The First Post

I'm not very good at these, introductions that is. I never really know what to say or how to say it. I stumble over my own words and repeat facts that noone really wanted to know anyways. I guess it doesn't really help that I'm not terribly comfortable talking about myself. I never know the best way to say things or tell stories without making them painstaking to read or sound like I'm boasting. I am not a boastful person. I know when to be proud of my accomplishments, but I will turn red upon compliments. With this said, I think I'm going to start.

My name is Evalyn Nicole Wells - no I don't mind the internet knowing this about me, it'll probably be the only time you see it anyways - but I go by Evy.

I'm 19-years-old, at the moment (9-7-85), and I just realized how young that number sounds. Ninetieen. Wow. I don't feel that young. Sometimes I feel so much older. This probably has more to do with what I've been through in my life than anything else. My mental state would be more becoming of an adult, a real adult. Sometimes I feel 5-years-old, I feel small, I feel insignificant, but I would have to say that the majority of the time, I feel like I'm older than my peers. I feel like I should be married with children and a home by now. This is not because I want to rush things along, and it surely does not mean that's what I'm looking for, it's just that I wake up some mornings and wonder when I became 19 again.

You see, I've already raised two children, most certainly not my own, but I raised them. These children weren't both "children" in the literal sense either. I spent the better part of my high school career raising both my brother and my father. Yes, you read that right, my father. I raised him. I was the parent. I had to watch out for him; to look out for him; to clean up the messes he made with our family and friends, not to mention the ones he made in the house. I cooked, I cleaned, I made sure the activities of the house ran smoothly, and I went to school everyday and did homework everynight.

I never had friends over, apart from a very select few. The only people who I allowed to come over, even when I knew my father would be home, were my then best friend Jennie and my boyfriend Alex. When you live in the type of situation I was in, you get used to just never having people over. Yes, I did go out sometimes, but I worried about what was going on at home. Was Ian okay? Was my dad okay? What would I come home to? Hell, I thought that coming home from school in the afternoons. I became accustomed to hearing sirens and jumping inside and thinking, "Please, dear God, don't let that be at my house. Please." Every day was a struggle for my sanity, my brother's safety, and our lives.

You can never really know what it's like to be the child who is killed by their parent, but I came closer than any living person should. It's not often that a child comes home to their parent in a state of total psychosis and suicidal rampage and lives to tell the tale. Could I have been the victim of a murder-suicide? I very nearly was.

That's why I walked on egg shells. That's why I raised my father. He just wasn't capable of doing the job himself after a while.

Now that you feel completely [fill in the blank], I think I need to move back towards the lighter end of the spectrum.

I'm fairly well-adjusted, or so I've been told. All of my experiences have served me well and led me to this point in my life where I can actually say that I am happy for the most part. There are things I wish I could change about who I am and where I am, but I wouldn't be human if I didn't feel that way at least a little.

I am a sophomore at Wittenberg University, studying psychology as my major and sociology as my minor. Until very recently I wanted to pursue a career in child psychology to help those who suffer as I did, because I never had anyone to turn to, and I would never wish that upon anyone else. Now, I'm not sure what I'm doing with it. I just know that I am fascinated by criminology, so we'll see where this takes me. My grades, well, they aren't where I would like them to be, but they'll get me a degree. That's something I have a real problem allowing to happen. Nothing is ever good enough for me, and this, well, this is just so hard for me.

I'm in a sorority. Yes, I know what image this probably brings to mind, but I can guarantee you that that just isn't me. People from home wonder how that happened, and they have every right to, I often wonder myself. There are moments when I love it so much and truly appreciate the doors it has opened up for me, but I have my moments where I loathe every minute of it and wonder why I did this to myself. This will be the predominant reason why I'm not going to tell you the name of the one I'm in. I want to be able to say, "Those god damn bitches," and not have it reflect poorly on this organization.

I feel distant from alot of people, and I know I put those barriers there myself, so I allow myself to really open up in spaces like this with people I don't know. For some reason, it's just easier.

With this all said, I think I'm going to end this first post and allow for those that follow to come as they may.

~Evy



"Be who you are and say how you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." ~Dr. Seuss