Writing and Me

It's weird to be considered...normal. Maybe it's because we're anything but normal. I mean like everyone is so different. I hate it sometimes, because like everyone expects you to be the person you are labeled as. A weirdo, a freak, a nobody. Well truth is, labels don't define who a person is. Never ever think that a label defines you, you gotta be strong, but delicate. You gotta be sweet, yet stern. If you let people get to you that's like throwing yourself in the trash.

I should know because I'm like that. You're probably sitting down reading this thinking "If she's like this, then why is she giving me advice about it?" Yeah, I know, right? Well, see the truth is...It's a work in progress. Slowly, I am finding myself. All I am saying is that maybe, for once, we can go through this together.

Over the years, I have gone through many struggles in life and doing this right now, writing right now, makes it better. You don't actually know someone until you actually know them. You can't judge someone if you never even talked to them. They may have weird habits, but there is always a reason behind them. I feel like every time I go somewhere, people stare. I don't know why, but they stare. It's like they want to know something, but they are too afraid.

But what gets me the most is the fact that they don't ask questions...well not until you already have a reputation. They assume things about you...assuming is the same as spreading a rumor. Spreading something false. They don't realize how wrong they've been until it's already too late. Or, if you're like me, it's never too late to know the truth, to know what really happened to a person. I honestly find it weird how people can gossip all they want about anything and everything, but 80% of those people won't come up to you and talk to you.

I've always thought that it was easy to talk to people. Especially people I didn't know. There have been times where I tell people I am not close to or just met, things that are deep, and yet, I find it hard to tell those things to people I'm closer with. I guess I feel...judged. I mean I feel the same at school, but for some reason it's just easier. And It's not like I need anyone to feel sorry for me, because it's not the end of the world, I am alive, and so thankful, what's there to be sorry about? Nobody's life is perfect.

I've been told that there is so much missing from me. And I know that is true. I usually talk about bits and pieces of my life, but not the whole picture. I may not know what that is, but here's what I do know. I was born Ashley Hope Collier, on Thursday February 7th. I have 6 siblings. I'm the 3rd youngest and the 5th oldest. My first memory is when I was 2. It was my birthday. I am sitting on newspapers, on the floor, and I am staring at this ginormous cake. And it's all for me. I feel someone push my face down into my cake, but I don't care because food is food, and I love food. When I look up, the only close one to me is my mother, who is directly beside me. I know it's all dark in the house except a light on for everyone eating at the table. That's all I remember for that memory. The next one I must've been 4. I vividly remember being put into a police car, with my sisters. I was crying, but I looked at my sisters and somehow, I felt safer. I just remember seeing the house fade in the distance as we left, and the siren of the police car forever echoing in my head. We were all put into foster care. Four of us were adopted by a couple in French Camp from 2007-2011. Our adoption ended on July 15th, 2011. I remember because my mom just had her birthday the day before. I remember what that night sounded like. I remember everything about that night. We were sent to Mary Graham's Children Shelter. At first things were fine, I ate oatmeal with milk sugar and I remember it was brown sugar flavored. As I went to bed, I got these...sad thoughts. Like all of a sudden everything hit me, "I'm never going back home". Then I cried. I cried so much that after a couple hours of crying, and crying and crying, I couldn't cry anymore, it hurt to cry. I cried for 6 hours, until finally at 1:34 in the morning I stopped crying. My brothers and I were put into the same foster home a few weeks later. We have been there for the past 8 years. Over the years, I have developed a passion for writing. It's also a way for me to cope with difficult things in life. It calms me, more so than anything else.

So who am I? Am I that weird girl you've known forever, but you never talked to? Am I an outcast because I'm not what You would call Popular? Am I your average girl that you've grown up seeing? Am I a foster kid? Am I writer? Who am I? Well, the answer to that is...all of it. There is no such thing as normality. It's just a word someone made up to make a certain group of people better than all others.If normal means being me, then I guess I'm a normal.

I don't just write. There's a purpose. I write to put my thoughts out there. I Write to inspire. I write to show the world what I am capable of. I write because that's where I have a voice. That's where you can actually hear me. Maybe the only time you understand me. My best friend once said "Be happy for no reason at all, that way no one can take it away." When I write, I am happy. So no matter what I write, it's not up to others to decide what I am capable of or not capable of. They can't tell me that my thoughts are childish, or what I'm saying doesn't make sense. People can't dictate who I am and who I am supposed to be.

In order to truly know someone, you need to talk to them first. So...why don't you come and talk to me. Make it worth your while. I might surprise you. I mean here I am at 11:30 at night writing to you. 1219 words so far. I wrote that much in just like an hour. Wow see how time flies by? That's what you experience with writing, making friends, having your first kiss, watching a movie you've seen a million times over, but you can't help but watch it because you get this feeling every single time. The feeling when you read a book, and you don't put it down until you are done with it, and you look at the time and you are astonished by how fast time went by. That's also how life is. Life is short, if you don't make the most of it, then that's on you. Life is meant to be lived. So live your life. However you want to live it, it's up to you. Don't let others live it for you.

I believe that you have the power to do whatever you set your mind on. Just keep striving. Keep succeeding. Keep being who you want to be in life. Keep this in mind, others can try to push you down, but you have the ability to either stand your ground, or let them push you to the ground. You have a choice, you always have a choice. Marianne Williamson once said, "Our greatest fear isn't that we are inadequate, our greatest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." What does this mean? It means that it's not that we are afraid of not being able to do something, its not knowing that we are capable of doing something that scares us. You have so many choices in life, you just have to find out which path you want to be on. It's literally in the palms of your hands. I don't know exactly where life may lead me, but I know I am meant to write. To inspire people, to help others. This is the question. Where do you see life taking you? What's your story?