Want to hear an average life story? Well...

    • Want to hear an average life story? Well...

      Figured I'd eventually feel the need to write about it. Of course, the Internet is anonymous, so I'll hold nothing back.

      Note: It's REALLY long. Have fun.

      My name is Logan. I am 15 years old. We've all had our experiences in life-- non of them are really...normal, in any sense, but my mine-- well, it's not necessarily a train wreck. Rather, it's more like exposed to a large amount of gamma radiation like they do in the movies, where you get these freakish powers, but them you become a social outcast.

      Or something like that. Weird analogy. The best way to put it is that my life's events are the kind that are the fine line of either building a person into something great or completely destroying them. Let's hope it's the good option, but anyways-- on to the story.

      My father met my mother in a club. Short story: they got together, and poof, I was born. It didn't last very long; their personalities clashed. So they separated. I saw her...sometimes. Was supposed to be consistent, but things happened. She couldn't make it sometimes. Whatever.

      My dad worked all the time, so I was pretty much spending the first third or so of my life with my grandparents-- my MiMi and my Pop Pop. To me, they were like a second set of parents, together. As all grandparents do, they spoiled me. I went to a private school right down the road, both for preschool and, later, kindergarten. Obviously I don't remember much, until two things happened.

      First, I got into Karate. Nothing big, I just remember it all well.

      Then, my father met a woman. Michelle.

      She was childish in her own right, which appealed to me (I was around 5, or 6), and my dad seemed to love her. So after about half a year or so, they got married.

      I'm not going to boast or anything, but I wasn't a stupid kid. I got A's on everything (to the point where I actually had behavioral (chattiness) issues because it was just so easy and boring--imagine that), and...yeah. After we couldn't afford going to Double R any more, I got sent to Geneva Elementary, which was said to be one of the best schools around. My dad and grandparents were quite happy.

      But none of these things satisfied Michelle. True be told, after they were married--Michelle changed. My life changed, as things started piling up (but you'll see this later).

      I had a bed wetting problem. She did not like this. Her solution? Tell a 6 year old to write about 500 sentences "I will not wet the bed". What do you know? It didn't do anything. So...again and again. She yelled at us more, broke things around the house. She started spreading these things to my friends, yet try as I might, I couldn't stop it. Just couldn't.

      In general, she just got...crazy.

      Add this to the fact that my mother now went off and started having drinking problems. She rarely came, at this point.

      The marriage ended after a year--after she had started basically attacking my father and after he discovered she'd had an abortion (something that he disagreed with strongly-- it nearly happened with me and my mom as she proposed it as well. I'm still here).

      So that was over with. For a while, there was no woman. Then he met Susanna.

      Susanna was a bit more mature than Michelle. As her name suggests, she was Spanish, and brought a different "culture" so to speak, to our household. Our relationship was, as my father puts it, like that of a brother and sister (annoying each other, to the point where it was quite immature for her). But everything seemed fine. Then she got pregnant.

      She had my sister, Isabella. I was quite happy, for I had always wanted a sibling (I think I was around 8 or 9 when this happened). Nerdy as I was, I started writing down things I would teach her-- even copying down diagrams of oak leaves, the alphabet. Naive, but you have to admit it was cute.

      But of course, Susanna...she manipulated us from the start. One day, after an argument, she got in a taxi with her friend and left. Despite us trying to call the authorities, we couldn't find her-- until we found out she had gotten on a flight back to Venezuela.

      I remember asking my dad if we would ever see Isabella again. He said he didn't know.

      To make matters worse, my mother had actually befriended and assisted Susanna with the whole thing, just to get back at my dad.

      I still saw her sometimes, but things went...bad. She developed deeper drug problems, and I wasn't allowed to see her anymore (aside from the occasional call from rehab).

      Things weren't going so well with Pop Pop, either. He developed respiratory cancer. At this time, it was still possible he could pull through-- there is always hope in my mind (I always had hope).

      On the brighter side, I got my black belt at age 9 (retained the knowledge1 :) ) and was invited to attend a Magnet School (which is supposed to be for higher up kids. Of course, it was built next to the ghetto, so half the population of the school wasn't exactly fitting that description...go figure). I won the school spelling bee too, in 4th grade (still disappointed I didn't make it past county though...)

      A few more months later, and you can bet my Dad found another woman. Her name was Roberta. Things didn't last long-- barely a month. But I still find her important, because she was so kind to me. She had certain problems, though; I'm guessing depression of some sort, but God, I wish she would've stayed. I still think about that. I also liked her family-- not crazy like Susanna's or Michelle's.

