I’ve been a b****. I know this. It’s not something that I’m particularly proud of and it’s not something that I had intended to stop being. At least, I hadn’t until recently. I got what older people call “a taste of my own medicine.” I don’t think I deserved that taste. I have lived through a disgustingly dirty sea of pain and horror. I wanted others to feel that pain, know that fear. People would understand better if they knew my story. Sable probably wouldn’t care after everything that I did to her, everything I put her through. I wish I would’ve had the courage to let her know what was going on, instead of being the coward I was and giving her a glimpse of my pain.
I am Jenna Nielson Turner. I am the daughter of an abusive, alcoholic mother and the product of a sexual assault or so I’m told. If that wasn’t enough, add to it one of the members of the faculty here at Boardan High School believes I am to be his personal love slave until I graduate. So, yeah, I’m a b****, but I have some pretty good reasons to be. Being that person helps me cope with the hell that is my world, not just my d*** life.
Is it possible for one that has this as the introduction to their “Who am I?” essay to be open to love and be loved? Will she be able to except what is necessary for her to change? Or will she allow the surprises that come into her pathway to be the needed excuse to be just who she describes?