A fucked-up biography

Hi. My name is Morgan, born in 1992. I’m French, mom of an eleven years old wonderful human. I’m a massage therapist and I live in Canada. Seems simple, right? But it’s not. Dear lord. My life has always been a stupid shit show, almost surreal at time, and lately it’s been way worse.

I’ve been talking to a lot of people: friends, lover, clients, strangers, professionals… and I’ve been told countless times that I should write a book or make a movie, so, here it is!

Strangers, people of everywhere, behold my story, the fucked-up story of my life.

If you don’t know me personally, just know that not everything will be easy to read, and if you do know me, it might be worse. I’m going to give you a full access, you will know every single detail of what I went through, of how I felt.

Some things are going to be graphic, and some will look like a bad movie, but I’ve been through this, and I’m still going through a lot.

If you DO know me, mom, close this book, or tab. Don’t look at it. Dad, there are going to be sex scenes, and I might give a bit too many details to your liking.

Friends, partner, exes and other people who know me, I won’t give your names, of course, you’ll recognize yourself easily though.

Now, why am I writing this? Well, I experienced several traumatic events, and I’m experiencing some more, I also have the support of a mental health professional (love her, she’s amazing). When we first met, she made me talk about literally the story of my life, and I must admit there’s some material to use here.

I’m going to talk about my journey as if I was rewatching a movie, but now that I know the plot, I’ll share what I learned from it, how I’d like things to be, what I shouldn’t have done. I made a lot of mistakes, some are very shameful, but it’s part of the story.

I’m going to write everything that went through my mind, at least, as I remember it.

If you read everything and still like me, I guess that we could be friends, but I already have enough, sorry. If you fall in love, though, please go seek the help of a therapist, there is something wrong with you.

I’m going to give you some information I almost never shared, and I must admit that it is kind of scary, but I really need to get everything out of my mind, good or bad, healthy and toxic. I need to deep clean my brain, declutter the trauma and move on, once and for all.

Seeing things like this makes me a bit more excited, and I like it. I need excitement to get things done, I need stimulation, a lot of it. Anything to distract me from my depression and crippling anxiety.

So, dear human who took the time to read all this, here it comes.

I was born in France, year 1992. My parents met in Normandy. I don’t have many details. All I know is that they met in a bus, my mom had a crush, got rid of her boyfriend and… voila. Their story started just like that, and approximately one year later, me.

I heard so much about my birth that it almost feels like I remember it. My birth was not easy, doctors had to perform an emergency c-section since I was a really big baby, and my mom couldn’t give birth naturally. I’ve been told that I did a tiny noise, almost surprised when the cut my mother open, and when I think of this, I can see some red light, and then the head of a surgeon, but I’m surely imagining things. Ho and I was an ugly baby too, ew. I saw the pictures and I really don’t like it, but at least we were alive, it’s always strange to think that if Nature did her job by herself, I wouldn’t be writing my traumas for all the internet to read.

Of course, I don’t remember the first chunk of my life, I have a good memory, but not that much. All I know is that I was cherished and that I was a smart kid.

I mean, really, it turns out that I learned how to read by myself at the age of two in just a few months. I don’t remember it AT ALL, but my mom said so. I was a weird kid too, I got along with adults and older kids, not the one with the same age as me. My mom told me that I started to say very soon that other kids were boring and stupid. I was the strange kid who didn’t like most of the games involving other people. It’s weird to me because I remember clearly that I was desperately looking for company. Through my years at school, my best friends were the weirdos and loner, never the popular kids, even if I tried very hard, looking back, I’m happy that things were like this. I love weird people, I love people who are not fitting, it feels like home.

Anyway, my parents left Normandy with me to go to Reunion Island, where my father’s family was. And here is my first true vivid memory.

I was a baby, still wearing a onesie, and I was standing in my bunk bed, crying because I was hearing my parents yelling at each other. I remember the fear. What a way to start my life.

My life in Reunion Island was nice, I used to live in a house most of you would see it as too rustic: sheet metal and wood. Some rooms had concrete floors. I used to walk bare foot in the garden, playing with nature. I loved it. I remember our dog, Ziggy, he was scary and mean. I don’t remember if I ever could pet him. I used to go to the beach often, my hair was blond, almost platin because of the sun and the sea salt, now it’s a dark brown with sparkles. I have a lot of white hair. I left Reunion Island with my mom when I was two. My dad had another girlfriend after that, my mom and I went back in Normandy.

The life in France was different, more modern. My grandmother has a huge house, it’s kind of funny because she is so tiny.

And here comes my second most vivid memory of my childhood… I was in bed, probably still two years old, and I was drinking chocolate milk from my feeding bottle. I still remember the taste, it’s weird. And… I threw up. I threw up so hard, I had the feeling that my head did a complete rotation, exorcist style. I cried. Throwing up always made me cry, it hurts and is really uncomfortable. From that day, I never wanted chocolate milk ever again. I’m still disgusted twenty-eight years later. EW. This makes me think about my complicated and abusive relationship with food. I always had a lot of trouble eating, texture must be right, taste too. Food items must NOT touch each other, or I won’t eat it. Meat is a hard subject too, because of the fat. The texture is horrible. I just can’t eat it. And my nemesis, my worst enemy who ruined most of my life: onion. I hate it, the texture, the taste, the smell, plus it makes you CRY. It wants to hurt you. This food is just demonic. I remember my mom always telling the story of that time she thoroughly made a puree of this disgusting onion, but I found the tiniest piece in my plate and lost trust. I had my mouth full of lentils and rice and got that tiny piece of treason out of it.

There are two ways to instantly lose my trust: sneaking onions in my food and spider jokes. You could be the most perfect person, the love of my life, I’d leave and would never go back. Best way to lose me forever, I won’t even remember your insignificant name. Peasant