Post by Sierra Briden on Dec 18, 2012 18:09:45 GMT -5
Name: I'm Sierra Briden. See-air-ah Bride-en, it's not that hard to pronounce, people! If you're that incapable of saying my name, though, you can call me Sie-Sie, or C.C., for short. That's what everyone does.
Age: I was born on November 22nd in 1997. Yeah, that makes me fifteen. Don't tell me I look "older than I am" - I've heard it before, ok?
Grade: Freshman represent!
Sport/Club Ain't nobody got time fo' dat!
Appearance: I'm the actual representation of Fall. Okay, so, not really, but that's what Ms. Bienhower, my first grade teacher, told me. It actually works, too. I mean, I was born in late fall, my hair is orange, my skin isn't quite pale but not exactly tanned, my eyes change colors like the trees change leaves in the different seasons. I never thought about it that much, but hey, I really do look like I forever belong in the fall. I could be a fucking Autumn fairy, you know it.
--Sierra is five feet, six inches, an average height for her age. She's a little uncertain about her tallness, however - the only time she ever likes being short is when she's with a guy who's taller. It makes her feel weak when she's shorter than the other girls, but something about having a guy who's able to put his arm around her shoulders feels nice. Her eyes are a blue hazel, and often changing in the light. Her hair is a red-orange, with brown and blonde highlights. She keeps it straight and perfect - nothing can be flawed on her body. She has a plump frame, nothing too bad or shameful. In fact, she has no reason to dislike herself - she works out to stay fit, but firm, too. She makes sure she's always primped to perfection.--
Personality: Who am I? I'm a bitch, and I'll never change. Don't ask me to do something for you if you know full well I'm never going to. Honey, I am who I am, and I'm not going to hide it. Start something with me, and I'll be the one who ends it. Want to insult me? I'll insult you right back. I'm not afraid to say what I want and to whoever I want. Don't you dare tell me to shut up or sit down or stop talking because I never will. Okay? Great.
Sierra is definitely not your granola girl. She's gotten to the point where she just doesn't care anymore, and she will let you know that. She's got a loud mouth and an extreme sense of sarcastic humor. No one can tell her what to do or where to go - she'll never be tied down. She's intelligent, but she hides it, playing off like she's just average. *more to come when I feel like it*
History: I never tell anyone this story, because they don't deserve to know it. No one does, but there's at least a hundred people who know what's happened. It's not fair; I didn't want anyone to know. But there's nothing you can stop from reaching the media, right? I hoped that when I came to Somerset High, people would forget or they wouldn't even remember, or maybe they just didn't know my name. And yet I know the looks I get from these teachers are ones of pity. I hate pity. I don't want anyone to pity me, or think of me as weak. I don't deserve that - I survived. I am not weak.
So you're all begging me to know - with your eyes, I can see how much you want to hear of my story. Fine, have it, take my history and throw it through your brain until you forget me again. That's what I want, so here goes: When I was three years old, my mother took me to the Marci-Mill Mall, in Ohio, where we lived. She brought her camera so that she could take pictures of me at the fountain, where I threw coins to make wishes. She thought it was the cutest thing, and the skylight in the ceiling let the light in just right, she said. I remember that... all these years, and I remember her saying that.
Anyway, I was just playing around, messing in the water while she snapped my pictures. We even had lunch on the side of the fountain. That was when it happened - I knocked my hat off. It was just this stupid, pink, sparky beret. I loved it so much, though, I cried because it landed in the water and I thought it was ruined. So my mom leaned over the edge (which you're not supposed to do) and tried to fish it out. I don't even remember how it happened, but in seconds, I wasn't sitting anymore. Someone was holding me, patting my back, walking away. My hat was still floating in the water, my mom couldn't see me anymore, and everyone was oblivious. Three year old me didn't know what kidnapping was, but I knew that this man was not my daddy.
I actually don't remember much. I just know that we got into the car and he tried strapping me into the seat, but I was fighting to hard. I think I still wanted that stupid beret, whatever. He put a rag over my face and that's when I blacked it. Here's where you think I spent a day or two in captivity and then they let me go for ransom, right? No, these people were fucked up. They wanted to keep me, as their daughter...
George and Peter Yanchov worked their way into my life. They look me back to their apartment in New York, and I spent days, weeks - months as an afraid little three year old. But it all started to fade away after a while. Who was mommy? I couldn't remember her very well. I held on to that memory of the pink beret, but George bought me another one in purple, and I decided I didn't really like pink in the first place. My small self just stopped thinking about anything but my new life. I settled into the groove of things. George and Peter were my new family, and if I mentioned my old one, they just patted me on the head and told me it was okay, that the people I remembered weren't real, just pretend friends I made up.
They were never mean or harsh to me. The only day that Peter ever used force against me was when he took me from the mall, that's it. I kept telling the cops that. We were a little family of three for ten years, and they never hurt me, and yet they wound up in jail for charges of kidnapping. They even did an investigation on child abuse. The truth is, nothing out of the ordinary happened in those ten years. I was just living life with my parents. So I had two dads, no big deal. So they weren't really my parents - isn't that what it's like for every gay couple trying to raise a family? When they made me go back to living with my real mom and dad... it just felt wrong. I even had brothers and sisters that I didn't know about. This wasn't my family.
