Earth. My friends were all more beautiful than I was and they were more confident than I was. We weren’t as well off as them and my clothes weren’t bought from where they bought their clothes. I couldn’t even share their clothes because I was taller than them and had a bigger foot than them and yes, I had a ghetto booty. I started high school and I still had my big glasses. I hated it. I thought if I could get rid of them then my life would be better. If I could flatten my stomach my life would be better. If I just did what my step dad wanted my life would be better. So sophomore year I got contacts. I started wearing make-up. I started feeling better about myself. I’d get up and do my hair for school and I’d feel good about myself. My step dad however, would tell me that I was a “pretty girl” but that I was a big girl. I laugh typing that. I’d give anything to be as “big” as I was when I was 15. I was 5’6 and weighed 160lbs. I wore a size 6-8. I look at pictures of what I looked like and I had muscles in my legs, and not just the calves. I had thin arms. My collar bone showed and I was a hottie. My step dad though felt the need to continue to call me thunder thighs. So began my obsession with sticking my finger down my throat after every meal. It started as just an “I wonder if I can do it” thing and then it turned into a do it after every single meal. I did it after I had a candy bar. ONE candy bar and I went to the bathroom. I’d do it after dinner. I’d do it at school. I would go to baseball games and if there wasn’t a “real” rest room I’d do it on the side of a building if I ate more than three nachos. I lost about 35lbs. My step dad would tell me that I looked good. My friends would tell me that I looked good. Boys were now noticing me. I felt like for the first time ever in my life I was in control of something in regards to me. I loved it. I didn’t know that’s what I felt, then. I thought I liked doing it because I was skinny. I thought I did it because it was easy and I could fit into my friend’s clothes. I still had my ghetto booty but it was something that I’d learn to live with. Plus, boys seemed to like it, well one boy in particular. When my mom figured out what I was doing she freaked out. My step dad said I was taking the easy way out and being lazy. They monitored me like hawks after every meal. I started doing it in the back yard and learned how to be quiet. They had made enough decisions for me without consulting me; they were not going to take away the one thing I could do that they now had NO CONTROL over.

They ended up sending me to a shrink. I wouldn’t talk to her at first. She’d ask me question after question and I’d just stare at her. She wouldn’t let up though, probably because she got paid. One day I had come in and she asked me why I refused to talk to her and I remember saying, “Because no matter what I say or do nothing will change I will never be able to feel like someone is looking after me, I only have myself to protect me. Everyone else leaves or looks away. You can’t help me” and before I knew what was happening I was crying. I tried to turn the tears off. Remember I’ve been told to just dry it up, suck it up and deal with it. I looked at her and I was so angry at her for making me have to think about anything that would make me cry. She said to me, “Nicole, I can’t protect you if you don’t let me try. You have done an excellent job of being strong and protecting yourself for this long maybe if you let someone try you’ll feel better.” I was sixteen by this time and could drive myself to these shrink sessions and found myself enjoying being able to tell someone what I feel without being judged or without fearing that they’d leave me. I told her about my grandparents and moving with my mom and then to Texas and about the violence at home. I told her everything. She’d listen and sometimes we’d go past my hour and she’d just look at me. One day I was talking and told her a story about something that had happened and when I looked up there were tears in her eyes. This caught me off guard because I’d never had anyone cry with me. I’d never had anyone seem to feel my pain. I looked at her and she cleared her throat and said, “Well Nicole this wasn’t very professional of me and I apologize.” I remember being afraid that because she had broken some “professional rule” that she would not be able to see me again. I was so afraid that I’d not get to talk to her anymore. She then came and sat on the couch that I was on and pulled me close and hugged me with both arms and I fell into her shoulder and cried like I’d never cried before. She held me tight and I’d never felt as protected as I did right that moment. Not since my grandparents were alive. I cried for what seemed like hours but in actuality it was probably only 20 minutes. She got me some Kleenex and brought me a mirror and said to me “Look in this mirror and look at yourself, you are the most beautiful Princess in the world. You are not fat. You don’t have thunder thighs. You are gorgeous in every way possible. You are a good girl. You deserve good things. You don’t have to be anyone’s punching bag. You are worthy of all of the love anyone has to give.” Tears streamed down my face and my time was up. I hugged her and I went home.

