The Diagnosis

1 Apr

When you’re 11 life is already about as awkward as it gets. You have to go to a new school with a new format, your body is changing, and you just look awkward. Seriously, go look at a picture of yourself when you were 11. Awkward,/ right? So any opportunity where life can present another awkward scenario just makes you want to crawl in a hole and emerge again when you are at an age where you finally know how to style your hair (FYI… I’m still working on that). The physical that I had the day before my last day of 6th grade was one of those crippling awkward moments. I was a late bloomer. So late that at the age of 24 I’m still wondering when my breasts are going to fill in. My pediatrician was kind enough to bring up the concern with my dad. My dad looked like he wanted to crawl in the previously mentioned hole. But, that wasn’t the only thing I remember about that physical. I also remember that the simple act of bending over to touch my toes changed my life forever. Scoliosis. Normal 11 year old girls would have no idea what that meant, but I did. I had a friend who had recently found out that she would be having surgery as a result of having scoliosis. I was scared. I had no idea what was going to happen. So we left that appointment knowing two things. I didn’t have boobs yet but I did have scoliosis. My dad decided that since my doctor’s office was connected to the hospital we would get x-rays while I was there. We would need them when we went to go see the specialist at Children’s Hospital in the near future. The x-ray machine at the hospital was slow so I was left sitting in the room by myself. As mature as I pretended to be at 11, all I wanted in that moment was to cry in my mom’s arms. I was terrified. That was just the very beginning of everything that was to come…


A Picture Says a Thousand Words

10 Jan

I remember when I was in either 7th or 8th grade, my art class was assigned a project. We were all to flip through a book, find a picture, and write a story based on the picture. Since its been over 9 years I can’t remember exactly why we were given a writing assignment in an art class. Perhaps it was a punishment of some sort or maybe Mr. Demming had run out of ideas. What I do remember is I ended up loving the project. I selected a Victorian style picture featuring a young woman who appeared to be arranging a bouquet of flowers. We were only given the class period to write the story and I found myself reluctantly turning in an unfinished story while I was supposed to be heading to my next class. When we were given our stories back the next day my teacher encouraged me to finish the story and let me know it was the best one in class. I also remember scaring my teacher by asking how to commit suicide because it was part of my story. I never did finish that story nor do I know what happened to it. But I’ll never forget about that assignment.

Hello world!

5 Jan

Recently I had been thinking alot about the creative writing class I took my senior year. I felt so creative taking that class and wanted to be able to write like I did that semester. I’ve also been having this itch to write a book but I have no idea what I would write about. So I’m using this as my creative outlet 🙂