42; insert horrible subject line here.
I sat there on my favorite set of stairs. You know the ones that spiral down...and I thought. I watched the waves as the crashed against the rocks and gazed up at the moon. I thought for a good two hours about my life, just sitting there. Of course, 2 hours isn't even remotely enough time to analyze it. The huge OC party I attempted to have didn't go as planned so I ended up going over my friends house to watch it. MISCHA BARTON IT IS A GOOD THING YOU DID NOT GET SHOT. She has a house on the beach with my stairs. I thought of all my accomplishments, all my failures and all I've been through.
I was picked on in elementary and middle school. The small geeky kid that got his lunch money taken. But then high school came and I had it all. My dad landed a huge corporate deal that landed us a huge house. We packed up everything and moved a couple cities over to Miami. I then became the rich kid that everyone wanted to be. I had it all; everything anyone would ever want. Servants, money, parties all the time and a loving family. But, I was the rich kid that wanted something more than what I had. My dad then turned to alcohol because money didn't seem to be enough. He too wanted more than what he had. My mom got the bitter end of his rage. She was the one that he blamed when his company started to fall through. My mom sat me down and told me that he loved her and that he didn't meant to hit her. After that I night I was never the same. The next morning I went out to search for something that would get my mom out of here. Modeling became my ticket. I started in contests, model searches and worked my way up from the bottom. I kept going and going not even realizing that I left my mother behind as I pursued something that I thought would help us. I finally came to that realization and came back home to take her with me. She told me she loved him as he was screaming in the background telling her to "come in here and let me fuck you". I wiped away a tear, gave her a hug grabbed my things and walked out that door.
Fast forward to 3 years later. I'm here in New York after being on the cover of Abercrombie and Fitch and other various companies. I got a phone call from my mother and she told me he had changed. That he doesn't drink anymore and that they are still together. Then she started talking about my sister and reminded me of her 18th birthday. I then remembered the Cotillion that is thrown for girls entering society as a Portuguese woman. I promised her I would go, and I don't break promises. That means I have to face him. Face the man that told me I would never be anything no matter what I did. The man that beat my mother and made her feel lower than dirt. That man I thought that loved me. I don't want to go to this at all but a promise is a promise. It will be so hard to face him and I don't know how I plan to. I have sleepless night waking up in a puddle of sweat. Maybe the fact that fathers day is coming up soon too bugs me. Every year I just go into this seclusion and become so bitter about the day.
I've accomplished so much in my life and I want him to feel sorry. Sorry for his stupidity and what he said to me. I hope he chokes on every word that he regrets. I put off my plans of majoring in art to become a model because my mother was in danger. If I had to go back and do it again, I would. The same way.
There is no good way to end this really other than now you know why I'm a little fucked up.
I was picked on in elementary and middle school. The small geeky kid that got his lunch money taken. But then high school came and I had it all. My dad landed a huge corporate deal that landed us a huge house. We packed up everything and moved a couple cities over to Miami. I then became the rich kid that everyone wanted to be. I had it all; everything anyone would ever want. Servants, money, parties all the time and a loving family. But, I was the rich kid that wanted something more than what I had. My dad then turned to alcohol because money didn't seem to be enough. He too wanted more than what he had. My mom got the bitter end of his rage. She was the one that he blamed when his company started to fall through. My mom sat me down and told me that he loved her and that he didn't meant to hit her. After that I night I was never the same. The next morning I went out to search for something that would get my mom out of here. Modeling became my ticket. I started in contests, model searches and worked my way up from the bottom. I kept going and going not even realizing that I left my mother behind as I pursued something that I thought would help us. I finally came to that realization and came back home to take her with me. She told me she loved him as he was screaming in the background telling her to "come in here and let me fuck you". I wiped away a tear, gave her a hug grabbed my things and walked out that door.
Fast forward to 3 years later. I'm here in New York after being on the cover of Abercrombie and Fitch and other various companies. I got a phone call from my mother and she told me he had changed. That he doesn't drink anymore and that they are still together. Then she started talking about my sister and reminded me of her 18th birthday. I then remembered the Cotillion that is thrown for girls entering society as a Portuguese woman. I promised her I would go, and I don't break promises. That means I have to face him. Face the man that told me I would never be anything no matter what I did. The man that beat my mother and made her feel lower than dirt. That man I thought that loved me. I don't want to go to this at all but a promise is a promise. It will be so hard to face him and I don't know how I plan to. I have sleepless night waking up in a puddle of sweat. Maybe the fact that fathers day is coming up soon too bugs me. Every year I just go into this seclusion and become so bitter about the day.
I've accomplished so much in my life and I want him to feel sorry. Sorry for his stupidity and what he said to me. I hope he chokes on every word that he regrets. I put off my plans of majoring in art to become a model because my mother was in danger. If I had to go back and do it again, I would. The same way.
There is no good way to end this really other than now you know why I'm a little fucked up.