This is the story of a girl you may or may not identify with.  Either way, her story has a vastly important message that needs to be shared with all.  Her story turns tragedy into happily ever after, in the real world.  This is no joke.  When you read this, you may not believe it truly happened but I promise you it did.  So without further ado…I present you the story of…


My Life is NOT a Fairytale


Prologue: The Beginning

How does one start a tale such as this? Should I tell you about now, or should I start from the beginning? Beginning you say. Ah, wise choice. We’ll go all the way back to when I was born, how’s that sound? All right, here goes. One cold, dreary day in December of ’91 I was born. From the stories my foster mother told me I was premature and lucky to be alive. The cord was wrapped around my neck when I was born, and I was blue as can be. From what I’ve been told, I was put in NICU for over a month because I was so little. Oh! You caught the part about having a foster mother? Well, turns out my real mother was barely fifteen when she had me. Shocking? In today’s time, that’s a little old to some. Anyway, back to where I was in the story.

I guess I should tell you my name now before we continue on any further in the story, huh? I was born Jillian LeAnn Summers, but most people just call me Jill. From the time I arrived in this world everyone knew I was a fighter. You’d think that after living when you’re born premature, the rest of your life would be a piece of cake…you’d be wrong, dead wrong. If anything, my life has been worse for wear. I’m still standing strong though, and I am writing this to let all of y’all know that life IS possible.

Oh, listen to me…I’m off track again. Now where were we? Ah, after being born and spending over a month in the NICU, I was finally released to go hom…well, what I thought was going to be home. My ‘home’ turned out to be an orphanage filled with thousands of screaming, bratty children. Alas, I’m getting ahead of myself here. I’m still a mere babe aren’t I? The next few years were fairly uneventful. Life went on every day. Eat, sleep, grow, play, eat, sleep, grow, play…it was a never ending cycle…except I always seemed to play alone. None of the other kids, or grownups, would take time to read or play games with me. Silly really, but from then on I remained independent.

Years at the orphanage were uneventful until I got to be the age of, oh I’d say, twelve or so. That’s when it happened. I started my period. Mind you, I was just a young girl whom no one ever spoke to unless giving chores or commands. I had no idea what this blood was from, so I did the most natural thing any child would do. I hide my discomfort. To my surprise, the bleeding didn’t go away. In fact, it started seeping through my clothing and I began to worry. Finally, I broke down in tears one day thinking ‘This is it. I’m dying’. Silly isn’t it? It just so happened that an old lady was touring the orphanage that day. You know the type. “Just want to help the young souls.” This lady saw me crying in the corner and came over to me. “Little girl, are you alright?” Stunned, I looked up and quietly mumbled…”I..I think I’m dying. I’m leaking blood.” The old lady seemed to know exactly what I was referring to and she quietly chuckled. “My dear, you are most certainly not dying. Your body is just trying to tell you it’s growing up.” She reached for my hand then and helped me to stand. “Let’s take you and get you all cleaned up.” And she did. She walked me to the restroom, and told me everything. I was shocked. Who knew girls did that? She then looked me in the eye and asked, “Child, do you want to come live with me?” My mouth dropped open, “Of course!” So, that was that. The paperwork was signed. The i’s were dotted and the t’s crossed. I was excited! I had a real home now! Or so I thought…



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