I’m Brooklyn, also known as the “the pinata for everyone”. I was born in the city of Louisville, in the same exact room my older sister, Makayla, was born. If I had a dollar for every time someone told me that I have a middle name for a male, I’d be richer than Bill Gates. I was born in the month of love, only a week before Valentine’s Day, although it doesn’t feel like it at all. I don’t feel love whatsoever. I seem to break everything I touch.

My mother was on hard drugs while I made myself at home in her stomach. She did so many drugs, I’m surprised I wasn’t born with a joint in my mouth. When my mother gave birth to me, she didn’t have enough money for her own apartment or house. Along with my dad, she lived with my grandma. I was a crybaby. If you took out my pacifier, I’d cry. If you took my food, I’d cry. If you yelled, I’d cry. I’ve never taken anything easily.
Seven months after I was born, she left. She left me. She left me alone with my dad and grandma. My dad worked all the time, it was as if he never slept. While my dad was at work, my grandma took care of me the best she could, while my mother slept all day.

My dad found out my mother left after she didn’t come home for a while. He busted my wooden door open. Since my dad worked so much, he couldn’t take care of me on his own. Because of that, you’re probably thinking, “What about your grandma?” Before I was born, my grandpa died. My grandma told me when I was younger that he smoked a lot and developed lung cancer. He was all my grandma had to live for. She ended up adopting me when my mother left. I gave her a reason to keep going, something to look forward to. My grandma already had three kids, but they were grown up and on their own. It was as if she was given another chance to raise a child, but differently.
My dad eventually started seeing someone else. Her name was Stephanie. She had her own apartment. He moved out of my grandma’s house and moved in the apartment with her. Around this time, they had my little sister, Atley, together. Every once in a while, my dad would pick me up from my grandma’s and I would visit. I didn’t really want to though.

Stephanie abused me every time I visited. She would hit me, make me choke on my food, and there’s no telling what else. One time, I was reaching into a small Ziplock bag to get a gingerbread man cookie. I guess she didn’t want me eating them, and she made me choke on my food. She didn’t try to pull the cookie out of my mouth, she just pushed it down my throat. I never told anybody because I was too young to know that everything she had done was wrong. I thought it wasn’t a big deal.

I remember once, my dad and Stephanie were arguing in the living room of the apartment. Stephanie threw my favorite toy piano out of the window. I remember my dad darting to me and saying, “I’m sorry, Boo.”
By the way, Boo was my family and childhood nickname. I got it from my cousin when we were little. She pronounced “Brooklyn” as “Booklyn”, and it was shortened to Boo. My family has called me Boo ever since.
I got in a car accident with my dad when I was a baby. There was an immense storm going on, including a tornado warning. He wasn’t sober while driving. Shortly after the wreck happened, the police arrived and arrested my dad. My grandma picked me up from the spot the wreck occurred. If she wouldn’t of picked me up within twenty minutes, they would’ve dropped me off at an orphanage. I always thought that because of all this, my dad didn’t really care for his kids.
Also, when I was two, I got in another car accident in my grandma’s car. Someone hit the side of her car, and it spun around. It wasn’t my grandma’s fault though. Sometimes I think about the reason I have a lot of trouble in life, and I think of that. But maybe it’s just a theory and my mind is playing tricks on me.

I grew up knowing nothing about my past life. I thought my grandma was my mother for about a good three years. I never knew why I didn’t live with my dad. I wondered where my real mother was. I used to always tell my grandma, “I wanna go home”, even if we were already home. I think it scared her, but I was just kidding with her. She probably thought I was talking about my mother.

In 2008, my dad married a woman named Brittany. Not too long before the wedding, I met her son named Ethan. He is about two months older than me. Brittany and my dad used to live with Brittany’s mother until they could afford to buy a trailer in Pioneer Village. My dad, Brittany, Ethan, and my stepsister lived in the trailer.
I would visit them sometimes. I used to hate going to my dad’s house. I would beg to go home as soon as I got there, but I was forced to stay. I eventually grew to be okay with going over there. My sisters, Grace and Makayla, visited a lot more often than I did. I remember once I was sitting at the table and my dad showed me a picture of my mother driving. I can remember almost every detail of the picture to this day. I’ll never forget it. When I saw the picture, I remember thinking, “Wow, she looks like me.” I’d do anything to see that picture just one more time.