I saw her for a while longer and she explained to me that my bulimia was not because I wanted to be skinny it was because I wanted to have control of something in a life that I’ve never had a say in. She would tell me that because she couldn’t professionally tell me to get emancipated that she knew that if I just hung on long enough that once I was out I’d be just fine. I stopped seeing her for whatever reason. Maybe life happened.

My step dad now couldn’t call me thunder thighs but now that I was thinner he would tell me that he had heard rumors around the neighborhood. He’d some in from being outside I come in my room and tell me that he knew what I was doing and that I was a slut and a whore and that he wasn’t going to have boys coming by our house making fun of him because he had a whore for a daughter. Again, the funny thing about this is that even though I had lost a lot of weight and was super skinny I still hadn’t even had my first kiss. I eventually had it with my friend’s cousin who just got released from the hooscow, but at this time when my step dad was calling me all these names I hadn’t even held a boys hand yet.

When I was fifteen about to be sixteen I met a boy on the school bus and he was nothing like any boy I had ever knew. He wasn’t even necessarily my type. I actually had a crush on a friend of his brother’s. Anyway, he sat by me on the bus one day and we talked. I remember thinking that he had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen and his lips were perfect. As he talked I thought, “Oh my goodness he’s so cool and confident and I love it.” I asked his friend who was also my friend to introduce us properly, because we didn’t actually get names the first school bus ride. Greg then introduced me to him during their P.E. class. I remember my heart was pounding and my hands were sweaty. I had never met a boy that I was so enamored with in all of my life. He’d sit by me on the bus every so often and we’d talk here and there. Then one day we had early release and the bus dropped us off at our corner. He called my name and I turned around. He walked towards me and asked me what I was going to go and do. I told him, “nothing” and he asked if he could come over to my house. I had at this point NEVER sneaked a boy into my house. I knew that if I’d ever gotten caught doing this I’d not be able to sit for a week, yes even at fifteen. All of these thoughts ran through my head and I told myself to say no you can’t I’ll surely be killed but when I opened my mouth to speak I said, “yes you can, when do you want to come over” my brain wanted to kick my ass. “How in the hell are you going to say yes and then even give him an option on when he wanted to come, you will surely die tonight you dumb dumb girl.” He said that today was his brother’s birthday and that he needed to go home first and ask if he could come over but for me to give him my number and he’d call me. I gave him my number and as I walked away he said, “Hey Nicole” and when I turned around he threw his chin up a little gangster like and said, “Now this is really your number right, when I call you’re going to answer?” and my heart was beating so hard I thought that it was literally going to beat our of my chest. I tried to be cool and thought quickly about something catchy to say but all I could do is pull a strand of hair and twist it around my finger and say, “yes it’s the right number and I’ll definitely answer if you call.”

