I came across an exercise on Kelli Owen’s blog that I wanted to do, so I did it. Actually someone else had been talking about it on Facebook. I read his and really liked it. Each sentence should start with “I”—I am, I like, I hate, I want—and to dig inside to find yourself. There was talk of writing five pages about yourself, I may have skimped out on that a little but I’m happy with it. 😀
So here’s mine.
I am Mandy.
I have a past, like we all do.
I don’t remember being born to a young woman that gave me up and a man that didn’t know of me. I have no memory of the day I was adopted by the DeGeit’s, but they celebrate that day every year. I knew all along my adopted parents loved and wanted me. I knew I belonged to them. I was raised in love and understanding, education and discipline. I had a family. I should have been happy. I was supposed to have been content. I wasn’t.
I didn’t fit into school. I was weird, I wasn’t really pretty, I was smart. I was in extra classes, learning more, when I should have been free. I didn’t make friends well, I tried, I failed. I wasn’t popular, that’s what you need in school. I didn’t have that. I just wanted to fit in but I didn’t. I trudged miserably through elementary, intermediate and high school…
I hated high school the most. I still wasn’t popular. I didn’t grow into that. I got worse. I was in the school band and library club. I didn’t know of anyone else in the library club. I think was the only one. I don’t remember much of high school. I think we block out the bad.
I always had “problems” when I was young. I wasn’t right in the head. I was in counselling from early on. I couldn’t be happy. I tried, I failed.
I was fifteen when I met him, (the first of many bad boyfriend choices), he was 18 and said he loved me. I believed him, I needed him. I dropped out of school at 16. I moved out and I left my family behind, not for myself but for him… I know now I was wrong.
I was too proud to go home. I thought I was in love. I was 16, what the fuck did I know? I still stayed with him. I shunned my family. I shouldn’t have, but you can’t change the past.
I lost it. I was hospitalized. I was labelled with disorders. I was medicated. I have been both uncontrollable and catatonic. I was constantly miserable. I wasn’t the person you know now, back then. I never though I would change. I didn’t think I could live.
I’d hit rockbottom, the scars on my wrist pushing me to leave Timmins. I had to start new. I knew I had to start fresh. I left my family and all that I’ve known… I had no choice.
I walked away from everything I always was, a daughter, a student, a lover and lost soul.
I survived. I forced myself to change. I had to.
I could start with my move to Ottawa. I could go into how I got a job, moved up and continued the chain of work. I was a retail manager. I payed off my bills, I got myself “stuff” and things. I did that.
I could tell you how I worked at a sex store for three years, selling vibrators and renting porn. I really like that job. I did that.
I could tell you about the boyfriend photographer, part-time modelling, Bermuda, endless money… and the drugs. I did that.
I could tell you about how I lost everything dating a musician and but found my love and passion for music. I learned to play better. I play the flute. I have for a long time. I risked it all, and lost it all, but I don’t regret it. I did that.
I could talk about being a gypsy, just doing what makes my heart feel right. I’m doing that now.
I could talk about how I grew into my looks. I became pretty. I formed an attitude, my attitude. I got louder, unfortunately for those around me. I wanted to be centre of attention, I still do. I became a little more me.
I could also tell you how I STILL struggled through all of that, searching to find who I am. I am still doing that. I want to tell you about how I am still not sure of what I’m supposed to do. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be a writer, I want to be famous, I want to be a chef, I don’t want to be a mom, but I want someone to grow old with… I’m 33 years old and I’m still working on that.
I still don’t have it all figured out, maybe I never will.
I do know one thing however, after everything I’ve said…
I am Mandy, Now With 100% More Tattoos.