My name is Aly. At the time of this writing I am fifteen and a half. I am a writer, a sister, a daughter, a friend to many, a survivor of sexual molestation, a student, and an artist.
As a young child I would often read stories about animals, and watch television shows with talking animals in them. I started writing about them at an early age; it was fascinating that not only could I read these wonderful tales, but could create them. Until grade five I was more concerned with my artwork than writing; this changed when I wrote a fantasy story and my teacher commented on how lifelike the characters were. It was around a year later when I began to read Stephen King. I remember hearing my aunt discussing Dolores Claiborne to my father when we ate dinner at her house. Later I entered her bathroom and saw the book on the counter; I sat in the bathtub and got through forty-eight pages before my mother realized I wasn't around. I took it home with me and read the rest of it that night. It both horrified and fascinated me, moved me. I knew that this was what I wanted to write. But I could never create anything really powerful.
In January of 2000 we got the internet at home. I went to gurl.com, recommended by a friend, and noticed there was a poetry "shoutout". I submitted my first, and best, poem there. I wish I still had it. It was about a girl I knew, Sofie, who had introduced me to abstract poetry and to some of Jewel's works. Since then the majority of the stuff I write has been poetry, and I've been submitting it to a number of different sites so I could feel proud when people give me favourable reviews.
When I was eight years old my grandfather, the person I looked up to, trusted, and loved more than anyone or anything in the world, molested me. For five years I stayed silent, and although it was a one-time occurence, it traumatized me. I believed, for those five years, that I was no one of importance and that my body and thoughts and emotions didn't really matter. I couldn't trust anyone. I developed an unsettling fear of looking people in the eyes. I still feel like this.
Monday, Feb 12th, 2001 was the two-year anniversary of the day when my sister came to me in tears, and admitted that the same thing had happened to her around the same time. It shocked and horrified me. No, I didn't think I was of any value, so I never told anyone. But I had always been overpotective of her. I knew it was time to tell someone.
This story has dragged on long enough, so to make it short, we went to court and lost. This man still lives on a farm in Wellandport, still visits with about a dozen of my small cousins. My family doesn't talk to them anymore. The worst thing was that he wasn't even my biological grandfather (even though I loved him as though he was) but my grandmother chose him over me. Chose a man she knew maybe ten years over her own flesh and blood. It taught me to have a certain detachment to family, to rely on my friends and myself more. I feel it also adds an edge of pain and loneliness to my work, although that could be just wishful thinking or bullshit.
In April I met Jon. Before meeting him I was a very immature and superficial person. His love, and my love for him, has changed me, hopefully for the better. He's the one who introduced me to the Deftones.
In November I met a man named Chris Ringler. Although he is quite a bit older than me, he is one of my closest friends. He's a wonderful writer.
Recently I broke up with my boyfriend. I was very sad for a while until I realized that I can't be defined by who likes me or who I date. That I can enjoy myself without caring if my hair is okay. That I don't need to change for anyone. I am not part of a pair, half of a couple, incomplete without a significant other.
I am me. That's who I am. 03-11-01