      Then came Tanisha (no, she's not black). After three (four? if you count my bio mom, or Roberta) mothers of varying importance, I was sure this one wouldn't last. But...she did. She seemed...nice. I guess. It's hard to say how I felt, as my expectations had dropped substantially.

      So at this point in the story, I'm around 10. Six months after Susanna left with Bella-- then, as if by miracle, my Dad sees Susanna and Isabella shopping. My father asked for a day with her (or something-- I forget the full story), and he comes to pick me up from school. First time seeing Bella in a while-- wow, I was surprised. We took her to my great uncle and aunt's (right near my grandparents new house-- didn't mentioned that they moved), and basically hid out like fugitives for the next week, with our neighbors calling us to tell us that crazy b**** had called in about 20 cop cars on our house (she told the police about my father being ex-Army Ranger and having a bunch of weaponry, as well as calling him a crazed lunatic-- you see the irony?).

      We got things worked out in the end. Visitation was awkward, but I needn't go into detail.

      Eventually, I entered Middle School. 6th grade was certainly interesting; I was kind of a turbo-nerd by now. Skinny, white, awkward personality. You know, the works. I also found it odd that there were so many scraggly mustaches (My thoughts: "Holy mackerel, you have a caterpillar on your face! Oh wait, that's a mustache. Weird.").

      Tanisha wasn't so bad, I suppose. She had her moments, but I dealt with them. Isabella was actually a good little girl back then, although somehow annoyed me sometimes, somehow, on a whim (as you siblings out there can guess, that ability goes both ways :wink: ). I did like Tanisha's large family. One person in particular: her mother, my grandma Bertie. She loved me like her own child. She seemed to believe in me no matter what. I certainly loved her, almost immediately.

      But Pop Pop...his condition worsened. He was diagnosed with dementia, and, slowly, my grandfather, the genius (he certainly was), he...lost his mind. He didn't scream and yell or act crazy...he just seemed so confused about everything. Like he didn't know who or where he was.

      There was one night, half way through my 6th grade year. We'd been staying the night a lot that week, but I didn't understand why until later.

      Hospice was there, as they usually were. But...his breath was shallower. He was limp. In that moment, he seemed clearer, as if the dementia had been wiped away for his last moment.

      He didn't have a long-winded last speech, like you'd believe. His body was too weak for that. He could have just let himself enjoy those last few moments of simply living...but he traded those last breaths of his to say "I love you." He wouldn't pause, until he took his last breath, and he was gone. Now I know what it means when you can literally see someone's life fade from their eyes.

      I didn't go into school for about a week. We laid him to rest. And that was it.

      I'd sometimes sit on the bus-- where I was already getting bullied already, how bout that-- and just...think about him. Think about where I was, at that moment. He was gone, and now I was feeling a little alone.

      I went through the rest of the year OK. I met my now-best friend, and many good friends. I wasn't popular, but I knew who I wanted to. My mother did come around now, too-- albeit, under supervised visitation.

      When 7th grade came around (age 12 to 13), holy crap did puberty hit me, partly in the fashion of a freight train and part getting-smothered-by-a-blanket. I'm not even talking about physically (of course that came, and of course it was awkward); it was the emotional part. I would start feeling extremely depressed one day, for a while, then for some reason be brought back up for a day or two, then...well, it wasn't my best year. I tend not to remember it, since at the time (and for a while after that, probably til recently) I was under the impression I had no friends, was extremely disliked, and was a terrible person.

      Tanisha started getting...well, should I say started to show her true colors.

      When Tanisha flips, she flips the freak out. The most memorable and often-used phrase (still used to today) was "horrible, awful, bastard".

      OK, it wasn't for doing drugs, or having sex, or anything illegal or any backtalk/disrespect. Rather, it was for things like doing a bad job on the kitchen or bathroom, or laundry-- in general, my own stupidity or laziness.

      I did find a passion in writing, though. I had never had such an interest in something I had found so mundane in the past. And in this way, when I joined the Writing Club, I found myself a mentor: Ms. Kelsey. Plus, I joined the Air Force JROTC at my school with my best friend. Wow, was I scared that first week (Of course, this is the nerdy kid back then that we're talking about). It was in that experience that I started liking the military.

      When I had sufficiently studied enough about the military, I decided my future: I would become a Navy SEAL. At the time, though, this goal was kind of a fling. Still, the ROTC gave me good enough muscles; not so much of a nerd now, really.

      In 8th grade, I got a little bit out of my depression, but rather developed other issues. Notably-- extremely low self-esteem/worth, and low self-confidence. The poems I wrote about myself (or at least, implying myself) were brutal, let me tell you.

