A look at the past reminds us of how great is the distance, and how short, over which we have come. The past makes us ask what we have done with us. It makes us ask whether our very achievements are not ironical counterpoint and contrast to our fundamental failures.
-Robert Penn Warren

“Gifted”
Of those to whom much has been given, much is expected.

My childhood was an interesting one. I had a lot of friends, even though I moved around a few times. I lived in three different cities, in four different homes, and went to three different elementary schools. I spent most of my childhood having IQ tests done and having extra homework. I was known as “gifted.” I scored phenomenally on every one of my IQ tests, and it was predicted that I could graduate high school in my early teens. I was reading newspapers to my parents at bedtime at the age of 2-1/2, instead of them reading me Dr. Seuss books. I remember the first book I ever read - it was called “I Can Fly.” Everyone tells me now that they were convinced that I had it memorized until I picked something else up and started reading it. I still have that book! I was fascinated by letters and how they came together to form words. From that moment on, I felt like I wanted to learn everything there is to learn in the world.

I skipped half of the second grade, and half of the third grade. It was quite an experience. My parents were fully unaware of this until I came home with my second report card of the year, and under comments it said “Angela has been promoted to the 3rd grade, where she may find the work to be more challenging” or something to that effect. It definitely changed my life.

My father
Turn your wounds into wisdom. -Oprah Winfrey

It’s tempting to say that I don’t remember a time that my dad and I got along. I can’t say that, though, because I would be lying. When I was young, I was quite the daddy’s girl. I’m not sure exactly why that changed, but I remember when it began. When my sisters and I were “bad,” we’d get the belt. For my sisters, it would consist of bending over the bed, and getting one or two little whacks on the butt. For me, it was one more for every time I flinched. There were times when this amounted to 20 or 30, and I couldn’t sit comfortably for at least the rest of the day. I’d end up with welts on my hands if I had those in the way, or the backs of my thighs from when he’d miss. That was little, however, compared to some of the things I went through.

The first time I can remember him completely snapping was in the 6th grade. I was in my bedroom, playing with my sisters. We were arguing over who got to play with which Polly Pocket house. Considering we were young girls, a little argument was really nothing. But apparently my dad felt I was being unfair to my little sister. He came in and yelled at me, and grabbed my face and smacked me. My glasses flew to the side and cut the side of my face, and I had a fat lip and bruises up and down my cheeks from where he grabbed me. I had “the flu” that week, and stayed home from school making Barbie furniture out of scraps of wood and cloth. I had fun staying at home with my mom all day, but I prayed that I’d be better by the time Friday rolled around, because that Friday was a dance and I had quite the weekend ahead of me. My best friend’s birthday was that Saturday, and I had a hockey game to go to with my Girl Scout troop. Thankfully, my mom felt that I was healed up enough to go back to school that Friday.

It got worse and worse after that point. It was almost like some sort of power trip. Every time he hit me or hurt me, he took some of the fight out of me. It was almost as if he enjoyed it. The last time he ever hit me was right after I turned 14. He found out that I was talking on the phone to my boyfriend (at the time). He didn’t like him much, so this irritated him. He came after me, screaming and threatening me. I ran out the door, desperate to get away, and ran down the road. I considered running into a field but just kept on the road, thinking I could get further that way. Big mistake. He had gotten into the car and followed me, and when he got to me, he opened up his door, got out, and threw me into the passenger seat from across the driver’s seat. He twisted my arm around the steering wheel, and held it there while he drove backward to the house. Once we got there, he pulled me out over the armrest and threw me through the front door. From there he kicked me a few times around the kitchen (I was on the ground) and threw me through one of the walls in the hallway, which had to be patched up after that. By this point, I couldn’t get up, so he dragged me down the stairs by my ponytail, put me up on a box on the floor and started swinging at my face like he wanted to punch me. I put my hand up, and his fist caught it, and together they flew back and hit me, smashing my nose and my mouth. I must have been crazy by then - I was completely convinced I would bleed to death. I nearly passed out trying to call 911, and that was that.

No matter how much he hurt me, or what he put me through, I couldn’t do anything about it. I called the cops quite a few times. My friend took pictures of my bruises at school. I told the school social worker, who told me one day that I was not to go home, and I was to go home with a friend. That didn’t quite work out. No matter what I did, I was an “unruly child.” So I dealt with this abuse until I was kicked out just after my 17th birthday, over a slice of pizza, no less.

