"Would you consider yourself to be a fighter?" A fiesty, runty, redhead I was. From the day hair sprouted on the top of my head to the day I shook my principal's hand and recieved my diploma. Optimistic and an extrovert to the core, I never hesitated to talk to a stranger. I still don't. But, a fighter? No. A dreamer and a hard-worker, I was blinded by the light of hope and oppertunity. In my asolescent mind I never delt with shade covering my sunshine, all thanks to my mother who gave birth to me un-planned at the age of 19.
Then my mother wouldn't get out of bed.
With a full heart slowly starting to drain, I questioned everything I thought I knew. 16 and filled with sorrow I simply couldn't understand why she would not leave the maroon sheets that now resembled a cage where she was drowning in depression. She was hiding. She was running. I knew we had money issues, but at 16 I didn't know about the modern day monster. "Get up, mom." "I love you, please get up." Bills, and notices scattered at her bedside like a sea of sharks waiting for her to dip her toes in. A woman I always saw as someone who could do no wrong, couldn't move. The woman who made life seem flawless to me had now shown me what life is really like. But does it have to be? Why does the mother who was always gave me everything have to suffer? "Are you a fighter?" I need to be.
16 was when I realized who I wanted to be.
My mother, someone who quite college to raise me, has to suffer because of the modern day monster that comes on green paper. My mother made mistakes, but she made them for me. A fiesty redhead I will always be. Determined I will always be. I need to live a life giving children sunshine like my mother gave me, and I will. The modern day monster will NOT overtake me and who I am. Why should it?
"Are you a fighter?" I am.