      Tanisha got worse. Seemed like every month there was a big blowout with our family, but we managed. Somehow. But she had Wyatt, my brother, so that was a plus.

      One fateful night/day: I was celebrating my birthday with an all-night thing with my friends. But when all but 2 of them (best friend and his friend) had left, we fell asleep, until 9am. We were woken only by incomprehensible screaming.

      It was Tanisha. She had received a phone call that her mother-- my Grandma Bertie, the one who believed in me, had died of a heart attack in her bed.

      Whereas she had been there for me with Pop Pop, I had to remain strong with her now. I ushered the other two out, and my Dad came, along with best friend's mom, who took me back to his house. The worse part about it was the fact that Tanisha had had a falling out with her the previous week. She had been so...terrible to her. Tanisha to her mother, that is. I remember the last time we spoke-- briefly, right at that falling out. She said to me: "Logan, I love you." A lot like Pop Pop had, I guess.

      Things pretty much sucked from there to 9th grade. The entire interval between that, Tanisha would always get upset. She always repeat her signature phrase for me, "horrible awful bastard", among other things, such as saying things about my mother. She once said... "Better off as a terrorist than a Navy SEAL". It hurt. But then again, the comments about my mother were the ones that made me the most angry.

      I never said anything. Not one word, not one "no". Nothing.

      I felt like I was beginning to actually realize my social mistakes. I would worry over them all the time, and always felt like I was disliked by a certain percentage of people (but I still made good friends. It wasn't so bad, all of it).

      When I went to High school, it was one nearer to my house (by a lot), but away from anyone I once knew. I was fine with that-- screw Seminole High, that place is trashy anyway. Plus, Lake Howell's Navy JROTC was top-notch (compared to Sanford Middle, at least). I could socially start over.

      My persona went from a more awkward-hugging type to a more awkward-quiet-super nice type. No one hated me, but then, no one knew me.

      Long story short, I excelled in the NJROTC, got Armed Drill Cadet of the Year (apparently, I'm gifted in spinning rifles for a freshman), and did pretty well for myself. By the end of the year, I had cracked my shell sufficiently and understood my real goal in life-- no longer writing, but a TRUE Navy SEAL. Nothing will deter me from this.

      So all those problems of the past--they sort of fixed themselves, right? I'm "smart" (how ever you determine such an arbitrary concept), got very good muscle tone (not the skinny white nerd anymore), and at least dropped the self-hatred, though I still push myself to the highest limits that I can possibly ever reach (so long as I have not achieved my maximum potential, I am disappointed).

      My only obstacle now? My own laziness, which I am eliminating very quickly (that's what I've pushed myself to do over the summer).

      That...and the social thing. I don't know what happened to me. I wish I hadn't lost my confidence, my esteem. Would it have been better if certain events hadn't happened or continue to happen? Is it really all the backstabbing and belittling that got me, or just myself?

      I'll tell you where the Tanisha situation is at, and had basically been at for a while (by the way, she's pregnant again).

      Today, she came into my room, threw my laundry that I had just put in the washing machine at me, got in my face, called me many things (the only truly comprehensible thing was "piss-ant", the meaning of which still eludes me), and pushed me down. I did nothing, as is my custom. Because I put my laundry in when she was planning to put a load in.

      I just...wish I could improve. To prevent myself from screw ups like this. But honestly, after 5 years of things like that and 15 years of other shit, I just don't feel anything anymore. I used to be extremely empathetic-- feel everyone's pain, love everyone, etc-- and in a way, I still am. But it doesn't dictate my actions anymore, and I suppose I have Tanisha to thank for that. My dad disagrees with her on things like that, the yelling, the "overreactions", but...whatever. I'm used to that. My life, I guess.

      My Dad said he's done with her. But I've heard that a lot, from both of them.

      Excluding those things, there is only one thing, and that's my social problems. I'll work on that. And when I enter sophmore year...I won't let myself fall. I will rise above everything. I will be strong, and in doing so I will bring everyone around me up.

      My goals are set. I won't fail.






      Well, that was my life. Long as heck, if you even read it. Maybe no one will read it. But I guess it was good write it nonetheless.
    • Re: Want to hear an average life story? Well...

      Do you at least feel better writing that all out?

      I've read it all. You haven't had the greatest family, I agree, and you've had your own problems.
      You write really well, but from your story, I'm not convinced you're the type to be a SEALS (and this is not meant to be offensive). But, you're committed and you're undeterred from your goals, and that's a good sign.