Once I got to know Ethan more, we sometimes played on his game console he had in his room. I’m not sure what kind it was, I never really paid attention to it, but I think it was a PlayStation. He had an Indiana Jones Lego game that everyone used to play. All of my siblings and I would fight over whose turn it was to play. Don’t ask me why, but there is an odd memory I still remember. Ethan and I were jumping on his twin size bed while holding my dad’s work boots, and we called them “booties”.

I used to be close to my older sister, Makayla. I don’t know why she made such an effort to hang out with me since she’s so much older than me. I miss our old relationship more than anything.

One night, Makayla and I were sleeping in Ethan’s bunk bed. Makayla was in the sixth grade, and she had a boyfriend named Nick. She had one of those tiny slide phones, where you have to slide the keyboard out from beneath it. She texted him all the time, and she used to ask me about what she should say to certain things, like I would know.
We would stay up late watching Youtube videos. Fred was our favorite Youtuber. There was an anime video called “I Miss You Daddy” about a little girl’s father that died in the war. We would shed at least one tear every time we watched it.  I remember staying up all night playing board games, watching Twilight, watching 2010 music videos, and singing Avril Lavigne songs. I remember sitting on the sink while she curled my hair, listening to Justin Bieber. I remember making oatmeal with sink water at midnight on a Saturday night. I remember staying up just to watch Teennick Top 10. I remember writing out lists of what our plans were if we pulled an all-nighter. I remember believing in fairies and goblins with her. I remember being too little to bathe myself, so I had to take showers with Makayla at my dad’s. I screamed for my life every time she got shampoo in my eyes. I remember waking up beside her to Mickey Mouse Clubhouse being on the TV. The sad thing is, Makayla was always first to fall asleep.

One day, my siblings and I all sat by separate heat vents in the trailer. We would talk through them, and we were actually able to hear each other. The worst pain I ever felt was stepping on one of Ethan’s legos. I wanted to cry but the tears just wouldn’t fall. I grew up with these two kids, named Cage and Chance. While I was at my dad’s trailer, they would always come over. I remember once, they broke the dog’s chain and the dog was loose. You can guess what happened after that mess.

I started preschool at Nichols Elementary. On my first day of preschool, I cried because I felt like I was different from everyone else and I didn’t fit in. I had a best friend named Angela. We were like linked chains. One day, we were creating a poster and I drew rainbows on it. Angela got in trouble for crossing everyone’s pictures out, but I didn’t really care. We would always build towers out of cardboard bricks. We felt so proud of ourselves. The teacher knew they sucked, but she went along with it. 

I remember growing up taking baths in well water, and covering my ears whenever I went underwater. I had my own room, it was painted pink. It was my mother and dad’s old room. I had a pink chair in there that I never left. I would watch Spongebob non-stop, until my eyes burned. I used to stay inside while my grandma cut the grass and watch cartoons. I used to watch Rugrats, Dexter’s Laboratory, and Martin Mystery. 

