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Being depressed describes most of my life. I can’t really ever remember
being truly happy with life and the way things are. My name is Maybel Dasherson, most people know me as “Nasty Maybel.”
I earned that nick name back in my childhood. My parents were always too poor to afford me any nice clothes and we usually
only got to wash what little clothing we had every two weeks. If we got anything dirty we had to wear it regardless of the
condition it was in. I remember back in my third grade class I had came to school that day in a dress that I had worn that
Sunday to church. I played all day in that dress, alongside my sisters, so it got pretty mucked up. Soon as I stepped foot
in my classroom that morning one of the wealthier children in my class called me Nasty Maybel. Ever since then it kind of
stuck with me in this town. I must say I think I’m kind of getting ahead of myself by telling you things this way. Let’s
go back to my junior year of high school. That’s the best place for us to start. The alarm rang at it usually time on Monday morning. I woke
up closed and opened my eyes a few times and then glance at the clock, it was six thirty in the morning. Plenty of time for
me to shower and eat. I pulled back my pastel pink covers and sheets and dragged myself out of bed. I stood for a moment and
glance around at my room. It was clean as far as I could say, but no matter how clean it was it didn’t make a difference
it still looked the same. The walls were a puke green covered in ink pen drawings I did when I was younger. Unfortunately
the carpeting was the same color as the walls. Right next to my bed was my dresser it was the only considerably nice part
of my room. It was given to me after my grandmother died, it had belonged to her. It had to have been made out of the finest
oak wood. The wood finish had begun to chip on it about a year ago. Each drawer had a tiny pink rose stamped right in the
middle of it. I snapped myself out of my blank focus and made my way towards
the bathroom I shared with my parents. I opened up the medicine cabinet and pulled
out my toothbrush and a tube of Colgate toothpaste. I could hear my parents shouting and screaming at echother. They were
arguing over bills, and apparently my mother thought my father was cheating on her, even though he wasn’t nor ever had. There was something I always considered strange about my father. He never said more
than two words to hardly anyone unless he was angry or upset, and he never showed any motions of love or animosity towards
me. My whole childhood I can’t remember him saying I love you or tucking me in for bed. He was always home when he wasn’t
at work, but in the same sense he might as well of been a million miles away. My mother was the exact opposite of my father
I never knew what attracted her to him. She was always loving and caring towards me and my siblings. It always hurt her heart
to see us cry.
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