Scrambled Eggs

I was told several times you should write a book or something about your life. I had often thought about it through the years, but I have no idea what to write about. My life as it stands, as it has stood for several years is a mess, an utter mess.

So many poor choices in men and direction it's a wonder how I've made it this far.

I want what everyone wants, this great normal life. What's really normal? I look at my sister's lives and they seem pretty normal, I know they're not, I know they too have issues striving for normalcy. Isn't that the ultimate goal our definition of normal?

I want to start from the beginning but it seems so boring, nothing real extra ordinary except for one thing, a minor detail really. I was molested by my father for many years. I'm really not quite sure when it started or really when it ended, I only have memories from age 12 and up, everything else is a wash. Only bits and pieces. My youngest sister remembers every detail, its crazy that she can remember everything and I don't. I consider it God's one true gift to me was the loss of memory, but the effects are endless.

My family layout consists of 3 sisters and a brother. I only speak to my younger sister and thats only sending texts on holidays and birthdays. I haven't heard her voice in about 6 years. It's weird how that happens, but trauma does that, it seperates people, family and friends until you're just left with minimal human contact, well at least for me.

As a teenager I found myself with a small amount of friends 1 or 2, but so many people thought of me as there friend, perception is a funny thing especially as a teenager. I was wreckless at points and never understood why. Always angry I hated myself, how I looked and felt about myself. I started starving myself when I was 16. I remember my father saying "sit down eat some pizza" like that was going to solve the issue. I starved myself for a couple years through high school, then one day I just stopped. Like most things in my life. At that point I didn't know I was molested, and I was constantly reacting. It felt like a curse, that there was something wrong with me.

I couldn't understand it, and I felt so alone.

So when I was 18, I went to a rest stop, it was a few miles out of town. I sat there in my ford escort with a knife and a cup of ice. I was determined to kill myself, end this insane suffering. I remember holding the ice on my wrist then slicing into them, like I was cutting into a steak. Tears streaming down my face, and I turn and look out the window to a police officer looking right at me. I remember him saying "its gonna be okay, an ambulance is on the way." He asked me to open my door, I complied. I was taken to the psych hospital, and stayed there for a couple months. Lying about why, and pretty much everything that I was going through. They believed everything I said because they finally released me. I would try to kill myself a couple more times, then I gave up because it just wasnt in the cards for me to go out that way. My commitment was too low. Some people can do it and others like me we just have to suffer through it.