You know, it was never easy growing up with people who didn’t know what was best for you. All they wanted was for me to be high class and regal, as they claimed. They would always say that their expectations were in my best interest, but they weren’t. Their expectations were too high and weren’t possible for me to achieve. They never thought about me and only wanted what they wanted for me. So they forced me to do something horrible that is unmentionable at this time due to the fragile state I am in. I had to do it though, I had no choice, and it was my only resort.


It all started in the winter of November 6, 1999. It was strange and as the seasons passed, my condition grew worse. I tried to put it off, and it worked for a while but it couldn’t last any longer. A feeling of depression came over me. I can’t tell you exactly what triggered it but I have a feeling as to what it was. My parents wanted me to be some rich woman with a reputable husband. I wasn’t interested in that kind of lifestyle. I wanted to be free and experiment before I made any decisions. I always wanted to be an artist, but my parents never quite understood my passion for art. Every time I would paint, my parents and their friends would ridicule my work of art and strip me of my confidence. As dusk turned to dawn, winter was over and spring was on the rise. My state of mind would slowly dwindle as well as my talent at art. It would have been better if I hadn’t received all that criticism from my parents. It would have been very different. It also would have been very different if my mom had thought of me as much as she thought of her precious jewels. She nurtured them more than she did me.

I woke up the morning of the incident and felt awkward. My mom and dad were bickering over what career I should pursue. I took one step onto the kitchen floor and my mom bombarded me with a college application, and I told her I wasn’t interested. She started criticizing me and that was it. I started mouthing off to my parents telling them about their bad parenting skills. I ran upstairs and retrieved the gems in my mom’s jewelry box and rushed over to the steps. I dropped the bag and the gems and they shattered all over the floor. I yelled,” I needed to be more important than them in your life”. My mom knelt down and picked them up as she gave me a look of sorrow. It was an old face that had seemed like it has been hiding under a steal mask, I couldn’t even describe how horrible it was. As the tears fell down her face, I took a deep breath, grabbed by sketch- book and dashed out of the house. I ran until I got to the dock and I figured I could never come back after what I did, I was already a big enough disappointment to my parents. I lay down in the boat, feeling a great sense of guilt and rage. Now here I am writing about the unmentionable tragedy. I just waited, lying here purposeless and as I come to my senses I would take it back if it could. I blame it all on them, whom I do not speak of now, the people who pushed me over the limit! I want it to all go away but I cant, but the wound that I received from this is as deep as the sea, I can’t even explain it. So much for my happy fairytale ending that could never come true, but I sketched the view of the lake and dock and felt as ease. I must say I would have never been an artist with a world known painting of Lake Texaco and would never had ended up in the boat with my sketchbook. I must say, that is the only thing that I give my parents credit for in my life.