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It all started when I was born. Luckily I survived,
considering I was born three weeks premature (almost close to a month). My mom was 42 when she had me. She had miscarried
a daughter before myself. So I believe I've been put on this earth for a reason. What it is yet, I'm still wondering to this
day. So far the only things I can come up with are that I'm awesome at making people laugh, making them feel better and an
avid listener.
My brother, Michael, always loved to play games with
me when I was younger. Since he hated our mother so much, he made me take our stepmother's house keys and bury them within
the bottom of the garbage. We did this plenty of nights until I was caught in the act. She hit me so hard that I bled. I have
always hated her since then. When I was in elementary school, I was the smartest in each class of every year I attended. There
were only two problems. I talked in class after I finished my work because it was petty. Most students envied my intelligence.
I would receive straight As or 90s and 100s on each report card, except for one thing: conduct. Oh conduct, it always stated,
"too talkative." This eventually pissed my parents off.
When that dread came, I always feared them because
whenever my brother would fail or do something wrong, he would get hit in the head with a baseball bat. But when I would do
something wrong, it would always be a beating: Not just any ordinary beating. Do the words "extension cord" say enough, or
must I elaborate? When pissed, my parents would tell me to lie stomach down on the bed, naked. Then they would enter, one
with a belt and the other with an extension cord. When hit, each strike was worse than the previous. I can still feel the
hatred. Thankfully the scars disappeared except for the outlines. I had to deal with this for plenty of years.
The students who envied me would try to get me into
trouble and always succeeded. A very, very, very stupid scenario about a pencil sharpener at school made my parents buy a
new one, but it is not that crucial or important for now. (You can e-mail me about it if you desire.)
In junior high, the beatings stopped, or so I thought.
My mother was always saying that I had an attitude. Once, when I was thirteen, she gave me a pair of socks and I forgot to
say, "Thank you." She started to ask me dumb questions such as, "Do you think you are too old enough to have manners?", "You
want to fight?" and "You think you are hot shit?" Then before I could blink my eye, she charged at me with a kitchen knife.
Luckily, with my cat-like reflexes, I dodged in an instant, and I was not harmed: Only my shirt was caught. I think from then
on, she wanted to kill me. Why had I not tried to report this to anyone? I tried once and wrote to a friend about the bruises
I received. I also spoke to my headmaster about it.
Child Welfare called my house one night,
and I was given the phone. The man on the phone said, "I must ask you a question. Are you happy there at home?" I wanted to
reply, "No," so badly, but both of my parents were on another phone eavesdropping. I hesitated, and the man asked the question
again. Looking into the next bedroom where those two cruel people stared through me, I quivered with fear. I replied, "Yes,
I am happy here at home." The man asked, "Are you sure?" And I replied, "Yes, I am sure." I wonder what would have happened
if I ever did say "No." I hung up the phone with a heavy heart, and no sooner did I let go of the receiver, I was struck in
the head with an object, I could not remember if it was a frying pan or something else. They manipulated me, and I forgot
about trying to escape because I was busy concentrating on graduation and entering high school.
Finally I reach Townsend Harris H.S., here all my
hopes and dreams would come true, or so I thought. Freshman year was not really difficult except when I had a crush on a girl.
It turned out that she was bisexual. I figured that I had a chance to be with her. Some "chance." I asked her out for a great
number of times and was rejected. But I wrote her an encouraging letter about how chances should be given and taken. She finally
gave in and accepted my request on March 29, 1999. We said our "hellos" and "byes" but then spring break came. I did not know
what happened over spring break, but she started to ignore me. I wanted to tell her how much I liked her, but the words never
came out in the right way. The day of our scheduled date, April 16, 1999; she "dumped" me. It took her just a few minutes
to get over me and the entire summer for me to get over her.