I rushed home after I saw him enter the gate to the apartments his family lived in. I ran as fast as I could to get to my house. I did all of my chores as quickly as I could but still good enough not to be grounded for not doing them good. I had never had a boy in my house ever. I didn’t know what to do when he came over. Would I do what I do with my girl friends and just chill on the couch and watch TV? Was I going to have my first kiss? Oh my God I better brush my teeth. Was he going to try to do something more? Oh my God I was only sixteen I didn’t want anything more. I rushed around cleaning like a mad woman. I ran upstairs and brushed my teeth, surly I’d at least get my first kiss today. I freshened up my make-up and then I ran down stairs and did some homework as I waited for his call. As I did my homework I thought, oh I can’t kiss him today then he’ll think I’m a slut or a whore. What if my step dad finds out that I had a boy in here and then finds out I kissed him, I’d surly be called a slut and whore forever. So I kept doing my homework figuring out what I was going to do if he tried to kiss me because as much as I wanted him to because he was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen and he had perfect lips and such beautiful eyes, I couldn’t kiss him and be a whore. Then the phone rang but I gave him MY phone number. The one in my room and I ran upstairs but it went to the answering machine first and I picked it up and he said, “hello, Nicole is that you” I tried to calm down and not sound so winded and said, “yes this is me” he said, “girl you had me thinking you weren’t home and were going to stand me up” I blushed and felt a feeling I’d never felt before. I was giddy and excited. I smiled and tried to be clever but I’d never talked to a boy except for my guy friends. This was different; he was a “real” boy. I said, “No I was just down stairs doing my homework” ugh idiot why would you say doing your homework like a big huge nerdy dork. He said, “So listen, I can come over but my step mom is hounding me about if your parents are there or not.” And with those words my heart sank and I wanted to cry. I said, “oh ok well that’s fine” he laughed and said, “no crazy girl, I’m coming over but is this your number to your room or the number to your parents” and I said, “my number to my room” and he said, “ok so this is what’s up, I’m going to give her your number and when she calls you can answer it and give me the phone so she can tell me if I have to come home, so she doesn’t have to have your parent’s number.” I was confused and said, “but you know my parents aren’t home, right” and he laughed and said, “yeah yeah I know” and with that we hung up after I told him where I lived and I walked out to meet him. He walked up the sidewalk and I thought he was so gorgeous. He had a bit of acne on his face but he was still gorgeous. I then noticed that something was in his hand. I kept looking and saw it was a cigarette. Remember up until this point in my life I followed the rules to a T. I almost thought to tell him he had to go home. I didn’t even want to be his friend with him being a smoker and only 14. Oh yeah I didn’t mention that he was younger than me. However, I didn’t tell him to go home but rather helped him hide the cigarette butt in the back yard so that my step dad didn’t see that it was a different kind of cigarette than he smoked. When you grow up in a house where you will get beat for anything that is done wrong or not to the satisfaction of your step dad you learn that you have to make sure every single step you take and every action you make is exactly as it should be. So we took the butt into my back yard and I had him put it down one of the spaces in the wood of our deck. Never to be seen again.

We went inside and I sat on one couch and he on the other. We talked. He asked me why I didn’t have a boyfriend. I blushed and felt so awkward. I thought out my words carefully. I knew the friends he had were the more “wild” girls and I don’t know if they were completely wild but they said bad words and were not me. I knew he smoked. I knew he didn’t care about lying to his step mom. I also knew that to him if I said I don’t have a boyfriend because no ones ever asked that he’d more than likely think, oh really, dud! So I just said, “I don’t know” not too much better than “no one’s ever asked” but hey it was my first time talking to a “real boy.” I asked him why he didn’t have a girl friend and he said, “I haven’t found a good girl” and he looked at me with his piercing eyes and I wanted to kiss him right then but I didn’t because of course I couldn’t be a whore. We talked some more and he asked how far I’d ever gone with a boy and I remember thinking “um ok perv that’s not your business even if I had an answer to give” and I actually said, “not very far” ha…I guess that was code for non existent far. I asked him and he said, “a gentleman doesn’t tell.” I thought, “great I should have said that” and I just sat there. Then he asked if I’d ever do something orally to a boy and I thought, “OMG! NO WAY WOULD I EVER DO THAT YOU SICK PERVERT PEE COMES OUT OF THERE” and I actually answered, “No I wouldn’t do that” but in a calm voice not the one that wanted to slap him in my head. So I thought ‘well since he feels obliged enough to ask me such a question I’ll turn the tables on his sick pervert self’ and I asked if he’d ever to a girl. He smiled his oh so cute crooked Elvis like smile and answered, “I believe that fair is fair” and I blushed and felt a feeling of almost sick in my stomach but it wasn’t bad sick like I want to throw up because I have the flu. It was a sick like oh my goodness I just want to kiss him.

