My Autobiography please critic

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My Autobiography please critic

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At vero eos et accusamus et iusto odio dignissimos ducimus qui blanditiis praesentium voluptatum deleniti atque corrupti quos dolores et quas molestias excepturi sint occaecati cupiditate non provident, similique sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollitia animi, id est laborum et dolorum fuga. Et harum quidem rerum facilis est et expedita distinctio. Nam libero tempore, cum soluta nobis est eligendi optio cumque nihil impedit quo minus id quod maxime placeat facere possimus, omnis voluptas assumenda est, omnis dolor repellendus. Itaque earum rerum hic tenetur a sapiente delectus, ut aut reiciendis voluptatibus maiores alias consequatur aut perferendis doloribus asperiores repellat.

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Wow. -speechless- O.O Um I...just wow.
@sugarplum15 lol thanks im so glad you liked it

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wow
it was good
@nkhanfar thank you
Introduction Sometimes I feel like I’m dumber than I think but smarter then what the world perceives. My best friend is a genius and my other best friend is damn close. People say that IQ doesn’t matter, that it’s not accurate but that doesn’t make me feel any better. It seems more like a pity talk, and I think when people say this, they’re trying to convince themselves as much as me. My IQ is weird, I’m smart and I’m dumb. There’s multiple parts of the IQ test and typically they’re all about the same levels, but mine have drastic differences. They go from barely average, to gifted, to genius. I’m really not sure what that’s supposed to mean. I grew up my entire life being told that I wasn’t good enough, smart enough. After a while that gets in your head. It’s not like it was only delinquent children saying this, it was teachers, coaches, myself. I wanted to be the best and if I wasn’t the best, then what was the point? Not a great way to deal with things but that’s how I dealt with, life. It got crazy and I stuttered. Stuttered isn’t even the right word, I froze and shut down. By the time I woke up, life was just a haze. Everyone around me spinning in fast forward, me trying to catch up but being pulled deeper into the sand. I was five feet under! I was never good enough and now it didn’t matter because I was too far behind for anyone to notice, nor care. Why would they? I was a seventeen year old girl but what did that ever mean? I wanted to change the world. Never would I have thought that it would be the one changing me. I’m still not quite sure if it did for the better. Either way there’s always an outcome, when you’re moving forward. Unfortunately, what you put in isn’t always what comes out. It’s always another mystery box…maybe that box is “destiny” or “fate”, maybe it’s karma, maybe it’s science, truth is we don’t know and probably never will. For now, it just…is. Chapter 1 It’s funny, looking back to when I was a little kid, because it feels like it was me in a different life. Reincarnation, in a way. I was a typical kid in every way. Rephrase: I was a typical kid in my mind. Even as kid I didn’t want to grow up. I did in some aspects, but I also didn’t. To me there is a singular piece of myself that has always been treasured, my imagination. That may sound a little weird, I suppose, but it’s the one thing that no one could take from me. I remember going for a car ride and finding every possible bird nest. I found the littles things that adults took for granted. I loved that about myself. I kept lecturing myself on how I never wanted to let myself take the little things for granted. That I had to keep looking for birds nest, admiring them in wonder. It wasn’t a fear of growing up; it was fear of becoming like everyone else. However, I also had a fear of being different…now the anxiety comes in. Two fears that contradict each other; one nature and the other nurture. From the time I can remember, I never really fit in. I was the weird kid, but for a while it seemed like everyone else, were the ones who were different. Unfortunately, it didn’t take me long to realize that it was really me. My family says we’re all like that, but even comparing myself to them, I still don’t match. I have loving parents, one mom and one dad. I’m never going to be like them. My mom was an A/B student who grew up to be a teacher, which runs in the family. She’s now an entrepreneur and loves her job. My dad however had a rough childhood. I honestly don’t know a lot about dad growing up. When I was little he use to tell me stories about his childhood. My favorite was his “act of rebellion”. It was when he was a little boy, maybe eight or seven. He had a Great Dane and for obvious reasons he wasn’t allowed to walk the dog. One day he did anyways and the dog saw a rabbit. Long story short the dog ran away, after dragging my dad across the pavement. I don’t know why I love this story so much, but I could hear it a thousands of times on repeat, and I don’t think I’d ever get tired of him telling me this story. Besides the little stories he told me as a child, I don’t know a lot about his past. As for right now he’s in charge of waste water and water plant. Exciting I know! Well, he