I never really thought of myself as the writing type. I thought journals and diaries were stupid and stories were boring, even the made up ones. I was a tv kind of person. I loved tv and movies. Don't get me wrong i still do, but i think now i appreciate and admire the actors rather than the tv itself. I'm always asking myself "whats my story? Who am i?". Who am i? Im no one really, and yet I'm me and because I am me that makes me someone. I have a story, just like everyone else. To some people my story is boring, to some its inspiring, to some its touching, to some its just like theirs, to some its nothing, but to me its everything. To me, my story is my history. Its my life. Its who I am. My story should be told. Its not much really, its just my story but I'd like it to be heard. Some may like it, others may not. Either way this is my story.
2007
"Mom? Dad? Hello?" "We're in the living room" my mom shouted. "We need you and your sister to come in here. We need to have a family meeting" said my dad. I already knew what was coming, my sister did too. We did as my father said and sat on the couch, only i didnt wait for him to speak. "Dad when are we moving?"
Growing up in the military, that conversation pretty much sums up my life. My sister said to me once that if someone were to ask where she was raised she'd say California because she loves it here. I thought about that. Where was i raised? I told my sister, "If someone asks me where i was raised i'd say the military. I was raised in the military." I was truly raised in the military. I have lived in 1 country, 6 different states, 10 different houses, and gone to 6 different schools. I'm in my sophomore year of highschool. You do the math. When i was in elementary school i hated that i had to move. I thought it was unfair. Now I love moving. I believe i could be a professional mover. I love change and new things. Its how i was raised. You have be on your toes and prepared for change in the military because it seems that nothing is ever set in stone. I live in California at the moment, on a little island. We are moving as soon as the school ends. It's a strange sensation you get when you know you're moving.First of all you feel as if you can do anything because you're leaving. Also you start to love everything more because you know you have to leave it. And of course there's the sad feelings, like you don't have enough time. Then there's the excited feeling of meeting new people and getting to start all over! That's what i love most about moving. The clean slate. Some people never get a clean slate, they never get to start over. I get to start over every 3 years or so. Sure, its a hassle but hey how many people get to learn from their mistakes, then go somewhere else where nobody knows they made that mistake? I do and it's great. It makes me a better person and i feel blessed to have that opportunity. Not to mention the great people skills you get from starting over all the time. So yes, growing up i was raised in the military. Of course i still am growing up and i'm still being raised in the military but soo it will be over. This is going to be my last move.
January 16 2010
We were all loading up onto the party bus for my friends sweet sixteen. Everyone was real excited. The bus driver was explaining her rules to us but no body was realing paying attention. We were all taking photos and laughing. It was a jungle theme. Everyone was all dressed up. I had a cheetah print dress on with my black stilletos and a pair of cat ears. It was my first party bus. We were going to ride around for two hours and then go back to the birthday girl's house for cake. There wasn't going to be any parents on the bus so I knew it was going to get crazy. We were all on the bus and seated. I had my wristband on that showed I was invited. The driver was counting us. she stepped outside for a few minutes. The parents of my friend got on the bus and said that there were to many kids on the bus so they needed to check our wristbands. We all held up our wrists, everybody had a wristband. The parents had printed too many. They began offering money for a few people to leave. No one moved. A few guys almost took the bribe but decided not too. The parents then made the girl decide on a few people to kick off. She picked me as one of them. I was stunned. Nicely, i got up, gave her a hug and wished her a happy birthday. As i exited the bus I told the parents thank you for inviting me and i left. I was beyond embarressed. I felt like a loser in front of my friends being chosen to leave the party like i wasn't good enough or something. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't just go home. I went and sat at a table down the bay. I kept replaying it over and over in my head. I just didn't understand why i was chosen to leave? Why hadn't she picked the guys who were going to leave for money? They obviously weren't her good friends. I started to cry. People began walking by and giving me looks. I called my friend Jimmy who i knew wasn't at the party. When he answered i tried to tell him what had happened and how upset i was. He stopped me midsentence. "Are you crying?" he asked. "Yes.." i replied. "Call me later then" he said. Call him later? He didn't want to talk to me because i was crying? What had happened to all my so called friends? I tried to stop crying and called my parents to come pick me up from where the party bus was. By the time they got there i was in tears again. My dad was furious about what had happened and my mom felt horrible. She laid in bed with me until i had finally fallen asleep. At school on Monday, everybody was talking about the party and who did what and stuff. I felt really left out. Some people asked me why i wasn't there. They hadn't even realized I was on the bus in the first place!
The world i live in here is different from other places. The kids here practically rule the place. To be honest I'm not very fond of it here anymore. I used to love the glamour and all of that, but now I'm just tired of the inconsiderate bimbos who are more focused on their beer pong records and fake IDs than anything else. Yes, leaving here will be my last move, but hopefully it will be my best move.
June 5 2010, 11:48 PM
It's funny, how Bipolar I feel about this move. One minute I can't wait to get away, the next I'm crying to a sad song. It's a numb, wierd feeling most of the time. Now that its real and only a week away I don't know how i feel about it. People ask me all the time "Are you happy about moving?", I dont know how to answer them anymore. I was, now i dont know. There's good and bad in everything, even moving. The good thing is i get a fresh start. But even in that there is bad. What if it doesnt work out? What if no one likes me? Then what? Another good thing is i get to meet new people! But what if i dont like them? Moving is strange thing. I move all the time but every place is different so you don't know what to expect. You can try and lay low for a while, not really socialize, but then maybe no one will come up to you and they'll think you're some kind of loner freak. Maybe you try to introduce yourself and then they think you're over confident and bitchy. Maybe you ask some guy where a classroom is, ha then they think you're a slut. Or you just let them come to you, well usually the first people to talk to you aren't the ones you wanna get involved with. (I've learned) Then people see you talking to them and assume you're part of that crowd. Like i said every where is different, you just gotta push through. I'm a pro mover, but I've never had an easy ride when it comes to making friends. You come the south you're the new hillbilly chick. Or you come from the city, you're a rich bitch. Moving is scary. Its new and you have no control over what judgements get made on you. But you just push through...
