I got a box in the mail a year or three ago from my cousin back east. It contained what they decided I wanted of my grandmother’s.  This bunny was in the box.  it’s going to good will. I think some thing was missing as I found this box empty. 

There was also jewelry.  I’m keeping them.  I doubt they are worth much but there are pieces my grandparents made by hand.    I loved my grandmother.  I did.  But talking to her was like talking to my father.  I grew up a long time ago.  I grew out of stuffed toys by the time I could read.  I never really enjoyed playing with dolls.  I like to be out doors and hang in trees.  I always wanted to get physically strong but I was always sick and felt weak.  I think that was my gluten allergy.  I threw up once eating oatmeal.  I got pneumonia and strep throat allot. I’m better in California.   I get sick but the weather makes it easier to deal. 

Anyways I’m cleaning house.  These are going to good will.  I don’t have a memory of my grandmother and this bunny rabbit.  I may have given it to her.  Its just a reminder of how much of a stranger I felt with my own family.  As though The stork delivered me to the wrong house.  I want to be treated like the adult I am not have full grown men stalk abuse and break me.  I’m not a little girl but if I’m having fun and doing things I love that does not mean I’m behaving like a kid.  I don’t want to be in an adult world where I can’t play and be free.  I chose to live to be an actor.  Not be abused because I’m not hot or because I’m not sure what’s being said, I just am a normal girl in my head.  But I know I’m good at acting and if I can’t be free to pursue that dream hurt me.  I’m going to feel like dying inside until I’m dead.  Feelings don’t hurt other people.  And I’m not going to let you stop me from saying I’m in pain.  No drugs are going to help.  They are not going to make me get a job and make a paycheck.  If I don’t make money as an actor I won’t work to pay taxes in America again. 

My grandmother treated me like I was two.  I stopped talking to her ten years before she died because I’m certain she is why my father was an abuser.  I loved her but I could not take talking to her anymore. She would make me angry asking why I was so far away, did I have a real job yet.  I figured I stopped talking to her.  I’d stop my own pain and she would live longer because I would not get angry and tell her how her words made me feel incompetent and incapable and like an object that needed to be controlled and put down and put into the kitchen.  As a girl that is all I heard, get into the kitchen with your grandmother.  Get in your place your a girl.  My parents generation still does not get there tyranny of my sex is why girls can now be expected to be raped in school.

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