thinks it is or at least he used to. Now, work has him beat and he just can’t get a break. Things used to be different. We go on a lot of family road trips and they’re fun, most of the time. Anyways, my dad use to point out every waste water plant, and water tower on the way; spitting out fun facts on those specific plants and towers. We all use to make fun of him by playing along. I don’t if he was actually excited about these places or trying to entertain us. Knowing my dad he was probably excited. He doesn’t do that as much anymore. It’s almost as if you have to force him to smile. I also have three brothers, with quite the age gap. My oldest brothers, Nathan and Josh, are eight and a half years older than me. In case you couldn’t guess it they’re twins, fraternal twins that is. The two are basically Yin and Yang. Nathan has blonde hair and blue eyes, he’s the shortest one of us all at a midget height of 5’10. It’s kind of sad that he’s the shortest because he’s also the most athletic. The height would have done him some good, but hey, everything happens for a reason. Josh on the other hand is 6’3. He’s pretty awkward but has a great heart. He is currently an ambulance driver, but wants to go into the career of firefighting. He’s also part of the National Guard and will deployed March of 2016. I honestly don’t know what he will be doing; all I know is that he’s going to a place in Africa. I know I should probably be worried or whatever, because Africa’s a scary place but every time I hear the word “Africa” I can’t help but to think of Book of Mormons. Anyways, Josh is a great big brother. He is probably the most religious out of my immediate family and there is nothing wrong with that. Zach is a completely different story. Zach is my youngest brother and by youngest I mean he is six and a half years older than me. Zach is by far the funniest of my brothers, but while being funny he’s also an retrice He knows it too. People either love him or they hate him, there’s no in between. Currently he is in the Navy and is deployed, but I know he’s safe so at least I have some comfort. Truth is I was never close to Zach as a child, but over years of maturing on both ends we’ve learned to love each other and not just because we have to. It’s actually because Zach is 6’5 and could totally kick my ass. We really do love each other and hardly ever fight anymore; however that could be due to his deployment. No matter the reason he’s my big brother and he makes me laugh. I love my family and I guess you could say we’re pretty close, despite all of the deployment. We all trust each other in different ways. I have a great relationship with all of my brothers, but not one is the same. I think that’s what makes each of them so special. They are not replicas of each other but instead reveal their own since of individuality. I suppose that’s another thing I could never change… Chapter 2 Being a highly imaginative child made play time a hell lot more fun. Sometime around my third birthday I moved from Marco Island to Naples, which isn’t really a big move since the two houses were 30 minutes apart from each other. I only have one memory of my first house. I remember riding a bike down the street. The bike obviously had training wheels, especially since I’m so uncoordinated. It was surprisingly nice out not too hot for once, or so I assume. I honestly don’t remember that far into the memory, but knowing me, if I was riding my bike down the street then it couldn’t have been that hot. I remember a feel of peace and bliss not endurance and aching. Even though I don’t remember that place now, I remember feeling a connection with it. I’m not great with change. It freaks me out, and I didn’t like this new place. That was only because the house was brown and heaven forbid if three year old me lives in a one story brown house. I mean come on mom, why did you get the white house on the hill? Instead she got a three bedroom (eventually changed to 5) house with a pool and two and a half acres. Looking back now it was a great house to grow up in. I moved with my three brothers, parents, and our dog Molly. Molly was a German Shepard and we had owned her before my birth. She was one of the greatest dogs you could ask for. As a new comer Molly looked at me like “what on Earth is that thing and why are you bringing it in our house?” Apparently she pouted for a couple of days and this I believe. Whenever we went on a long trip without her she would always be mad at us for a while. I suppose I would be too if my family left me too. Eventually she got use to baby me. In fact, she use to sit by crib protecting me. When playing with Molly I use to treat her like my second mom, even calling her my mom at certain times. Molly always made me laugh. You see, I’m a horrible person to sleep with, I kick. I use to wake up in the middle of the night, a lot and when I opened my eyes, she would be off the bed. She started on the bed but left for the floor. Now this could have been her way of protecting me, by trying to get closer to the door, or maybe she got tired of me being a bed hog. Sometimes I would tell her to get back on the bed, but other times I joined her. Until I realized how hard the floor was and eventually moved back to the bed.

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