I had a baby blue and white teddy bear I slept with every night. It sang to me, even though I dreaded hearing it because I didn’t want to go to bed, but my grandma made me. I slept with my grandma for a really long time. I never slept in my own bed because I was too scared of the dark. I felt safe with my grandma. I also had a nightlight, so that’s a plus.
I eventually started kindergarten. This was where my anxiety started. I was so nervous on the first day, I had to sit in the back while everyone else sat in the front. Sometimes I didn’t understand things, and I felt less than everyone else, like I did in preschool. Whenever I got my first color change, from green to a yellow, I actually cried.  I got a color change because I guessed on the addition math test. My teacher never took anything easy, just like me.
In the first grade, I wrote on the school blacktop that these two girls were stupid. I was mad at one of the girls because she “stole my best friend”. And of course, the other one was my best friend, Hailey. This happened during my Monster High phase. I was obsessed with Monster High. I never missed a Monster High movie or episode. I had so many Monster High dolls, you could say I was a collector.
Around this time, I had my tonsils removed. Tonsils are the lymphoid tissues on the throat. They gave me medicine to knock me out while they removed them. I woke up and screamed in pain. That was the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I wasn’t allowed on the playground for two whole weeks.
On my eighth birthday, I had my party at Skate-O-Rama. I thought I was the best skater ever, although I only skated up against the rail most of the time. There ended up being a bump, and I tripped over it and passed out. I’d say about five minutes later, an old lady with a walker pulled me up off of the floor, and asked, “Oh my God, are you okay?”. Turns out, my chin busted open and it bled all over the skating rink and part of the carpet. A woman that worked there grabbed me, holding about a million napkins up to my chin, screaming at the owner to call for my parents. So, they scattered around, looking for my aunt who brought me there.
My aunt and uncle rushed me to the emergency room, while everyone else at my party went to McDonald's. I layed there on the hospital bed for a good three to four hours. The doctor sprayed my chin with salt water before stitching it up. He looked away for a split second to talk to someone else and drenched my whole face with salt water. He apologized, even though I was just laying there with weird-tasting water dripping down my whole face and neck. So, with that, I ended up with five stitches in my chin. The blood stain from where I fell still remains there, and I look at it every time I go skating on a Friday night.
When I was eight, I created a MovieStarPlanet account. That game was my whole life. Minecraft was also one of my favorite games. I never went a day without logging on.
As I grew up, I never knew how to do anything on my own. I felt like a failure. I felt like I could never fit in with the crowd. I felt worthless.
During the summer, my grandma and aunt went out yard selling every Saturday morning. My cousin, Casadi, and I always hated yard sales. We stayed home at my aunt’s house and swam in the pool all day until they returned home. As soon as we crawled out of the pool, we would ride our bikes around the street in our bathing suits to dry off. It was rarely ever that my grandma and aunt actually brought something home, and if they did it was either wall art or Hannah Montana stuff.

That fall, third grade started. My grandma became severely ill, so we had to move in with my aunt in Jefferson County. I switched schools from Nichols to Micah Christian Academy. It was a huge change for me. There were only thirteen students in my class. They had homemade meals as lunch, and we had Little Caesars every Friday. They had vending machines, which was where most of my money went. We had chapel every Wednesday morning. It was mandatory to dress up. All I ever wore was khaki pants and skirts. That school was very strict. All the other kids there made me look like dirt compared to how I grew up. When my grandma’s illness passed, I moved back to Nichols.

In the fourth grade, I was given my first electronic of my own. It was a new iPad mini. I was always jealous of my cousins and friends because they had iPods and iPads, and I felt left out. I always pulled all-nighters playing Minecraft with my cousins.

Fourth grade was one of the most difficult school years of my life. I didn’t go a night without crying myself to sleep. I felt pressured by my teacher. She made me feel like I wasn’t good enough and I was never going to be anything. I never thought I’d call my fourth-grade teacher someone who is one of the reasons I think I’m never gonna be anything to this day.

Around this time, Vine was an app everyone had, including me. It’s embarrassing, but I made six-second edits and posted them. I had 4.8k followers. I had several internet friends. All of us used to text on Kik messenger. They were my only friends I could actually talk to about personal problems. I never had real friends in the fourth grade, except for Hailey and Angela, so I relied on my internet friends.

Fifth grade started. I had a new teacher and she appreciated me. I was honestly the teacher’s pet, although I didn’t want to be. She loved me because of my writing skills. Not too long ago, I saw her at Kroger. She asked how I was doing, and I lied, saying “Great.” In reality, life was getting hard. At the time, I didn’t really enjoy writing anymore. I didn’t want to disappoint her and tell her how things were actually going.

