Ugh, I'm in this situation AGAIN. I lied. No, it was not a little lie, nor was it a BIG lie but it was enough to get my mom mad and get me in trouble. I honestly don't know why I lie. But coming from my mom it could be from my past. That's what I thought for a while. But who really knows? Crazy thing is that I'm the one lying and I don't even know why I lie. It's not because I don't respect my mom and it's not because I want to do whatever I want when I want. It could be my past… welp why don't we dive into it.
My name is Alani Johnson, I am fifteen years old, and I am in the tenth grade at some preppy, predominately white all-girls school. Some who have known me since second grade may say that I had a troubled past. No, I was not bad. Supposedly my therapist tells me that the things that have happened to me have led to the way I live right now.
Okay so let's start from the very beginning. I was born at the Brooklyn hospital on May 30, 2005. It was fun I guess. I was small of course and supposedly had lots of parties. My mom said lots of people, who were my family were holding me. Which is kinda funny when I think about it now, I mean, y'all were the ones who caused the things that lead me to this place, and if y'all were my REAL family, where were y'all when I needed you the most? (We will talk about that later on.
My mom was there for all the big baby moments but she was nowhere to be found when I started to get older and accomplish other things. No, she did not disappear, leaving me on the doorstep of some randoms house. She just stopped calling to check up on me and stopped making an effort to come to visit me with my younger siblings. I was hurt before, but now I just think of it as apart of life. As soon as I turned two she supposedly taught me how to use the bathroom… on a toilet. It was just me and my mom going everywhere and doing everything together. Then one day everything changed when one of the most important people in my life came to the earth. That person was my younger brother.
My brother's name is David and he is around twelve years old. What I remember is that when my brother was born, I went to my cousin's house. We had a celebration there. My brother was really heavy and he would cry too much for my personal liking. Since I was three when he was born, I already liked the idea of being the "star of the show." But when he came along it seemed as if he took all the attention away from me. And no, I was not being dramatic at three years old. He actually did take away most of the attention.
I didn't really like being a big sister until I understood what being a big sister meant- I honestly still don't understand what it means because there is no one younger than me to become a big sister too. I helped change his pampers and helped feed him. I would sleep with him so if he cried in the middle of the night I would be next to him to comfort him and give him his pacifier.
I remember one day I was playing with my dolls when my brother took one of them. Out of nowhere, I yelled at him and he started crying. You know that joke that everyone makes about when you accidentally hurt your younger sibling and they start to cry and you try to shush them so that you won't get in trouble? Yup, that's exactly what I did. But I was too late. That was the first time I got in trouble at an age when I knew what getting in trouble meant. I tried to lighten the load for my mother and avoid getting in trouble at all costs. The first time I got in trouble I had to stand in the corner and wait until my time was done. This was also the first time I got mad at anyone… my brother.
When I was four years old, we had to move to my grandma's house. I wasn't safe at my mom's boyfriend's house so we moved somewhere else. While there I went to pre-k right across the street from our house. After three years, I got accepted to an all-girls charter school a couple of blocks down from my house. Honestly, it was hard making friends there because I was known as the "throw up" girl there. Basically long story short, I ate some oatmeal that didn't agree with my stomach and threw it up. Yeah, not so fond of that memory.
Fast forward to the middle of first grade when all hell broke loose, and when I mean hell… I literally mean HELL. This wasn't the first time I was neglected but it definitely was the last time. One day I got in trouble for something and my mom just lashed out ending with me going to school with a black eye. The crazy thing is that I thought it would hurt like crazy. But it was frustrating really. I couldn't open my eye and when I did the lights would be too bright to see. It affected the way I performed in class. If my mom only kept me home and called in and said I was sick, the school probably wouldn't have called Child Services. I was in a separate room with an adult who constantly kept asking me questions. I just lied. I did what my mom told me to and said that I hit my head on the doorknob. I don't remember how they made me spill but they did, and I don't want to remember what happened after...