We sat and talked and then he asked me if he could sit on the couch that I was on. I said that would be fine. He joined me on the couch and we talked a little more and every time he spoke I would look into his eyes as to give him the ok to kiss me. I couldn’t help it; I wanted my first kiss to be with him. He’d talk and I’d watch his lips move and then he stood up and I thought “oh yay he’s going to kiss me” and he took his shirt off to where he had his under t-shirt on and asked if I’d massage his back. My heart sunk again and I said that I would. I now know after having the “massage my back” trick used on my time and time again that he may have been making a move, but then nope I had not one clue. I thought honestly that he just thought I was some girl who could be his friend and massage his back. I massaged it and then the phone rang up stairs and I got up to get it and he pulled my arm back down and said I could let my answering machine get it. I said, “What if it’s your step mom” he said, “she’ll leave a message” and so the machine got it and it was his step mom and she left a message and she hung up. I continued to massage and she continued to call. Finally, I was getting scared that she’d think that I was a bad girl and that we were doing bad things so I asked him to get the phone. He called her back and of course was ordered to go home. He came down stairs and I walked him to the door and we stood in my doorway for what seemed to be years to me and I waited and waited and at one point I thought he was going to but he gave me a hug and said thanks for the massage and he went home.

I immediately ran to my room and wrote it all down in my diary. I couldn’t stop smiling. I was on cloud nine. I could have flown out of my window I was so high. I didn’t get my kiss but I had never felt as excited as I’d felt that day ever. I didn’t want the feeling to ever go away. The year continued on and he and I still talked. He never asked to come back over. He’d sit by me on the bus and sometimes he’d walk me half way home. He hung out with his wilder friends and some of the girls would threaten to beat me up if I kept talking to him. I stopped talking to him. And yet again, fear and someone else decided what was going to happen in my life. I was devastated. We’d never even kissed but he was so nice and I really liked him but because of the girls he hung out with and the fact that he seemed to have quite a few lady friends, I stopped. He stopped too and got himself a girlfriend, I guess she was a ‘good girl’ except she wasn’t. So anyway, the year ended and he moved back to live with his mom and I thought I’d never see him again.

That summer I got a truck and I waited for my junior year to start. Junior year went by and that is when I started the bulimia. I remember thinking that I liked the feeling I had when I thought someone liked me so if like my step dad said, I’d lose some weight I’d have more of those feelings. I did but they were short lived. I had my first boyfriend but not for long because I was so awkward and I didn’t know how to be a girlfriend. So I didn’t even break up with him. I just hid in my friend’s room and he came up while I hid my face and he asked me all of these questions and I gave him one word answers. And he asked, “Do you want to break up” and I mumbled “yeah” and that was that. I was by no means getting any better at this. For the most part I didn’t even realize when a boy was flirting with me; I think back now and do realize it but then nope not a chance. So a couple of boys here and there and I was still not too good at this girlfriend thing. The fact that I had to hide it from my parents didn’t help matters much. I wasn’t allowed to date.

Finally it was my SENIOR year and I was ready to get this party stared. I was looking better than ever. I had a gym membership and my legs were kick’n and I had for me what was the flattest my stomach had ever been. No glasses. My hair was long and flowing and I was actually for the first time happy with myself. I was still doing the “dirty deed” not that one!!! The first semester went by without a hitch. I wasn’t getting grounded and I was enjoying my last year in high school. I took my SAT’s and applied to UNT and was accepted. I was on my way out of this house and this place and when I graduated college I was going to go to New York and live in the city and live my life to the fullest. I had decided that I wasn’t going to get married because marriage isn’t for me. I didn’t want to have any kids because then I’d be stuck to the place the dad was until forever if we didn’t work out. I didn’t want kids because I didn’t know if I would be affectionate like my grandmother or if I’d be like my mom and not too affectionate. I wanted any kid that I’d have to know how it was to be hugged and loved and kissed like my grandmother did, and my heart was that of stone from everything that had gone on in my life as far as love and believing that people stay forever or that they don’t hurt you when they promise not to. So I had decided I wasn’t getting married or having kids. I was going to live my life to the fullest and leave no stone unturned. My friends all planned what they were doing too and all of them had kids and marriage on the horizon. No buddy not me.

So low and behold it’s the second semester of my senior year and as I’m walking down the hall to go to my English class I see him. He walks by in the hall and I know it’s cliché but he is walking one way and I’m walking the other and I couldn’t help but stare at him. He may have only stared back because I was this crazy girl staring him down in the hall, but our eyes me and locked for a moment until I was to where I needed to be. I sat in my class and an all too familiar feeling came back into my stomach. I was going to throw up. My heart was bounding and I felt the adrenaline in my body rush. It was him. He was back. I couldn’t stop smiling. When my friend came into the class she asked me why I looked like a dork. I told her that I had seen him. However, because of the short lived whirlwind one sided romance in my headed that happened two years prior, I only told a few people about him. She didn’t remember ever hearing about him. I told her the story about him coming over and blah blah. And now he was back.