At the end of my fifth-grade year, I attended my first concert. It was the Taylor Swift 1989 tour. Our seats weren’t the best, but they were good enough and better than nothing. A day after the concert, I graduated fifth grade in the ugliest dress to ever be made.

That summer, I showed up to the sixth-grade orientation. I wore the most embarrassing outfit. I wore capris with my Taylor Swift shirt, galaxy print vans, with a low ponytail. The first girl that I met at orientation was Kayce Wilbert. We sat at the same table while the principal went over the school rules and dress code. I knew her name was Kayce because we had name tags to put on our shirts.

Before the first day of middle school, I stayed the night at my dad’s house, so I could be with my older sister Grace. At the time, she was an eighth-grader at Bullitt Lick. I remember that day being very overwhelming.
Middle school started, roughly. I made the choice to move in with my dad, stepmom, Ethan, my stepsister, and two of my sisters on Haley Avenue, on Old Beech Grove Road. I figured it would be easier to get to and from school since I lived so far.

I started actually dating people. But I was a follower because I didn’t know what I was doing. Monkey see, monkey do. I got my first boyfriend in September of 2015. I didn’t really find myself to actually like anybody in elementary school. Anyways, my first relationship didn’t last very long. I’d say it only lasted about a day or two.
Fall of 2015 is a group of months I wish I had forgotten. I began self-harming. I realized that I haven’t been happy all my life. I began getting in trouble a lot. Sixth grade was the worst. I let everyone bring me down.
There were some positives though. We had neighbors named Kristie, Dylan, and Caleb. Everyone that lived on our street used to play manhunt almost every day. Nobody ever messed with Brenden or Dylan, because they were faster than lightning itself.

In November of 2015, I landed myself right in Kosair Children’s Hospital. I had attempted suicide. I only stayed for five days. It was horrible. Everyday, all I ever thought about was leaving. It didn’t help me at all.
I experienced severe depression all throughout my sixth-grade year. I continued to be bullied like I was in elementary school. I tried to ignore it the best I could. Yes, I had plenty of friends in the sixth grade, but they never had the power to stop me.

In fact, I had a best friend named Alyssa in the sixth grade. She came over and we stayed up late, but of course, I was last to fall asleep. We threw strawberries and ornaments out the windows, laughing our heads off, not knowing what we were doing. Alyssa ended up falling asleep on the hardwood floor, so I just slept on the floor with her, without a care in the world that my back was slowly breaking from sleeping on what felt like rocks.
In the month of January, my little sister, Annison, was born. I remember holding her for the first time. She looked so precious and innocent. She is two years old now, and she’s grown a lot.

Close to the end of sixth grade, my dad got laid off and we lost money. This caused us to have to move into my grandma’s old house, the one I grew up in, while my grandma lived with my aunt once again. The house was too small for a family as big as ours. I shared a room with Grace and Makayla, we were crammed in that room like sardines. I imagine it being awkward for my dad, since this was the house he once lived in with his ex-girlfriend.
Seventh grade started. I was still living with my dad in the house I grew up in. In November of 2016, I ended up in a rehab in Newberg. I had to live with my grandma in Jefferson County again. It wasn’t the best experience. I had to wake up at 5:30 every day and ride in a van to and from the rehab every day for four weeks. I usually didn’t get home until 5:00 in the evening. I never remember myself being happy there either. I met some new people there that I still communicate with, but not very often.

In January 2017, I got in a huge argument with my stepbrother, Ethan. The argument was pretty intense to the point where I had to move out. My grandma told me to pack up my stuff because I’m moving in with her. So with that, I moved in with my grandma and aunt in Jefferson County, again. I wasn’t very happy with the decision but I had no choice. I continued attending Bullitt Lick from there.

I started seeing another counselor. Her name was Bridget. She did home visits, which means she drove to my house for appointments. She never hesitated to take my side and be there for me. It was her first year working as a therapist. We eventually grew very close to each other. I felt like I could tell her anything. I trusted her more than my grandma.
In March 2017, I did something I really shouldn’t have done. I got backstabbed by who I thought were my friends. I was suspended from school and the Board of Education sent me to the Bullitt Alternative Center. I knew I wouldn’t miss Bullitt Lick, but I felt a weird vibe about moving schools. I also had to go somewhere else, but let’s not talk about that.
I was forced to attend alternative school for fifty successful school days. You had to be “good” in order to earn a successful day. Things that would get you an unsuccessful day would be things like cussing, walking out of class, failing drug tests, and even laying your head down.

