Have you ever planned your own funeral? I'm not talking about for a class or anything but for real. I can't exactly explain the feelings you have when you do it but it is a weird experience. I just got done planning mine. Why? Because I am going to die within the next 24 hours. So instead of leaving any confusion behind for my family and friends I took the liberty of arranging everything myself. Plus, even though I won't be able to see it, I want everything done right.

You're wondering how I know I am going to die, right? Well that's simple. I am killing myself. That's right. I'm killing myself. I've thought about it from every aspect and I truly know that is the only right thing I can do. Everything is in place and ready to go. No turning back now. Well I guess we can turn back just to take a look at how I got to this point...

May 20th 1987, a 17 year old white girl was expecting a beautiful biracial baby boy. The baby's race was a secret that the mother was too scared to tell her her family. Mary was terrified but she had her mother there with her every step of the way and one C-section later little Donovon Augustus was brought into the world. There was just one small problem. Donovon had a vagina. Dr. McDumbass screwed up. That's when Donovon became Hazel Nikole. Yea, no matter what I was going to have a horrible name. Hazel is my grandma's name and since she was there my mom decided to name me after her. Lucky me. With such a complicated first day in life I don't see how anyone could have thought my life was going to be easy.

Mary took off as soon as she was healed, leaving me in the care of her mother. We did alright. Grans, as I later decided to call her, still didn't know about my father so when I was a few months old and started to get spots and change colors she freaked out. The doctor didn't have the heart to tell her so he gave her a cream to put on me. I spent the first part of my existance covered in cream. It didn't take too much longer for her and the rest of the family to figure it out. Surprisingly the majority of them were alright with it. Life was good with Grans. Not that I can remember it but I know I was well taken care of. Mary showed up 2 years later and had decided that she wanted me.

My mother and I then moved away, this is where things took a turn for the worst. Mary met a pathetic excuse of a man named Elvis. He was an alcoholic, violent and pretty much just worthless. But somehow the crazy couple managed to fall in love and get married. Yay. My first step father. Shortly after the wedding Mary and Elvis produced a Welfare Check, I mean a baby. Derek James, my little brother. I was 4 when he was born so you can imagine how much I didn't like him. I wasn't about to share the limelight with him. He spent the first part of his life getting hid behind the couch, put in the trash can and told to leave. I hated him and had no problems expressing it. I once told my mom to take him back for a refund because he stunk. Once he started to grow and function I liked him a little more because I realized he could me my partner in crime.

So that's how my life started. Nothing too extreme. Little did I know...