We started talking, mostly because I had more confidence than ever and I wasn’t going to let anyone decide my fate for me. I walked up to him and started talking to him. He played it cool and was still so debonair. My friends would tell me when I wasn’t with them in the lunch room that he’d be looking for me. I was feeling pretty darn excited. Whether he was or not, I was excited. It was about prom time and I knew I wanted to go. I also knew he was too “cool” to go or so I thought. I kept telling my friends that I wanted to go but I only wanted to go with him. A couple of guy friends had asked me and I was respectfully not answering yet because I did want to go but I didn’t want to go with them. So my friend went into his class during tutoring and asked him, “hey you if Nicole were to ask you to the prom would you say yes” and I guess he said he would or he may have said he’d say no but she told me to ask him. This went against everything I believed in. I thought if a boy likes you then he asks you out you never ask a boy out. And for all purposes from here on out, that is actually the truth. Boys may like the rush of a girl asking them out but boys are hunters by nature. They like the thrill of the chase. If you ask a boy out he knows he’s got you and the thrill of the chase is no longer in play. You now are the one in play. However, I asked him and I was as nervous as I could be and he said yes. I was so excited. I remember him saying, “You weren’t sweat’n it were you” and I was thinking “more than you’ll ever know.”

We went to prom and the rest as they say is history. We dated, we broke up, we got back together and we broke up. Needless to say, I didn’t go to UNT. I stayed where I was and went to community college. I got an apartment with my friend and that was that. One night he told me that he loved me, that he was in love with me and that I was his best friend. I had wanted to say those words to him for months but I already showed my hand by asking him to prom I wasn’t going to say those three words first. We dated some more and I moved back home at his advise to save money for my future. One night when I was living at home my step dad and I got into an argument because he heard me talking with my mom. We were talking about the fact that my guy had asked me when I would want to get married to him and I had told him that I’d marry him whenever he wanted. He had already graduated high school and was waiting tables. He asked me if he joined the military if I’d go with him and if I’d want to get married before or after. I told him that I’d marry him when ever he wanted to. We weren’t making definitely plans but we were talking. I was telling my mom because I was so happy that I had him. My step dad heard me and he proceeded to call me all the names I’ve ever been called. Only this time, I had the love of a man who I believed would love me and protect me from anything. I had the love that I believed to be true, from a man who told me I was beautiful and I wasn’t going to allow anyone to ever make me feel less than that again. We fought and he called me names he called my man names and he punched me in the face. I hit him back and I left. I went to my friend’s house where her mom let me stay. I had nothing. I walked in the rain to her house; it was just up the street. I called my man and told him where I was and what had happened and he rushed over and he held me in his arms. He held me tightly in his arms and he looked at me and told me under the stars on the driveway while we sat and leaned against the garage door, he said that he loved me and would never let anyone hurt me. He told me that he would protect me from anyone and anything and that I was the love of his life and his best friend. I leaned back into his arms and remember again feeling secure. Not since my grandparents and the day in the shrink’s office had I ever felt so secure and this time I felt loved too. I felt as though he’d take care of me forever and never let me go or go anywhere himself.

We ended up getting married. We found out we were pregnant before we got married but we got married anyway. We had a beautiful baby girl who although I was unsure of how I’d be as a mother, I know that she is my reason for living. I could not imagine life without her in it. Her dad and I divorced when she was three. We were young. We had a lot of problems. I’m not easy to live with. I grew up the moment she was born, but then again I think I grew up when I was six. He was still young and worked in the bar industry. He enjoyed the night life. I wanted stability. I loved him with every fiber of my being but somewhere along the way he stopped loving me. Not his fault really, like I said I’m not easy to live with. I didn’t know how to communicate to him that I wanted us to have a future. I wanted us to be productive. I wanted us to have jobs with a 401k and stability. I wanted us to do as married couples do and enjoy our life together. I didn’t always tell him how much I loved him and appreciated what he did for us. I was too busy focusing on the future that I didn’t enjoy the present with him and our daughter. We fought a lot. Other things contributed heavily to our marriage’s demise and eventually were divorced. Our divorce was to be final on September 11, 2001. My lawyer called me and said, “Have you seen the news?” I said, “yes” and he said, “If I were a betting man I’d say that this should serve as a wake up call to the both of you that you should try to appreciate each other and make this work” I said, “that’s awfully sweet be he’s done, we are done” and we finalized our divorce two weeks later on the day my friend buried her son, my lawyer buried my marriage.

