I'm Rowan Cota. A 21 year old, not ready to grow up, but too aged to go back.

For now I'm not Distressed Snow, or Gothcrumpet, or The Girl With the Nickel Plated Nine.

This will change. Everything does.

I remember being grounded off chocolate for a year for stealing candy from my dad's "secret" stash.

I remember being told I was smart and beautiful and that I was just intimidating beacuse of that fact.

I remember thinking I could do anything.

I remember my dad telling me stories when I got in trouble. How lucky I was that I wasn't being beaten. Having cigarettes put out on my arms.

I remember being told how his parents had never cared. How they had made him cook for his siblings, bought him the wrong color bike because they could. How he was never macho enough for them, and I should count myself lucky because he wasn't putting the same kind of gender stereotyping on me.

I remember defending him to the death to people I thought didn't get it.

I remember being raped by a man who told me it was okay when I was too young to know better. Who shoved his cock in me and listened to me cry and who threatened to kill me if I told.

I remember my parents breaking up because my dad wanted to be a girl.

I remember hitting myself in the head and legs, whenever I would screw up.

I rememebr skinning my knees on the playground and hiding in corners to try to escape my uniqueness.

I remember wishing I was blonde and vapid.

I remember crying when my dad threatened to have my brother committed.

I remember dying my hair green to give people a reason to mock me that didn't involve my brain.

I remember wishing Declan would look up from his trumpet and notice me.

I remember things being thrown and raised voices.

I remember being told I was "our" only hope.

I remember being forced to call imposters mom and dad.

I remember a man who should have been smart enough to know better taking my "virginity".

I remember him telling his friends I was easy. And him calling me a money grubbing high maintenence bitch.

I remember wondering what it would be like to be hit by a car and thinking no one would miss me.

I remember Randy and Phyllis.

I remember Jermone dying of AIDS and my father holding it over my head. "Be a good little girl or this will happen to you too."

I remember a step father "in love" with my obese mother who told me I was too fat, and nothing compared to his Jessica.

I remember counting the days until I was old enough to escape.

I remember the sounds opf sex and BDSM under my bedroom.

I remember being told that my pain wasn't enough for anyone to defend me.

I remember when we lit the spoon on fire and when I let him take the fall because I couldn't handle one more leather belt story.

The story was worse than being beaten would have been.

I remember falling asleep next to him on the waterbed.

I remember teaching him to steal.

I remember wishing we weren't related.

I remember stealing food from the other housemates because our dad wasn't feeding us.

I remember living with no water, no power, because there was "no money" for the bills.

I remember living in filth because he was too "tired" to clean. I stripped four inches of old newspaper moldy and rotting from the floor.

I remembering living in a building that had rats and roaches. I remember bleaching dishes that were covered in maggots because he wouldn't.

I remember looking forward to everything that got me out of the house.

I remember old and stale bread.

I remember being told I wasn't good enough to love.

I remember being told I should have been an abortion.

I remember all the times I thought I looked good, and all the times I got told it wasn't the case.

I remember cutting class to get away from all of the people my age who I hated.

I remember being told that I wasn't girly enough.

I remember being told that being in Vietnam was so bad he couldn't even talk about it, but that I should be greatful he didn't put me through an experience like that to prove my worth.

I remember waking up alone and greatful because I was still able to ignore the pain long enough to find someone else's pain to fall into.

I remember trusting someone who welcomed me into their home.

I remember being fucked over.

I remember being used to make sure the phone or the electricity didn't get shut off, for what I was worth, not even for who I was.

I remember having to explain my whereabouts...every day.

I remember her being jealous of who I was with.

I remember wondering if suicide was really a viable option.

This is my past. This is part of who I am. This is a big part of who I am. If you don't like it, don't believe it, or don't care, that's your right.

But this is me.