Hi, all. I’m solely here to document my mind and how it may grow or, as I’ve been seeing as of lately, deteriorate these next couple of years. I prefer to keep my identity concealed since my stories and blurbs come from real life incidents. Perhaps someone may figure it out (I know some close friends might if they ever found this) and if that happens, that’s okay too. I’d just like to conceal it as much as I can. Although I do trust that the daily muse of a young adult won’t triggered my followers enough to try and snuff me in my sleep.
I’m also a freelance features writer on Gumption magazine; follow the link below if you wanna see some of my other pieces:
Some of my writing is a bit out of context (since they come from my life which no one knows anything about) so I’ll just briefly talk about some of the main events in my life that inspired a few of my posts.
I’m the youngest of my two older brothers. Our family was very fresh and happy. A hardworking father, who was still irrevocably in love with my mother, cared and played with his children with any remaining energy he could muster at the end of each work day. I still have memories of him before the accident. My dad, my brothers, and I played Capture the Princess. He’d steal me and my brothers would try to wrestle me out of his arms. We’d laugh and laugh until our sides hurt. My mother ironed our clothes and watched with a peaceful smile on her face.
Her story runs deeper, as I will try to depict it in a way that it honors her character, so you’ll appreciate her as the story of our lives go on.
He took my brothers on a trip to Ecuador, but left my mom and I at home. A father-sons thing. Next year, it would be my turn to go with my father and mother. Three years old and I would witness an honorable man’s last breaths as his body left the earth; 2 sons, a baby girl, and a high school sweetheart. His death left a trail of hurt in each of us and this event will have impacted us deeply in every one of our stories as they develop and continue to develop.
My mother; burdened with memories of physical and emotional abuse in her youth, still finds a way to bring a genuine lightness to our everyday lives.
My oldest brother; burdened with self-image and a need to fill the father role of the family, finds it hard to cope with the anger that rages inside him on a daily basis. Extremely sensitive to environmental stimuli, he makes the atmosphere for all completely unbearable.
The Middle child; my second oldest brother, burdened with self-image, Middle Child syndrome, a leader for gay pride and an advocate for all that support human free will/ spirituality, he struggles against anxiety and the need to be fearless in a world that will chew up all things squishy.
Then there’s me; struggles with self-image, the need to fulfill her true purpose on this world although she knows what she wants to see herself doing in the future; writing. Often seen by her family as the sensible, practical one, intelligent one, the one everyone is afraid of, headstrong/too headstrong for her own good. Often bumps heads with the oldest one, gets along better with the second one, is the light of mother’s life. The one that was there when dad died. She looks stoic but we know she’s scared inside.