The Takeover
That’s the way things come clear. All of a sudden. And then you realize how obvious they’ve been all along. -Madeleine L’Engle

I spent quite a long time after all this living my life for someone else. I won’t go into detail of who they were or how I met them. But I do know that while it was probably a mistake getting into what I got into, it was a good mistake to make. I learned a lot of valuable lessons. I now believe that it’s a waste of time and life to live every minute of every day for another person - but only if that person wouldn’t do the same for you. I was working 80+ hours a week to support myself and this other person. Between working all those hours, not eating right, and not sleeping, I became very sick. I was exhausted and had a hard time functioning. I was incapable of even getting out of bed some days. I gained a lot of weight, and had mental breakdowns almost every night.

I would wake up at 6 in the morning, work one job from 7 am until 5 pm, then go straight to a second job and work from 6 pm until 10 or 11 at night. I’d get home, make dinner, do dishes and laundry, clean up the house, and (if I even was able to go to bed) get to sleep around 2 or 3 in the morning. Most nights I stayed up straight through.

I kept telling myself that someday things would be okay, and that this person would do the same for me if he had to. But I was seeing nothing in return. I paid most of the bills from my two salaries, and I kept the housework up. I thought for sure that things would work themselves out eventually, and that I wouldn’t have to do this forever. When I was proposed to, I accepted. I hoped that this would end the fighting and the crying myself to sleep on the nights that I actually got to bed. I believed that this showed that the person I was with truly did care about me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. As it turns out, it was more of a ploy to keep me “happy” and not have to deal with the separation of all the things we had bought together. I sensed this, but kept telling myself that I was wrong.

As time went by, I noticed it more and more. He was paying no attention to me, and we were fighting all the time. By this point, I realized that I wasn’t going to be happy if I had to keep living my life this way. I talked every night to my best friend at this point - Matt. I had no idea then that we would become romantically involved. He was my male opinion, my best friend, and the man I told everything to. If anyone ever needed any proof that I tried to make the relationship work, they could ask him. He was the one I cried to, the one that I talked to, and the one who I asked for advice from. After a while, I realized that the decision had to be made on my own, and I called off the engagement. I wasn’t being respected the way I deserved, and I was being horribly taken advantage of. So I got myself out in the easiest way that I could. Cowardly? Not really. I deserved a better life than I was living, and I knew it by then.

I do not regret this time in my life, though. I learned a valuable lesson or two, even if it was at my own expense. The lessons that I learned won’t be quickly forgotten.

My Everything
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. -Emily Brontë

It was from here that I learned true love. Matt and I became good friends from this point on, and he was there for me when I was unsure of both myself and my decisions. I don’t know exactly when it was that I fell in love with him, but I realized one day that I couldn’t live without him. We laughed together, fell asleep on webcams together, and he was there for me when I was upset and crying. He helped me start my life over, and we quickly realized that we were each the other’s “other half” - we shared brains and hearts alike. We could finish each other’s sentences, and we could talk for hours on end without skipping a beat. He became my reason for being. I woke up every morning to the sound of his breathing, as if he was next to me. We talked about a life together, and we imagined what we would make our dream house look like. We realized that we both wanted the same things in life, and that we were destined for each other.

I flew out to meet him in June. That week was the best week I’d had to that day. We stayed up all night, slept in together. He took me around to see all the sights, and drove me around so we could take pictures together. We grew so close that leaving after that trip seemed impossible. I was ready to give up my whole life for him. And I did. He flew to Michigan in July, and we headed back to Nova Scotia in August, where I stayed with him for 6 months. Leaving him on the plane, headed back to Nova Scotia, and then driving back in the opposite direction was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. All I know is that one day it will all be worth it. We’ll share our lives together and have a family. I know that we’re meant to be together, and that nothing will change that - not even 1400 miles and immigration officers.

The Aftermath
It isn’t what they say about you, it’s what they whisper. -Errol Flynn

I know that not everyone respects my decisions in life. I realize that it’s their right to make their own opinions. To be honest, I neither want nor need to hear them. I’ve heard rumors about myself that made me laugh, and some that made me cry. For one thing, I’ve never “cheated” in a relationship. I could never hurt anyone that way. I’ve been on the receiving end of that, and I wouldn’t want anyone to go through what I did.

I may care a lot about what people think and feel about me, but I have realized one thing. My decisions are mine to make, and my life is mine to live. Hurtful comments may sting a bit, but that just shows me the character of the person making them. I’ll get over it - I’m stronger than that.

I don’t need to surround myself with judgemental people, and I choose to live my life for me. It’s about time I made that decision - I’ve been living for others for far too long.