I have spent my entire life wanting something to be passionate about.
Throughout high school, I was in debate, and even though my coach told me I would never amount to anything, I never gave up and never quit. I loved being able to choose an idea, research it, and attempt to persuade someone to at least understand my viewpoint, or even be able to change their mind. [I was informed after I graduated that my coach had stalked my cousin a decade before... and that is why he hated me before he even knew more than my name. Which brings me to a side note... that life, obviously, isn't fair. But people that hold personal vendettas against someone for something they had nothing to do with, makes me more than a little angry. This man is also why I went to college for Secondary Education and Theatre... because I wanted to be a debate coach, and encourage everyone to believe in themselves. But, since then, I have found a better career path but with the same results.]
In March of 2003, when Dubya "officially" took us to war in Iraq, my college roommate and I made clothes and ran a semi-protest... My shirt said "Regime Change Starts at Home", and of course I had written "Make Love, Not War" on my bell bottoms. I'm a hippie [and a pacifist] at heart.
In 2006, a man that said he loved me introduced me to cocaine. I fell into it pretty quickly, and when I lost him, I still had it. Then I entered a relationship with a person I barely knew. After a short while, I told him I didn't like who I was at that point and wanted to quit doing the drug. I did. He said he would as well. Not long after that, I became pregnant. I continued to give him money for rent every month,... and found out 3 months in from the Apartment Office that they had not received rent during that whole time period. I found out from a neighbor he had been spending it all on coke. When I confronted him, he locked me in a room, broke my cell phone [because he tried to turn the situation around on me, saying I had called a male, when I had not], and refused to give my car keys back. The next day, he told me he wished I would just fall down some stairs and lose the baby. I left, I found a friend who let me move in.
Because of the little one in my belly, I found the strength to leave a terrible situation. When someone is miserable, and says they "just can't leave", I do not believe them.
The story only gets sadder from then on involving Gabriel's father. But let me skip to the happy part.
I found something [or, someone, rather] to be passionate about.
He has red hair, and color-changing eyes. He is now nine months old.
I know this is the hardest thing I will ever have to do, and the job will never be done... and I also know that I have a long way to go to be "perfect". But I have found my reason to try.
My faith in mankind is renewed, and the hurt inflicted on me by the many terrible people in my past is lifted away... every morning when I wake up to see the little angel in the crib pulling down his bumper pad just to smile at me and say 'hiiiiii!'.
Unknown "Im w/stupid ->" Daring
- 16 years, 11 months, 14 days ago
