Chapter one of my memoir


Chapter One: A little bit of my roots and where I came from.


Forward,

I have tried many times to do this therapeutic exercise of writing out my story and each time that I have tried my flashbacks and nightmares have gotten worst. I sat with the urge to want to use my struggles and addictions to help those who can’t or don’t feel empower enough to reach out for help find the strength to do that. I listen to friends who tell me that their loved ones don’t get it or that just don’t understand me. Or they just think I am doing it for attention. Let me state this here and now I promise to be real, raw, and bluntly spoken in this book because it’s the advice I wish that was given to me. Now that I put out a warning label. Here goes nothing…

My name is Marie Cochran and I have PTSD (not from the military) and Bipolar disorder. I put the definitions of both in chapter one in case you don’t know the popper definition. I am 22 years old fun fact from the date today February 28, 2020 I am 23 days away from my birthday. I hope that by finally making myself to come into a head on conclusion with my past so that I can heal my wounds and make a conclusion to the chapters I am no longer living that I encourage you to accept your own inner daemons and I am assuming that if your reading this book you have a few. That I can show you that how to teach them to swim so that you can get on a level playing field them give you the tools to help you put them in a boat and show them that you can stay above water.

Before we begin this journey through my struggles, I want to give you a brief layout of how I plan to go through this book:

Chapter One: A little bit of my roots and where I came from.

Chapter Two: my first passions books & Poems.

Chapter three: Learning to copping with my mental health.

Chapter Four: How art became my second passion.

Chapter five: focusing on building my business while going to college for business.

Chapter six: Reaching out my comfort zone and sharing my artwork on the internet.

Let’s begin this long journey into being a better you. By listening to my struggles and how I learned to overcome some of my greatest tribulations.



To get to the age of where I began to have an official diagnosis, we have to start at around age ten. So up until this point my mother told me a story about my dad. That he was a good man and he just had a bad temper so he had to live somewhere else but about every two weeks dad would write us a letter one for mom and she would give me my letter. So, the day came to have my birthday party even though I had already turned ten years old. I didn’t know that this birthday would be one that I’d never forget. My dad came to visit for my birthday I was in my tree house with my cousin’s eating pizza. My mom came to the tree house and told me to come meet my father. I was so super excited until after the party was over because I had experienced my parents first fight and soon would learn that when he got mad, he would hit my mom. Since I lived down the road from my grandparents, I climbed out of my bedroom window and ran down to my grandparent’s house. I ran in screaming he is hurting my mom. My grandma told me to go into the kitchen with her the help finishing making dinner. I heard a gun go off, so I covered my ears and prayed to God to save my mom. My father was arrested and would go back to jail for four more years.

I came home from school one day and my mom had made my favorite meal and had bought me a new book one that I really wanted. So, I knew that a serious conversation was coming, and I got scared. I had my first fight with my mom where I cussed at her went into my room for six or eight hours. The next at school my best friend could tell that something was upsetting me. I told her that my bulimia had come back and that I had found a razor blade and cut my wrist. She went and took me to the bathroom and gave me her jacket told me that if any adult or kid were to tell about my cut that I would get into trouble and might get taken from my mother. So, I learned to hide my cuts and to keep it a secret. Later on, I would lear