Status: I love constructive criticism. Tell me what I can do better. Or tell me what you like. Please, I'd love to hear from you guys:)
The Monster Inside Me
The Start Of It All
New Years Eve going into 2009 came around. Which was the middle of seventh grade. Due to the court arrangements and visitation rights, Gabbie and I were to spent New Years Eve and day at my fathers brand new home. This was the first weekend anyone slept in that house.
I felt uncomfortable, and awkward. I wanted deeply to develop a relationship with my father. Ever since I was little I never took anyone's words for anything. If someone told me, 'don't talk to that person, they're mean' I'd go over and talk to them and find out for myself. My mother never had anything nice to say about my father. She'd always complain to me about how much he drinks and how he doesn't care about anyone but himself. She never allowed me to go near him. On the rare occasions he did come home, he'd spend his time watching TV in the living room, watching Cops. If I went near or into the living room, my mother would call my name. I'd obviously listen and go into the room where she was. She'd tell me either, 'bring down the glasses from upstairs', 'clean your room', 'go take a shower', or 'go to bed'. She always had some kind of thing I had to do around the house when my father was home. Again, I was young. I didn't think much of anything. Nor did I understand much.
I wanted to see if what my mom said had any truth. I wanted to talk to my father, but I just didn't know how.
There wasn't much to do there. The only thing I could've done was put my sheets and blankets on my new bed in one of the rooms. Which is what I've already accomplished.
My father's house wasn't the biggest. It was smaller then my mother's and not as nice. But it had potential. It was two stories. In front of the house there was a lot of bushes and trees. You could barley see the house. The windows had bars over them. It seemed to me like the past owners of the house we're either paranoid or guilty of something. But who am I to assume? It could've been anything.
When you first step into the house you see stairs. To the right is the living room, a tad smaller then average size. To me it was small, since my mother's house was large. To the left, was a closed door, I soon figured out that led to a bedroom, which became my father's. Going through the living room you make way to a short hallway. If you go to the right, there's the kitchen. An average sized, out-dated kitchen. If you go to the right, you'll see a bathroom on the right, also out-dated and strangely colored. It was all dark, and blue. It wasn't appealing. At the end of the hallway was another bedroom, this was Gabbie and I's bedroom. It was large. That's probably why my father gave it to us. We had beds on either side of the room. My sheets were pink, Gabbie's were blue. She was always less girly then me. So what I've been told. In my opinion, we were pretty much the same.
The upstairs was tiny. When you go up the stairs the first thing you see is a bathroom, oddly colored, too. Green and orange. It was a strange combination. To the left, a middle sized bedroom, all white but with a huge dragon painted on the wall, to the right of the hallway, a larger bedroom. Completely empty with a large walk-in closet.
I guess to break the tension a little bit between all the kids and my father, since none of us had a relationship with him, he invited the rest of us over. My older sister Michelle, and my older brother Joey. Michelle is taller than me. Medium length brown hair and blue eyes. She had a fuller body. My brother is tall and toned, with short brown hair and blue eyes. He's pretty active. He was sixteen at this time, and Michelle was eighteen. She also brought along her boyfriend at the time, Alan. He was funny, and nice. Very easy to talk to. Joey brought over he friend Mike. We called him Chan, just because it's easier to say. He was also very funny, and he always had a story to tell. But believable stories. Not bullshit stories people come up with just for the attention or whatever reason why people make up stories for. Good imaginations? Maybe.
I decided to watch TV with Gabbie, my twin sister, while everyone else was being loud and obnoxious playing poker. I didn't mind so much, though. It was nice to see everyone smiling.
I could tell my dad was nervous and wanted to impress us. You could just tell. He'd occasionally walk into the room and make small jokes. They were actually funny. It lessened the tension between us all.
As the night progressed the tension dramatically lessened. It felt more of a family. I started to become slightly more comfortable with my dad. I didn't necessarily talk with him, but just the atmosphere became more relaxing. I was excited. This was the beginning to finally a relationship with my father.
I felt uncomfortable, and awkward. I wanted deeply to develop a relationship with my father. Ever since I was little I never took anyone's words for anything. If someone told me, 'don't talk to that person, they're mean' I'd go over and talk to them and find out for myself. My mother never had anything nice to say about my father. She'd always complain to me about how much he drinks and how he doesn't care about anyone but himself. She never allowed me to go near him. On the rare occasions he did come home, he'd spend his time watching TV in the living room, watching Cops. If I went near or into the living room, my mother would call my name. I'd obviously listen and go into the room where she was. She'd tell me either, 'bring down the glasses from upstairs', 'clean your room', 'go take a shower', or 'go to bed'. She always had some kind of thing I had to do around the house when my father was home. Again, I was young. I didn't think much of anything. Nor did I understand much.
I wanted to see if what my mom said had any truth. I wanted to talk to my father, but I just didn't know how.
There wasn't much to do there. The only thing I could've done was put my sheets and blankets on my new bed in one of the rooms. Which is what I've already accomplished.
My father's house wasn't the biggest. It was smaller then my mother's and not as nice. But it had potential. It was two stories. In front of the house there was a lot of bushes and trees. You could barley see the house. The windows had bars over them. It seemed to me like the past owners of the house we're either paranoid or guilty of something. But who am I to assume? It could've been anything.
When you first step into the house you see stairs. To the right is the living room, a tad smaller then average size. To me it was small, since my mother's house was large. To the left, was a closed door, I soon figured out that led to a bedroom, which became my father's. Going through the living room you make way to a short hallway. If you go to the right, there's the kitchen. An average sized, out-dated kitchen. If you go to the right, you'll see a bathroom on the right, also out-dated and strangely colored. It was all dark, and blue. It wasn't appealing. At the end of the hallway was another bedroom, this was Gabbie and I's bedroom. It was large. That's probably why my father gave it to us. We had beds on either side of the room. My sheets were pink, Gabbie's were blue. She was always less girly then me. So what I've been told. In my opinion, we were pretty much the same.
The upstairs was tiny. When you go up the stairs the first thing you see is a bathroom, oddly colored, too. Green and orange. It was a strange combination. To the left, a middle sized bedroom, all white but with a huge dragon painted on the wall, to the right of the hallway, a larger bedroom. Completely empty with a large walk-in closet.
I guess to break the tension a little bit between all the kids and my father, since none of us had a relationship with him, he invited the rest of us over. My older sister Michelle, and my older brother Joey. Michelle is taller than me. Medium length brown hair and blue eyes. She had a fuller body. My brother is tall and toned, with short brown hair and blue eyes. He's pretty active. He was sixteen at this time, and Michelle was eighteen. She also brought along her boyfriend at the time, Alan. He was funny, and nice. Very easy to talk to. Joey brought over he friend Mike. We called him Chan, just because it's easier to say. He was also very funny, and he always had a story to tell. But believable stories. Not bullshit stories people come up with just for the attention or whatever reason why people make up stories for. Good imaginations? Maybe.
I decided to watch TV with Gabbie, my twin sister, while everyone else was being loud and obnoxious playing poker. I didn't mind so much, though. It was nice to see everyone smiling.
I could tell my dad was nervous and wanted to impress us. You could just tell. He'd occasionally walk into the room and make small jokes. They were actually funny. It lessened the tension between us all.
As the night progressed the tension dramatically lessened. It felt more of a family. I started to become slightly more comfortable with my dad. I didn't necessarily talk with him, but just the atmosphere became more relaxing. I was excited. This was the beginning to finally a relationship with my father.