I'm Not Crazy: An Introduction

Alright, so, here I am writing this blog. Cliche, I know. My life is a series of events leading to this very moment: sitting in bed with my dog and writing this. Obviously, it started at birth, but who the fuck remembers when they are born? I don't. If you do, congrats! You're lying anyway. Honestly, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here. I'm not crazy, but most people are treated as such. Cool, I'm not alone. So why does it feel like it? I'll come back to that later. It all started when I was about 5 years old in Columbus, Ohio. That's when it all started: the constant loss of people in my life. And guess what! It hasn't stopped since. First, it was my PawPaw (dad's dad). That was the first time I saw my dad cry. My dad is a pretty tall dude, acts all tough; he's very stereotypical "support the family" kind of dad. Picture if Sam Elliot and Jerry Orbach had a kid, but heavier and 6'4". Scary right? Yeah, ask the two boyfriends I've taken home to meet him. It's fine. He's secretly a teddy bear. All was fine and dandy and all that bullshit perfect family blah blah blah. My three older sisters at least pretended to care (whether they actually did/still do or not is up for debate). Julie, well over seven years older than me, also known as the princess, always tried to be a mother to me even though it turned out more like the...manipulative babysitter. Long story short, she taught me to dance like a stripper by the time I was 7 or 8. Cara, about five years older than me, also known as the quiet one, was alright. I have yet to have too many issues with her (we're sisters...it's bound to happen. If you have them, you know. You don't fuck with that shit.) We always teased her for being adopted since she never quite looked like either of my parents until well after puberty. I know, my family is pure evil. Lauren, three years older than me, also known as the boy of the family, has a very spastic attitude anyone but my father has yet to figure out. One minute she is hugging you and the next she glares at you because you touched her. Like not just some random bullshit glare. Think Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs. Steer clear of her when she's pissed. Just trust me on that one. My mother is nice, but scary as all shit. Like if you think Lauren's Hannibal Lecter stare is bad, you'd think my mom has lasers coming from here eyes when she's upset. I think she might. I have always wondered if lasers could come out of her eyes. She seems powerful enough for it. When her eyes aren't blowing out of her face, she looks a lot like Caroline Rhea with brown hair, but she isn't as scatterbrained as Caroline in Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Now is about the time one may ask "how does this lead to her feeling alone? She seems to be from a decent family." Yeah, you're right. My family is alright. I have my complaints, but who doesn't? However, geniuses, it only takes a few events to lead to a downward spiral. Ever seen Thirteen Reasons Why? Or read the book? (The book is better, as always, but both are acceptable.) There is something called the snowball effect. It started when I was five with my PawPaw's death, but it was far from over. People die. People are assholes. Life happens. That, my friends, is how I got to where I am right now, cuts up my arm and all.