The Life of an Indigo Child

Intro

I've always known I was different from the typical societal mannerisms they call "morals and values". I never really understood those type of people. Ever since I was a little kid I felt as if the world was just a dream. Or a nightmare for that matter. As badly as I wanted something real, life only showed me a world full of hatred, liars, murderers, even politicians. I always had the need to know more about the root to why this is so. Why do people do the things they know is wrong. Why do people deceive and deny. "I guess I'll never know fully." I thought. What if I could dedicate my life to the studies of how everything works. Searching for answers I desire. Digging for an understanding- Understanding this ever burning evil that this world possesses.

I was just a young girl when it all started to happen. I was unaware of my surroundings, stuck in a sense of disassociation. I grew up in a christian home. 5 siblings, My mother and father. I was three years old when my father started pastoring his own church, Calvary Chapel Marietta, Georgia. It was my safe haven. My own source of a young girls escape. Putting on this facade that my parents wanted us to portray. In the midst of it all, I believed my mom was so uptight about how I presented myself because she was worried people would see the way things were at home. Unfortunately, I guess she was using the "You're embarrassing me," she was expressing her worry she has of my fathers forceful hand, which was the image we must uphold for him.

I always remember How uptight my parents were about upholding our image. We lived in a nice little split level home in Gainesville, GA. It felt so enchanted and beautiful. The one bad thing about that house was, the walls were pretty thick and the neighbors houses were set far from our house. That meant nobody from the outside world could hear the chaos and calamity that went on inside. I always knew my father was abusive, but in essence of my juvenile mind, I thought it was normal. Picking me up by my ankle and whipping me as hard as he could with a shoe. Simply because I was very attached to my mother. I obviously had major separation anxiety, and for what reasons did I fear her leaving me home. I was terrified of the monster that arose from my fathers ego. Yelling in my face for accidentally spilling milk, or even getting myself something to eat. It was endless torture with endless reasons as to why I deserved this kind of "discipline." Sooner or later I became quiet and reserved. I believe it was sooner, but it was a different kind of quiet. My mother told me that when I was born I was completely silent. Oddly enough... I remember the day I was born. Now, I'm at age 6. I was simply going through the motions. Honestly, I remember what it was like to be me when I was younger. Everything felt like a dream. it was like I was totally hazed, disconnected. I was just moving because people told me to, and when I did something I wanted to, they were urges to find what would happen if I fulfilled my tendencies. I would angle nails under my moms car tires just because I wanted to know why it was so bad. I feel like it was my type of rebellion against being told what to do everyday. Treated like a princess then the next minute being treated like a prisoner.