I’m five years old today!

A little girl swings her arm with her father’s hand clasped around hers.

“How are you today? Four?”

With a wide smile she proclaims, “Noooo! I’m five years old today!”

Oblivious to her comment her father continues to walk forward, her hand still in his.

She continues, “And I’m going to get a princess bed!”

She looks up to her father as if to receive confirmation that she will indeed get a “princess bed.” Smile still wide.

“Yes you are sweetie!”

Validated in her comment she seemingly skips along to keep up with his pace.

As we walked along and my mom picked out the princess bed that I was going to get, which I didn’t really want but I knew my mom wanted me to have it, I didn’t know that was going to the last memory I’d have of being truly happy.

It just felt so right. Both my parents were there and amazingly they weren’t arguing. Even though I didn’t really want a “princess bed” I knew that pretending to like it would make my mom happy and that made me happy.

I’ve spend a large portion of my life trying to figure out what makes me happy. Why do I always feel alone and abandoned? One of the very first memories that I have is of feeling alone, insecure, and unwanted. How can a toddler of two understand those feelings? How are they supposed to deal with them? But more importantly, why do I remember them still to this day? If I were a better artist I could draw pictures of the event. Like a storyboard. So vivid, down to the probable time of the event.

I tried to do all the things that children and teenagers are supposed to do to get reactions out of their parents. To feel like I was a good child. Quite the opposite happened. I had my mother tell me that I wasn’t her child. That she had disowned me. All because I was caught shoplifting.

I then became a feral child. I lie. It was much before then. I’m a product of ABC Family television programming. The over used feel good story plots that is never reenacted in real life. At least not that I’ve been able to experience. Doing bad things tend to have bad endings. Hell doing good things even end in bad endings. There is not rhyme or reason to life. Life is unexpected even if you plan for it.

And now, in a roundabout sort of way, I’ve achieved the goals that I have set forth before me. Living a large city and making my own money but still I feel almost as empty as I was when I was two years old. Although, now, it’s almost a numb feeling. Calloused really. Years of tears, wrenching pain, and blood covered exacto blades has left me without feeling. Well, feelings in the sense of emotions. Now, I just turn it off. I become numb. It’s not a good feeling, like I said it’s empty but I guess it’s better then the heartbreaking dark cloud of worthlessness of a few months ago.