There weren’t very many people in my class. Their names were Chris, Anthony, Lucas, Javier, Jaxson, Justin, and Maggie. That’s all I remember. Maggie and I are still friends, we still talk sometimes. Chris and I used to be best friends until I found out about something he did to one of my friend’s family members. It made me look at him differently, a lot.

You were only allowed to wear tan colored khaki pants and solid color polo shirts. If you had a logo on your shirt, it couldn’t be any larger than the size of a quarter. No shorts were allowed, not even under your khakis. It was mandatory to have your shirt tucked in at all times and wear a belt. If you had your shirt untucked, unless you were in gym, it would be considered a dress code violation. No boots were allowed, only tennis shoes. No accessories were allowed either whatsoever. If you had a hairband, it had to either be in your hair or in your pocket.

Every student in the school had a point sheet. Your goal was to get all 2’s marked on your sheet. It wasn’t that difficult unless you loved sleeping in class. For every five-point sheets you turned in, you earned a soda of your choice.

There were A and B days. A days were the worst. I had to stare at a desktop screen for two hours. On B days, I had my favorite teacher, and we had gym class. My favorite teacher of all time is Mrs. Humphrey, and we still talk on Instagram sometimes. She moved to Oregon. In gym class, we had to bench press whether you wanted to or not. Two days a week, we had group. If it was just the middle school students in group, we would watch football movies. Some days we had group with the high school students, and we would just talk together about solutions to conflicts in life.

My favorite days were the days we used to walk over to the Bullitt Central track and run a mile. I kind of grew into being used to running in khaki pants that I didn’t even sweat anymore. We were allowed to take walks outside between classes every day.

On the last day of school, it was my last day at that school. Mrs. Humphrey cried when she found out I was leaving her. I’ve never actually enjoyed going to school until I went there. It was better than Bullitt Lick. The only reason I don’t want to go back is I would lose a lot of my privileges that I had last time I went there.
While I was living at my aunt’s house to go to alternative school, I ran away. I was only able to make it a few hours though. I knew the police were coming, so I made a stupid choice. I ran up to a stranger’s house and asked them to hide me. They refused to let me inside. Later on, my grandma drove by the house I was trying to hide in. Someone whistled from the house, and my aunt and grandma pulled over and darted to me. They were crying but I was in the moment so I didn’t feel bad at all. I told them I didn’t want to go to the hospital, so they just sent me home like nothing happened.

That summer, I was grounded. I was grounded the whole entire summer. Bridget still visited me during the summer. It sucked to not be able to do anything. No electronics, no going anywhere, nothing at all. I felt like there was nothing I could do to gain my grandma’s trust back. I gave up on trying to please everyone. It seemed like my grandma could never accept the fact that I’m not like my cousin, who does everything right and never gets into trouble. My cousin, Casadi, and I have always been compared to each other all our lives.

That summer, I was really angry at one of my old friends. I had pictures printed out of us from a while ago. I grabbed the lighter in my room and lit one of the pictures on fire, in the house. I calmly sat there and watched it burn. The smell of the fire roamed around my room. It got out of hand and the fire began to spread closer to my hand. I ran to the bathroom, this picture burning down to hell, about to have a panic attack. I wasn’t thinking so I threw it in the sink and turned the water on. The sizzle was so loud that you could probably hear it from China. This next part is a little embarrassing.

My cousin yelled to my grandma, “What’s that smell?” and my grandma replied,
“What does it smell like?” “Smoke, like something’s burning.” my cousin said. Next thing you know I’m pulling down my pants, underwear and all, and sitting on the toilet knowing I didn’t have to go bathroom. I did it to pretend that I knew nothing about the smell. My grandma booked it down the hallway and barged into the bathroom while I was just chilling on the toilet.