I went to the funeral and cried. I mourned the loss of my friend’s son, but selfishly I mourned the loss of my best friend and love of my life. I went home and I cried myself to sleep. I had a boyfriend at the time that was so good to me that he sat with me and allowed me to cry over another man on his chest as he stroked my hair and I fell asleep. Of course because of my state of mind and the fact that now I had felt again that I had no control over my life and who came and went from it. I didn’t care. I wasn’t the nicest girlfriend and I was cold. I got what I wanted from a relationship and when the men would want to go to the next level or say “I love you” I’d bolt. I am no fool. I knew that the pain of losing my grandparents was horrific but not as soul destroying as the pain of losing my best friend and the love of my life. You may wonder why it is that I say that, after all weren’t my grandparents like my parents. Yes you are correct. However, my grandparents didn’t choose to leave me. They passed away and didn’t choose to go. The protected me and loved me until they died as they always had when they were alive. They were taken from me by no fault of their own. However, losing my best friend and love of my life was not as so. When someone that you love with all of your heart chooses to stop loving you and chooses to leave you, it is a beast of a different kind. The pain is that of what poets write, artists draw, writers scribe, and musicians play. When someone chooses to leave you as opposed to passes away, the pain you feel is more astronomical than any pain that you could ever feel. They say divorce is like death and you have to go through the same grieving process. However, they fail to mention that unlike death, divorce doesn’t take the person from your life completely. They are still on this Earth roaming it with you. They are still here and you still see them, especially if you have children. So unlike death, divorce leaves a constant reminder of the fact that the person who promised to love you, never hurt you, never leave you and protect you from everything has now stopped loving you, has hurt you worse than you’ve ever hurt, has chosen to leave you and no longer will be your protector.

So with that I realize that sometimes in life we can’t control what decisions and changes are made. We can’t control if someone loves us or stays around. We can’t control who stays and who walks away. We can’t control if they no longer love us or why. All that we can control in this life is how we show people that we love and care for, that we love and care for them. We can’t even control when it is that we no longer are able to speak as a child, think as a child or behave as a child, because sometimes we are a child when the child within us is forced to think as an adult, try to speak as an adult and try to hold in our emotions and fears and behave as an adult. Sometimes life happens and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it, except for stand back up, dust off and be the strong person you were always told to be.

I wrote this today to try to get feelings out of my mind and soul. I’ve read this book regarding insecurities and whatever and it conjured up emotions that I have forced so far back that I don’t think I ever wanted them to resurface. I’m not one for change. I don’t like it, especially if it’s not within my control in regards to dealing with my own life. I especially don’t do well when that change comes and negates everything I’ve tried to create. I don’t like when that change takes away people that I love. I can’t stand change. I can’t stand the wholes that are left by it. I can’t stand the feeling that life to others is just as good with or without me in it. I can’t stand to feel as if I am easily replaceable because the people that I love I can’t ever replace.

So I sat here tonight trying not to think too much and now I’ve written 15 pages. I read this back and I think it’s a wonder you love at all. I think again, don’t pity yourself. And finally I realize, no matter what, no matter how hurt I am, no matter how insignificant I am in this world, no matter how uneasy I may be to live with, one thing is for certain…..I was loved unconditionally and without second thought by the two most wonderful human beings in this entire world. I was taught how to love and be affectionate and passionate by the two people who never let me down. I was taught how to be the mother that I am to my daughter and how to love her and lift her up by my grandparents. I was taught how to be strong and press on by my mom.


Nicole LaJeunesse Gregory – 6/12/11