Who would have thought, me, of all people, the one who keeps everything bottled up and endures the pain, the one who doesn’t like to talk to anyone about anything she feels, finally getting a blog. I have seen and read numerous people’s blogs and have felt the same pain that some of them have felt. I have talked to them and asking “Why do you blog all of your problems?” Every response just the same, “It really feels great that people are actually reading what I write, and can relate to the different steps in my life.” These answers left me thinking, maybe I need to grow up, maybe I need to start venting, typing, and let everything out that is bothering me.
Me, a girl of 16 years of age, has been through more than most people have gone through in their whole lives. I’ve been told that I’m actually something special. I tend to think different. Unlike the normal family you would commonly see; a mom, a dad, and then two or more sibilings, I’m completely different. The only person I have in my life that I can actually count on is my grandma. My dad, whom I have never met, left my mom and I the day I was born. From the day I left the hospital, to this very day, I live with my grandma. Yes, I see my mom occasionally, but not by choice. When I was seven years old, my grandma gained legal custody of me, and officially became my mom.
My uncle, who was the only father figure I had ever had in my life, was a crack cocaine addict. All my life I’d have certain nights laying in bed, wondering why all of this was happening to me. Why I was an only child, not getting to share my pain and suffering with anyone. How I would deal with the pain of the annual Father/Daughter invite that came all throughout elementary school, and the explanations I was going to give my friends for not going. WHY, does my family have to be so different from typical American family. And my final question, HOW was I going to cope with the loss of my grandma when the day was to eventually come. All of these questions I ask myself everynight, hoping for some kind of answer to arrive the following day. But each day, there was no answer.
It seems the only way I could get away from all of this is to figure some way I can take out all of my anger and anxiousness for the next day, was indeed through sports. Sure, sports were enjoyable, and most kids just did them for the fun. But not I, I did them for the ability to vent without actually having to talk to anyone, to people have to hit the complete shit out of a golf ball or a softball, without causing any damage that would get me in trouble, to be able to kick or spike a ball, with out trying to hurt someone, to go out on a golf course by myself and think about what I was going to do with myself and how I was going to cope with the following minutes, hours, days, months, and years. Only one thing held me back at certain points. My body. I tended to push myself beyond my limits, beyond my capabilities, eventually causing something to give out. I’d cut the healing process, and get back to playing the sport I was playing at the time just to cause even more harm.
After I got hurt a few times, I made myself stay home, stay away from the fields or course, so I could heal completely. After several months passed, I needed to find a new solution to make my stronger so I would be less likely to cause more muscle injury. Sophomore year of high school I joined the weightlifting team. I welcomed this challenge with open arms. I was the tallest girl on the team, and I thought the strongest until I picked up my first bar and performed a bench lift. Then I knew, yeah, I’m strong, but not this strong. I left the weightroom sore and hurting, but that didn’t stop me. I returned the next day of practice, and the many days of practices and meets to follow. I fell in love with this. During second semester I changed my schedule so I was able to have weightlifting as a class. I enjoyed getting to work out whenever I wanted. I found myself becoming a stronger person. Not just physically, but mentally also. I have everlasting aches and pains, but I have learned to cope, to deal with what I was feeling, whether it was my psycological pain or my physical pain.
I have been writing about myself for the past hour. I think I’ll call it quits for right now. Mark my words, I will be back.
Brooke Marie's Blog 