I'm okay now.
I was born on January 1st, sixteen years ago. I couldn't breathe. I wasn't supposed to live, but I did. I'm okay now. My mom gave birth to my brother seven days later. She had no idea she was even pregnant with him. He was way too eager to be born, the doctors say, because he came out nearly two months before he was supposed to. He died three weeks later. I cry a lot, wishing I could meet the baby brother that my mom unknowingly cared for. I'm okay now. My parents divorced when I was five. My mom and I moved to Florida following the divorce. I hated it there; the heat was unbearable, the people were rude, and I missed my dad. I think the heat got to Mom's head, because one night, she blamed me for the divorce and stabbed me with a pair of scissors. I still have the scar. But, I'm okay now. I went to go live with my dad until my mom was better. "Mentally ill", the doctors called her. We moved around a lot, constantly changing places. I was always the weird kid. I never did make many friends. When I was nine, I was diagnosed with ADHD and insomnia. I don't sleep for days. Still, I'm okay now. When I was eleven, I visited my mom. The doctors told me she wasn't getting any better -- hallucinations haunted her, and she suffered from separation anxiety. Six weeks later, my dad got the news that she had gotten really sick and died. I cried a lot. I'm okay now. Five years later, I've been living in the same house that we lived in when my mom passed away. I still don't sleep at night. Sometimes, when I'm laying awake in my bed, I trace the scar where the scissors hit. Then, I cry and miss my mom. But trust me, I'm okay now.
IceInMyVeins