Moving on. Sophomore year was probably the worst of
all. This is when everything was told. One of my friends, whom I told my secret, gladly never told anyone, but I was constantly
writing to her for advice and the topic of suicide was mentioned. She reported this to the Assistant Principal (A.P.) of the
school. One day, I was called out of class to be spoken to. They just wanted to make sure that I was not going to commit the
sinful deed. Of course, the A.P. did not take this as any laughing matter. They explained that my parents should be brought
in. Just the mention of them brought back fears from the past. I started crying and wailing. The phone call was made, and
my parents rushed over to the scene. After painful hours of so-called "problems," a psychiatric evaluation was presumed upon
me. I got belongings and went into the car for a long ride. My dad was literally raising hell by shouting and every so often
punching me when we arrived at each red light. He asked me, "Are you trying to get us arrested? Are you trying to kill yourself
when you know that is our job?" He went on redundantly. I was evaluated and proven sane.
I never had a moment's peace or privacy. When I am
at school, either my mom or dad, or both would rummage through my room searching for any hidden facts. Unfortunately, I left
a note on my night table, and it fell into the wrong hands. When I arrived home, my mother said that Dad had to speak to me.
He was downstairs in the basement. He was sitting in the dark. He spoke, "Do you think your are normal? What the hell is this
shit?" He was holding a note in his hand. "Let me tell you one thing," he continued, "I ain't raising no FAGS in here! Are
you trying to get back at us for what we did to you?" He went on and on about society and what the neighbors would think if
they knew. Boy, did I feel like scum. He quizzed me, "Do you know what percentage of people in the United States are like
you?" I answered, "Probably 45% to 50%." My voice was shaky. He slapped me and told me not to be a smart ass. Instead, the
real answer was 10% to 15%, give or take a little. With my big mouth, I responded that at least most of them would be bisexual.
I was then locked downstairs in the darkness of the cold basement. My cat, Pepzi, was the only living thing I could talk to
and always keep the secret. Trust me, my brother would see me crying and just pass me without saying a word.
Junior year: This was when all of the pressure was
on me. I was starting to think about college and whether or not I'd even be accepted to one. The Scholastic Assessment Tests
(SATs) were evil and I received a 1330 on them. That was pretty darn good until later on in the year I was told that the test
scores were mixed up and that I actually received a 900-something. I ended up failing classes left and right from then on,
and I had to go to summer school (for the third year in a row). But it wasn't all bad since I met a really cool chica who
I have lots of respect for since she always keeps "it" real and understands me perfectly. She's so humble and down to earth.
She knows who she is. :-p I also met a few more people who became my friends because they also understand me. After the regents
and summer school was over, I had to head back to THHS for another school year. But then again, it's my senior year and there
will be plenty to look forward to.
Senior year: Back to THHS to see friends who I haven't
seen over the summer or had the opportunity to hang out with due to summer school. But the downside is that along with the
friends are also teachers. I was almost expelled for something a teacher stated that I didn't do. College applications are
a major hemorrhoid. The pressure is really on me now because my brother never graduated from college and he quit it. My parents
don't want me to follow in his footsteps. Both of my parents are nurses and they want me to be a doctor. They really don't
want me to screw up like I always do. Sadly, I don't know how to drive legally, nor have a car, nor have a permit. So far,
the school year is much of a drag because life isn't all what it's cracked up to be.
I'm happy that I'm rid of those pizzy teachers I had to deal with, especially
Ms. Blechman. *shudders cuz it's a reflex* The only goodness out of my last few months at THHS were meeting new people who
are now very good friends. I am talking about Devin, Jessica, Cindy, Grace, Tina, Corey, Kris and Tommy. And I met their friends:
Amanda, Jen and Will. I love them lotz. ^_^ (This is probably the happiest part of my autobio.)
Well, I finally completed high school and will be moving on to college. I can't
believe that I made it this far. I'll be attending Queensborough Community College in the fall. Even though I'm 18 and I'll
be attending college doesn't mean that I'm out of the woods yet. I will be continuing my autobiography on my college site
since this my high school site. The link is below.
~*THE END, for now*~
College Autobiography
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