Broken spirits, part one.

Part one.

I don't know if I'm alone on this, but the older I get, I find it harder to know if some of my memories are

misremembered or being forgotten. It could be age. It could be a side effect of

being a busy single mom with a four-year-old daughter.

When I was younger and I would act up, my mother would always say,

just wait, one day you're going to have a daughter just like you.

I really hope not.

I was bad as a kid. but not so terrible that I would have ended up on a Dr

Phil episode as a troubled child my high school years though almost every teenager works hard at looking like they don't care.

Almost as hard as they work at having a great victim story.

It's not enough to be aloof.

For a teenager, social life is a constant poker game, but you want to have a terrible hand.

Honestly growing up, I didn't have a tough life at all.

I wasn't the best student or the worst. Steady sea student. I wasn't the most

popular or the most bullied or the outsider or the pickmee. I strived to be as detached as possible. I was secretly proud to have never signed a yearbook.

I could always sense when an acquaintance was about to hand me their yearbook.

And it was like a little game I'd play to see how I could

avoid it. I felt like I was so good at reading people. Well as if teenagers are that hard to read.

It didn't take an A student to know who was the typical high school

stereotype. One thing I never took in account, how the people around me saw me, well

one day I found out.

...