The Chronicles of AP
Hey!!
My name is Andra Patterson, and I'm absolutely thrilled you've visited my site. Below is a brief history of me, my life, a few of the struggles and traumas I've faced, and what I plan to do with all this motivation and passion burning within. I'm currently a final year student at Jackson College, Jackson, Michigan, working towards obtaining my Associate's degree in Business Administration as well as a collegiate certification in Entrepreneurship. I hope to transfer to either the Michigan State University or Eastern Michigan University post-graduation to further my education and obtain a degree in Journalism. Thank you so much for taking an interest in me, my services, and my story. Please scroll to the bottom of the page to leave any questions, comments, or concerns, and I would love to hear your votes on which university is better and why!
Story of AP
I was raised in a small, isolated town, and I learned of the world only over years of research and personal experience. Many people eerily too similar to their neighbor, rumors that spread quicker than California wildfires (and it doesn't stop when they grow up either), trust is a scarce resource, and you've either got too much money or not enough, there isn't necessarily an in between. Nevertheless, I had once thought my family was the middle class, to later find we were just barely scraping the surface of the very low end of the middle class.
My parents' house contained an array of broken doors, windows, and walls. Various half-completed projects such as the wall-less bathroom featured the dining room for well over 8 years, as well as a combination of nocturnal animals such as bats, opossums, and squirrels that had taken refuge within the walls of our home via an opening in the siding. At least if you hit the wall hard enough it would scare them into stopping the ruckus so you could somewhat peacefully fall back asleep.
In hindsight, I'm not sure how much the physical condition of the home actually affected me in comparison to the years of mental, physical, and emotional abuse I endured inside those haunting walls. Sometimes I find myself wandering into the endless thoughts of; did my parents do the best that they could? Do they love me at all? Is it because they're just sick? Nevertheless, I've learned for your own good, you must push these curiosities aside, and always remind yourself, regardless of your situation; you stepped away, you need to step away, you want to step away, you're trying to step away. Whatever your reasons for stepping away from a person who hurts you, never forget them, and always take care of yourself first.
As for my mother, she will brag about being an alcoholic at a social gathering, announcing it's a paternal gene in her bloodline, however, if you ever made a serious suggestion, she would be inexcusably irritable and more often than not, violent. It wasn't noticeable when I was younger, but yet again, in hindsight, my mother had a very strict daily beverage schedule. From the time she awoke until approximately 11 am to noonish was coffee, from that point under nearly 4 pm was iced tea, and from there until bed was alcohol, intermingling the water with each ensuring hydration. Better yet, she went through alcohol and phases much like a teenager may go through phases throughout adolescence. There was the Captain & Coke phase, the Jack Daniels & Red Bull phase, there was a brief Wine phase during the period she had lost custody of my brother and me, and many more. These were her nightly drinks, consistently kept stocked, and didn't include the parties and bar nights she had weekly. Oh, how this story could keep going on, and on, and on, and on.
My father on the other hand, actually rarely drank, and when he did I remember it being only ever a few beers or a few shots of tequila, probably knowing he would need to care for my mother. Nevertheless, he had problems of his own. His father a drug addict, in and out of prison, spending a good chunk of my life in prison, and his mother is both a drug addict and alcoholic. Primarily raised by his grandmother, my father still to this day is full of all that rage and anger he has been harassing since he was a small child. Sometimes, I almost want to feel for him, but then I remember that even with all the hidden fury and hatred inside myself, I could never hurt a child, let alone my own child. The first man to break my heart, my father taught me, in his own words, "Men are going to do whatever they want to you, so you might as well let them because if you don't it'll be much worse for you." Funny how the most important lessons he ever taught me in this life were things he impulsively said out of emotion. Unfortunately, looking at society, his words couldn't have been truer. The overall lesson I learned, was when they make it worse for you, you make it 10 times worse for them. When he yet again brought his anger from work home for me to suffer the consequences one day, I stood up to him and broke the blood vessels in his eyes. At that moment I knew that I would never again allow a man to put his hands on me, raise his voice to me, disrespect me, abuse me, hurt me.
Now, I could probably write separate books, one for each of my parents, and I strive to one day do so. But for now, I leave you with this brief look into the lack of love, nurturing, and support I arose from. Apart from all that environmental and familial stuff, I suffered from a slew of mental illnesses and was carted around to a variety of psychiatrists and therapists. Mother never forgot to remind me how sick I was and how I ruined her life the whole way. In the end, I've been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, Severe Depression, Anxiety, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, and Intermittent Explosive Disorder. These diagnoses have come from various medical professionals over the years, and more recently I was even told by a psychiatrist that my depression isn't actually all that bad, it's my PTSD that affects my day-to-day life. Furthermore, the unofficial conversations I've had with both my primary care physician and psychiatrist led to the conclusion that I may or may not have Autism as well. It is not definite, but I know I've always been quite different than others around me. However, for a definite diagnosis you must visit a neuropsychologist, not typically covered by insurance, and priced around $4,800 last I checked. But I'll never allow any of that to stop me.
After graduating high school with a 1.7 GPA, I knew I was going to have to work 100 times harder than those I walked across the stage with. I was smarter than that but didn't care to apply myself then, but at least I was smart enough to make some changes. I got my first apartment, which eventually led to my second apartment in the downtown area. I enrolled in courses at the community college, and now I'm less than one year away from graduation, currently holding a 3.6 GPA. I decided I aspire to open a monumental journalism business capable of helping millions one day, and you're reading the very first step to that right now!
No matter the size of the goal, know that you can achieve it, and you will! It's ok if you don't believe in yourself at first because I didn't either, but I believe in you. Please, reach out! I want to hear what you all have to say, any improvements I can make, inquiries you may have, or just to make a connection!