I'm attempting to write an autobiography about my life. recovering heroinaddict and cutter any advice on chap1?

As I walked across my front lawn, I drug behind me my constant companion; Road Pizza. Road Pizza was the result of my mothers unreasonable denial of living companions, such as pets. I was allowed only the affections of a rotting corpse due to my mothers pathological need for neatness. Dust, sound and misplaced furniture was enough to send her into a violent rage. That would invariably begin with profanities and howls in an inhumane nature.

As you can tell, my mom wasn't very fond of pets and the messiness that comes along with them. You could say I live in museum. When I found 'it's' rotting corpse down the street it was inevitably filled with maggots. I knew it would be the right thing to do to bring him home. Perhaps she would see my desperation and the loneliess than condemned me when she saw that I reduced myself to seeking intamacy with the dead. I'm insane, but not insane enough to believe that something no longer living could be my friend. I was trying to prove a point. A point that I wanted a puppy and that I would go to any extreme to change my moms mind.

Growing up as a child I never noticed anything strange about myself. From what I can tell, my mom still has hope that I can transform into a societal norm.. However, my dad always knew. He always knew I stood out in a crowd, sometimes for good reasons, and other times for worse.

I remember in elemetary school when they held events once a year called "Field Day". From what I could see, all the kiddies were thrilled to run around and play competitive sports all trying to win in first place. Each child partaking in this mandatory day of fun was allowed to bring one parental figure to accompany them and cheer them up. In third grade I decided to ask my dad to join me, due to the fact that my mother was working. I wasn't overly enthused about inviting him; I was embarassed. I had not a single friend to introduce him to. We sat together on the school field watching as the others smiled and laughed. No one came over to talk to me, all I got was inconsiderate stares. My dad tried to convince me that the reason I had no friends was because I was more mature, more intelligent; he told me I was on a higher level then the rest of my classmates. I nodded my head, acknowledging the things he told me, but I didn't believe him. Up until this day I doubt the things he said..

After a few years having no one to associate with in school because normal. Not normal like I was happy about it, but normal enough that I knew there wasn't anything in my power I could do to change this. New outfits, new hair styles, more makes up, less make up, not even changing my preference in music genres helped to progress my popularity with others. The only thing that progressed was the teasing, the name-calling and the severe anxiety I felt as I roamed the lonely hallways.

I always disliked school. Sure enough, the disliking grew to hating and eventually I was just scared to go every morning. I was always intellectual, sensitive and compassionate, unfortunately only my teachers were able to see that in me. To my peers I was just another hopeless victim whom they could make a mockery of every day.

When junior high came around I had an advantage that I never had before. I was pretty. My body had matured into a woman-like figure. My mom had given me permission to go to the nearby salon to get heavy blonde highlights through my naturally brunette head of hair. She even bought me a flat-iron so that I could make my hair straight as an Asians everyday before school.

There was a good side and a bad side about the change of my appearance. The good side being that my self-esteem boosted drastically. I was more than happy with what I saw when I looked in the mirror.The bad side about this was that I got a little too cocky and began dressing in a provocative way that no girl that age should be allowed to dress; especially to school. My typical attire consisted of a black mini skirt, one that a young woman would wear to the local night clubs. I'd accompany the skirt with four inch stilettos. My mom called them "hooker heels", but she never reprimanded me for wearing them. Finishing it all off with a low cut shirt revealing way too much cleavage, and of course; no panties.

Not only was this entirely too risque but it brings me to another downside to my newly-discovered beauty. I began getting made fun of even more! "Slut", "Whore", and "Walking STD" were the other students favorite names for me. At this point in my life, however, I was none of these things. Sure it hurt my feelings to be insulted and humiliated on a daily basis, but in my mind, I preferred to be viewed a tramp rather than an ugly geek. Thank you MTV.

When I think about it now, I believe that subconsciencly I dressed that way to be noticed. At the time, I thought I dressed that way to fit in, to be a part of. After all, all the popular girls were pretty. But I'm not a food, deep inside I musI'm attempting to write an autobiography about my life. recovering heroinaddict and cutter any advice on chap1?
Very nice. Consistent style, rich vocabulary, clear sentence structure. Cannot name names, but it certainly reads like some of the best teen-oriented prose that we have these days.



I'd like to warn you about depictions of sexual activity involving any under-18's. If any of it comes up, it could get you banned very fast. It's OK to say that it happened, but use a metaphor, and do not go into details.



You should keep writing. Y!A not a right place tho, it is full of silly people and it cut off the text. Start a blog at blogspot or yahoo's 360 and post chapters there. And send me a link (I got e-mail enables in my profile)
didnt read s^^t of your description, but congratulations on your book and on being so strongI'm attempting to write an autobiography about my life. recovering heroinaddict and cutter any advice on chap1?
Geez, you poor girl. How lonely you must be. I am sorry that your life has been so unhappy and that the kids at school are so mean. You probably have a higher than normal I.Q. -- at least, that is how it sounds to me. The other kids can't relate to you because you are on a higher level than they are. I wish your mom could be more supportive an it sounds like dad's not always in the picture, either. You will have to become tough and strong to get through life, but I think you are already strong, though aching inside from hurt. Try dressing like the other girls. They are probably jealous of you, now, so don't flirt with their boyfriends, whatever you do. Make one girl friend and confide in her. Listen to her and ask her questions about her life. This is how you get close to others. If you never open up to anyone, they won't open up to you, either. For a first chapter of your book, I would start out with the first paragraph about taking the pills or the injection, how it made you feel. Then, work back towards the let down and the depression, self-hatred and dependence. You need a strong first paragraph to draw the reader in. It should be dramatic. The end should be of how you beat the addiction. Good luck. And talk more to your dad, it sounds like he loves you a lot.
I thought it was brilliant. You did a great job. I wish i could keep reading it. I know that it will be an inspiration to younger or older girls or women that are struggling. Way to go!!!! E-mail me when you have more... i'd LOVE to read more. Thanks. :)I'm attempting to write an autobiography about my life. recovering heroinaddict and cutter any advice on chap1?
I like that you started at a time before your drug use. It gives the reader a chance to know you without prejudice. Remember, this same sad story has been written by many for shock values or cleansing of the author's mind, or for entertainment, or for self achievement. Know your purpose and I like your clarity...although it is long winded getting from one idea to another.