I'm a masterpiece in pieces.

I wasn’t always like this, I used to be different, I used to be happy, but that was so long ago and it’s so hard to remember. Maybe I was never happy; maybe all those years ago, I was just better at tricking myself. Maybe then I thought I had a chance, maybe then I did have a chance. I used to be such a happy child, it all just went away about the time I turned seven. In my seventh year of life, something in me severed and broke off. I lost something then, something I obviously, desperately needed. Because at age 12, I’m this, this huge mess, a broken girl that no one can seem to put back together, there isn’t enough glue in this whole world to put me back together. I came off as such a happy kid; my saddest moments didn’t last long. I was a manipulative child and other children my age seemed intimidated of me, not that at that age it’s hard to be intimidated. I took advantage of it though. I had a lot of friends at that age. All of them seemed to follow me in some sort of way and they looked at me as a type of leader. I let them think that and I played the part.

You wouldn’t have ever thought this would have happened to me. That smart little girl I was. That adorable little girl that had so much promise, something so special and different, something that in the end, back fired. I’ve looked at pictures of me in those happy years. One of me on my first day of school ever, standing in front of an elementary school, in a black skirt and a white shirt with a huge yellow smile on it, my hair curled towards my face, glasses magnifying my brown eyes a little. The curls lining my childish face. A purple bag on my back and a pair of clean white shoes. My face mixed with fear and nervousness but somewhat anxious. Before I could go to school, I wanted to, I’d run into my brother’s and sister’s room, grab their pillows from their beds, hug them and sob for about 15 minutes every morning when they left for school, convinced they wouldn’t come back but also jealous because I wanted to go to school so bad. Mostly because my sister and brother were doing it, so of course, being a child, I wanted to as well. I spent my days with my sister’s text books outside with the dogs, yelling at them to sit still and listen. I’d pretend I was “teaching” them and bring my mother pieces of paper with twisted lines scrawled across it, thinking that was all there was to writing in cursive. She thought it was so humorous and would laugh so much that I ended up bringing her several pieces of paper a day, telling her it was the dog’s “report cards” and having her sign them. Making up things to tell her about each of our two dogs, mostly behavioral problems, I remember having to go to my brother’s school so my mother could speak with his principal several times, so it was all I could think of to say. My mother also taught me how to do many basic things to do on her computer and I was quite good with it. Even years later she’d brag to counselors, case workers, friends about how she taught me how to use a computer better than most adults could at age three.

Another picture of me brushing hair behind my ear, not knowing the picture was being taken. You would have never thought this would happen to me. That I’d become so awful and sad. You would have thought I would have grown up into a great adult, a happy person, someone special. I amazed everyone with how clever I was, how sophisticated I was at so young. I was such a good kid. It was almost tragic, what happened to me. It’s hard to tell if people were surprised, but they must have been. I was so bright, so happy, so promising and I just lost it so quickly. I really was a brilliant child. I was so great for seven years and then I was just terrible. In just seven years that promising little girl was gone and I took her place.