This is the completely true and absolutely unedited documentary of my life and all the ways I have managed to make my shitty situation worse.
Read with caution.
I guess the best way to kick this bird out of the nest is to start from the very beginning. From the day I was born, God, or whoever put me on this earth, decided that not one day would go by where I didn’t get the short end of the stick. I was born on July 15th, 1997, to Hector and Anne Dawn Garcia. But had my brother, Adam, not asked for a little sister, I wouldn’t have even been a thought that crossed their mind. From the innumerable stories I’ve heard, my brother was as godly as his biblical name suggested; a perfect little angel. They say he cried a total of five times throughout his babyhood and never once threw up on my mother. The only problem they ever had with him was getting him to stop laughing all the time. Can you believe that? Having a happy baby being the hardest of your struggles? Well, all was well until at the age of 4, Adam felt it necessary that my parents add to the family tree.
It wasn’t until two years later that my brother got his wish. I was the third and final try and after two previous attempts before me, my little egg decided she was strong enough to hatch. My parents were overjoyed. For nine months I was the star of the show, just about the only time this would happen unless it was by my own hand. The last three months of my race to the finish line my mom had to sit on the sidelines so I would come out happy and healthy.
This drove her absolutely wild.
But on the last and final day of her bedrest, my mom was met with the breaking of her water, and I swam the river of life right into her arms.
But somewhere along the way I swam a little too fast and I managed to choke on some pretty nasty fluid, nearly causing me to lose my life. The doctors rushed me away, cleared me out, and ten hours later, I was reunited with my family. At long last, the world got to meet Jezebel Rose Garcia, born six pounds and 8 ounces, and eighteen inches long.
And I hated every single person that laid their filthy hands on me. I mean, I wailed the second someone tried to hold me. I was a goddamn banshee from the time I could open my mouth. This really stressed everyone out on account of how well behaved Adam was but the doctors reassured my parents that this was totally normal. They tried everything to get me to stop crying and had the FDA approved it, I think they probably would have slipped me some Nyquil if they could. I think the fact that I started screaming immediately after I was born and nothing stopped me should have been a clear indicator that I didn’t want to be born at all.
The kind of sad thing about my entire existence was that it only came to be because someone ordered me to be. And from there I was like a beacon of hope because my grandfather (whom I only met during babyhood) held on so just so he could meet me. Which brings me to the only solution for my incurable screaming. As soon as I was put into my grandpa’s arm, everything went silent. I don’t know why I shut my mouth when he held me, but I guess the smell of raisin bread and love really did it for me. I was his and only his for a few months, because shortly after he met me, he had to leave.
I don’t remember much after that, obviously, so we can just say it was a blur. I got to go home a few days later and let me tell you, being an infant was a real bitch. So much so that I decided if I wasn’t having a good time, no one was. On top of my wails, I also projectile vomited all the time. I was just about the worst baby you could imagine having, especially when compared to my brother.
My family wanted me so bad and I did everything I could to make the journey as miserable as possible. I know that technically it wasn’t my fault, me being 4 days old and all, but my ability to ruin everything good started from a very young age. Adam was such a good big brother, though. He loved me so much and always did what he could to help, even at six years old. I think I have always been against people helping me, though. It’s like there’s a little voice inside my head that says, “No! You don’t deserve this!” and makes sure I struggle with whatever task could have been easily completed with just a little help. I always thought that meant I was just very self-efficient, but now as I’m looking back, I realize I’m just a masochist in the most domestic way possible.
@ellowrites #writing #fiction