|The Unfortunate Life of Elizabeth Rodale
Author: Devon Parr PM
Welcome to the story of a young girl's journey into adult life. Based on a true story.Rated: Fiction M - English - Spiritual/Horror - Words: 769 - Updated: 02-01-12 - Published: 01-18-12 - id: 2989625
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Some say that life begins when something big happens. I know for a fact that one incident can change the course of a person's life, for that is what happened to me.
Sorry for not introducing my self earlier, my name is Elizabeth Rodale. I am a typical adult going through life trying to get by, the only difference with me is the fact that my past is a constantly haunting my present. For you see, I am a PTSD patient, for those of you who don't know what that is PTSD is post-traumatic stress disorder. I bet that you are thinking isn't that the disorder that soldiers get after coming back from the war? Yes, and it also applies to patients who have had a traumatic event happen to them, from rape to someone dying in front of them. I happen to be from the former category.
You see before I was that adult trying to get through life, I was a little girl, a girl of 8 to be exact, and this is my story.
I was born August 22 1992, to a lovely and very loving family. My parents were middle class state workers, who met while working together. My parents were not the typical parents though, they where older than most parents to the generation I was born into, my mother was 42 when I was born and my father was 45. My parents also had two other children before me, my older sisters, who were 2 and 4 when I was born.
I am really bad at these introductions am I not? My mother's name is Deborah, but mostly in this story she will be referred to as mom, my father's name is Mark who will be referred to as dad. My sisters Jessica and Laura, the latter being the younger, were not typical children; both were diagnosed with sensory integration and autism at one point. This means that both had learning disabilities even before I was born, so I was the only normal child for my parents.
My life started out normal, with love and discipline. I was a difficult child, with an unlimited amount of energy, thinking back on that now I really feel bad for my mother. My mother ran a daycare for before and for a little bit after I was born, for she had quit her job after Laura was born. The year I was born was also the year Jessica started kindergarten. Since my sister was born in November my parents had the choice to send her to kindergarten at 4 or let her wait another year to start school. With an infant and 2 year old at home who wouldn't ship her off to school as soon as possible?
The daycare was for after school only, but since I was a baby I don't remember who was there. So I only remember what my mom told me about that time, there where our neighbor's kids; Teri, Caroline, and George. There where also a few other kids but I don't remember them as well as the fact that they are not important to the story.
When I was almost a year old, at least this is what I was told, Teri hit me and my mother closed her daycare. My life was uneventful for the next couple of years, as I was barely able to eat for my self, let alone do anything by my self.
The first thing I remember with my own memory is visits to a relatives' house. The old lady was my mother's aunt, Aunt Beverly. I don't remember her husband who had died when I was like a year and a half, but they were really nice people, who encouraged learning and discipline. My older sister Jessica loved staying with them when ever she could. I remember Aunt Beverly had a cat and a room full of books and educational toys for us to play with when ever we came over, my favorite hobby was chase the cat into the corner. I am very lucky that Moochy managed to elude me for a mass majority of the time. The strongest memory was when we as a family went to her house just to say good bye, being a young child I was confused, I said my good byes in a happy tone like I would see my beloved aunt again the next weekend. Aunt Beverly died the next day, I was only three when I got my first taste of grief.