I remember her saying, “Boo what did you do?” and I just shrugged. After five minutes of her standing there in the doorway staring at me, I owned up to it. She took the lighter and I was even more grounded. It sounds impossible, but yes, I was “more grounded”.

At this point, I realized I was most likely not going to get ungrounded for a very long time. I searched for another hobby, other than writing and running. I actually started rapping. I’ve never actually shown people my songs because they’re about my personal feelings and I’m afraid of getting judged. Only three people have heard my raps. I think I’m pretty decent, but I don’t plan on being some professional rapper so I’m okay.

In about mid-July, I experienced sexual assault. I’d rather not go into detail. But it was one of the worst experiences of my life. Since then, I’ve never looked at guys the same. But I’ve gotten over it, fortunately.
I stopped seeing Bridget. She felt like I was ready to move on. She saw me as a happy kid. I saw myself as a kid that tried to be happy but was just never able to. I didn’t want her to leave. I looked like a little kid pressing their nose and hands against the window, watching her car roll out of my driveway for the last time. To this day, nobody will ever be able to replace her.

My grandma’s best friend died around this time. Her name was Virginia. She watched me grow up. She visited all the time. She used to help me get on the bus in preschool. I wish I could’ve seen her just one more time before cancer took over. I hope she can rest in peace.

Also, in the summer, I realized that I’m bisexual. I feel like I have been all my life, I just never noticed. I told my grandma about it, and she didn’t seem very happy with it. She says she accepts it, but I don’t know if I believe her.

I started the eighth grade in August 2017. I was only a month in, and my year was already going horrible. My depression never went away. I didn’t have any friends anymore, all of them went to different schools.
In September, I won a writing contest in the poetry category. I read a few of my poems at the library in Shepherdsville. My writing teacher, Ms. Easton, attended the meeting. They published my winning poem in a book and it is currently on the shelf in the library.

But in early December, I was hospitalized once again. I told my grandma I wanted to die because of everything going on at the time. I had my own hospital room until one girl had to end that for me. I always had to stay out of my room because all she ever did was attempt suicide in my room. I kind of felt bad for her, but it’s not like I knew her personally so it didn’t matter as much to me.
I was discharged from the hospital after six days. I felt much better after. I didn’t have my phone to talk to my little amount of friends, but I found ways to cope. I returned to school shortly after. Things got a little better, but I still have issues sometimes. I still have my episodes, and my anxiety attacks every now and then.
So today, I’m a dramatic but sometimes mature fourteen-year-old. I have a few people that I would actually call my friends. I’m always goofy, only because I try to occupy myself and distract myself from the bad thoughts. If I actually showed how I feel on the inside, I’d look like a living hell.

About my friends, my best friend’s name is Elijah. On the first day we met, we almost got in a fist fight. I accidentally touched his face and he went off. But now, we’re best friends. My other best friend’s name is Morgan. I haven’t known her that long, but she’s there for me when I need her. I love both of them to death. I’d take a nerf gun bullet for them.

I still have problems with my grandma. We argue a lot. There’s actually never a time where we aren’t arguing. We argue over the pettiest things. Whenever she dies, I’m most likely being put in foster care since I don’t have anywhere else to go.

I still live with my grandma over the hill. We plan on moving in the summer of 2018. My room is my mother and father’s old room. When I enter my room, chills are sent down my spine. I hate the thought of knowing that the women that was supposed to be the most important person in my life slept in this bedroom. The hole in the door from my dad punching it is still there. My grandma tried to cover it up with drywall, but that didn’t work out. That house is my childhood, the good and the bad happened in that house.

Now, I have an amazing boyfriend. He’s always there for me when I need him, and I’m there for him when he needs me. He never fails to make me laugh, and he never fails to turn my bad days into good days.

My name is Brooklyn, who no longer tolerates being the “pinata for everyone”. I’m still hanging on, and surviving was my biggest achievement in life. I’m gonna keep on keepin’ on.