My older sister was a popular former cheerleader whose name was Brighchell. (Bry/Shell) She's not a cheerleader anymore because of another beautiful popular cheerleader.
They were ok at one point, but the power of the tounge of a young teenage boy can mean the world to a young teenage girl to has yet to have seen the world, and experience true womanhood.
To make a long story short, Brighchell and the young lady had something going on with the young man, and at cheerleading practice just so happened to be the spot where everything had went down.
Rumors that had circulated throughout the whole school, and the sweet lies of a young teenage boy clashed at cheerleading practice.
Unfortunately, Brighchell got the shit end of the situation and never cheered again, mainly because she beat the girl up so bad, that her side of the story wasn't even relevant. Now, Brighchell is just a beautiful popular girl that use to cheer. Still not so bad as far as reputation goes.
My younger brother Addeet, (Add/deat) was a stay to himself kind of kid. He didn't really talk that much or wanted to be around other people that often. Almost like he didn't wanna give anybody a chance to get to know him. The only people he really associated himself with was his family.
Him and myself would have our little sibling wars sometimes just like every other sibling, but we loved each other. No question.
I stayed with the both of my parents.
My father was a truck driver, or what we call over here, a truckie. He wasn't home much but he always made sure that the family was in good condition.
I was soo use to not seeing him, I just became ok with it. So did the rest of us. Brighchell was probably the only one that would ask about him if she hadn't seen him for about close to a week.
Now, my mother was a nut case.
For a long time, my father didn't really know that she had mental issues. She hide it very well. I think he could kind of sense things just a little, but he probably just looked pass on it. Like it wasn't enough evidence to prove that there was something wrong.
Over the years, the communication between those two started to become less and less, and the connection just started to slip away more and more.
My mother physically abused us. Kids were not one of her strengths. Her mind just couldn't wrap around being a complete parent after all of this time.
Throughout the years, her condition started to slowly get worse. Her anger was starting to get a little easier to trigger. Her mind wasn't present half of the time.
I got beat the worst. She would beat me just because she would be mad at herself about something. That was part of the problem. She was angry at herself. Things from the past that she had no control over, but made decisions that would stick with her for the rest of her life.
Pulling the plug on her mother back when she was younger is one of the issues she's dealing with now. That haunts her everyday of her life. She really didn't know what to do in that situation.
Her mother was in a horrific car accident, and she was in the hospital for eight months in a coma.
She got info when it first happened that her mother would never be the same again. Most likely a vegetable if she was to wake up out of her coma.
She also had to get both of her legs amputated because they were completely crushed.
My mother was only nineteen when this happened.
Standing by her mother, watching her, wondering if she would ever open her eyes again. Wondering if she could hear the words that my mother was trying to tell her. Crying, falling to her knees everytime reality sets in her mind that nothing was gonna be the same again.
One day while she was in her mothers room, in the hospital sitting down reading a book, one of the nurses came in and had a heart to heart conversation with her.
"My husband was also in a bad car accident." The nurse said to her as she was rubbing the top part of her own hand. "He got hit by a semi truck. He was in the hospital for three years in a coma and he never made it out." As she slightly started to whimper. "Their was absolutely nothing that I could do in that situation but to just sit, wait, and to pray. I remember, the doctors and nurses telling me that it was up to me if I wanted to keep this going. He's not gonna be the same husband that you had before all of this happened they told me. I told them yes, I remembered you telling me that. He was paralyzed from the neck down, and he was also going to be a vegetable. That one day came when I made the decision to go ahead, and to just let him go. I felt like he's been lying there in that coma for three years because that's what it's gonna be. He's already gone. No matter if he wakes up or not. He's gone.
She started to cry and my mother gave her a hug.
It was safe to say that the nurse never really got over her husbands death. That whole speech just brought back bad memories for her. It was probably better off that the nurse never really said anything at all, but still had one last thing she had to say.
She wanted my mother to make peace with her mother before anything else happened.
"After you make peace, than the right decision will come to you. Anything that you and your mother went through, make peace with it right now." She told my mother.
My mother decided to pull the plug on her and now she regrets it. She asked herself everyday, "why did I listen to that nurse?"
To be honest with you, a part of my mother didn't want her mother to make it out of that coma because she knew that she was going to be the one that would have to take care of her. The selfishness in her was whispering that to her.
My mother has knocked me unconscious before. Simply because I was washing my hands for too long. We never told our father what was going on because our mother told us that she would kill us if we were to ever say anything to him.
He knew that she would spank us from time to time, but he never suspected that she was really abusing us.
Even though I was getting the worst of it, and I parsley didn't understand why I was, I still loved my mother to death. I loved everything about her simply because she was my mother. I judged her from the good things I seen her do.
My brother and sister weren't so forgiving, and they couldn't understand why I showed her so much love.
As I gotten older, a part of me was starting to feel sorry for her. I knew something wasn't right, but I just didn't know what.
She didn't have real conversations with us like a normal parent would, so we would have no idea what was going on inside of her head.
I would ask questions like mommy, what's wrong, or could I do anything. She would yell and scream at me to leave her room. It was depressing sometimes because I would really be worried about her, and on top of that, it felt like I didn't have any parents half of the time. At twelve years old, you really need that teenage guidance, most importantly by your parents. That would pretty much make anybody depressed.
Anybody who would stop by never caught on to my mother having mental issues. She hid that very well to the public. But even though she hid it well, it wasn't easy for her. It took everything she had in her to play it normal. It was almost like being high on drugs and going in for a job interview. She really needed help, but nobody but her kids knew what was going on, and they didn't exactly know 100% what was going on.