So everyone always asks what it was like. They think I was abused, used as a punching bag or some shit. It's not fair for them to think that, they know nothing about it all. Peter and George Yanchov will always be my parents, and I will always be Sierra Yanchov, no matter what. I had a loving, caring home where I was the center of attention. I had a dog and goldfish that I won at a fair. I went to school with other kids and my friends came over to play sometimes. When I got older, we had family game nights and we'd invite our family friends over. They even gave me a fake birthday, to make me feel happier - November 23rd. My birth-mom tells me I was really born on July 12th but... that's not me, that's the three year old with the pink beret who drops things in the fountain.
Sometimes, I don't know if I'm Sierra Briden or Sierra Yanchov. Names don't matter, identities do. I'm the girl who was kidnapped, the one everyone saw on the "Missing" posters and on late night TV. I'm also the girl who grew up in New York with a lovely family, in a great home where I was happy. Then, I'm the girl who was taken away from her family and told it was never real, that I was a victim, that these men - my parents - are criminals. I'm the girl who's going to Somerset High, I'm the girl who writes letters to her dads in jail, I'm the girl who lives with her birth-parents but doesn't want to even know them anymore. I'm the girl who's confused, wearing a beret that's half pink and half purple, because there are two sides to my life.
Age: I was born on November 22nd in 1997. Yeah, that makes me fifteen. Don't tell me I look "older than I am" - I've heard it before, ok?
Grade: Freshman represent!
Sport/Club Ain't nobody got time fo' dat!
Appearance: I'm the actual representation of Fall. Okay, so, not really, but that's what Ms. Bienhower, my first grade teacher, told me. It actually works, too. I mean, I was born in late fall, my hair is orange, my skin isn't quite pale but not exactly tanned, my eyes change colors like the trees change leaves in the different seasons. I never thought about it that much, but hey, I really do look like I forever belong in the fall. I could be a fucking Autumn fairy, you know it.
--Sierra is five feet, six inches, an average height for her age. She's a little uncertain about her tallness, however - the only time she ever likes being short is when she's with a guy who's taller. It makes her feel weak when she's shorter than the other girls, but something about having a guy who's able to put his arm around her shoulders feels nice. Her eyes are a blue hazel, and often changing in the light. Her hair is a red-orange, with brown and blonde highlights. She keeps it straight and perfect - nothing can be flawed on her body. She has a plump frame, nothing too bad or shameful. In fact, she has no reason to dislike herself - she works out to stay fit, but firm, too. She makes sure she's always primped to perfection.--
Personality: Who am I? I'm a bitch, and I'll never change. Don't ask me to do something for you if you know full well I'm never going to. Honey, I am who I am, and I'm not going to hide it. Start something with me, and I'll be the one who ends it. Want to insult me? I'll insult you right back. I'm not afraid to say what I want and to whoever I want. Don't you dare tell me to shut up or sit down or stop talking because I never will. Okay? Great.
Sierra is definitely not your granola girl. She's gotten to the point where she just doesn't care anymore, and she will let you know that. She's got a loud mouth and an extreme sense of sarcastic humor. No one can tell her what to do or where to go - she'll never be tied down. She's intelligent, but she hides it, playing off like she's just average. *more to come when I feel like it*
History: I never tell anyone this story, because they don't deserve to know it. No one does, but there's at least a hundred people who know what's happened. It's not fair; I didn't want anyone to know. But there's nothing you can stop from reaching the media, right? I hoped that when I came to Somerset High, people would forget or they wouldn't even remember, or maybe they just didn't know my name. And yet I know the looks I get from these teachers are ones of pity. I hate pity. I don't want anyone to pity me, or think of me as weak. I don't deserve that - I survived. I am not weak.
So you're all begging me to know - with your eyes, I can see how much you want to hear of my story. Fine, have it, take my history and throw it through your brain until you forget me again. That's what I want, so here goes: When I was three years old, my mother took me to the Marci-Mill Mall, in Ohio, where we lived. She brought her camera so that she could take pictures of me at the fountain, where I threw coins to make wishes. She thought it was the cutest thing, and the skylight in the ceiling let the light in just right, she said. I remember that... all these years, and I remember her saying that.
Anyway, I was just playing around, messing in the water while she snapped my pictures. We even had lunch on the side of the fountain. That was when it happened - I knocked my hat off. It was just this stupid, pink, sparky beret. I loved it so much, though, I cried because it landed in the water and I thought it was ruined. So my mom leaned over the edge (which you're not supposed to do) and tried to fish it out. I don't even remember how it happened, but in seconds, I wasn't sitting anymore. Someone was holding me, patting my back, walking away. My hat was still floating in the water, my mom couldn't see me anymore, and everyone was oblivious. Three year old me didn't know what kidnapping was, but I knew that this man was not my daddy.
I actually don't remember much. I just know that we got into the car and he tried strapping me into the seat, but I was fighting to hard. I think I still wanted that stupid beret, whatever. He put a rag over my face and that's when I blacked it. Here's where you think I spent a day or two in captivity and then they let me go for ransom, right? No, these people were fucked up. They wanted to keep me, as their daughter...
George and Peter Yanchov worked their way into my life. They look me back to their apartment in New York, and I spent days, weeks - months as an afraid little three year old. But it all started to fade away after a while. Who was mommy? I couldn't remember her very well. I held on to that memory of the pink beret, but George bought me another one in purple, and I decided I didn't really like pink in the first place. My small self just stopped thinking about anything but my new life. I settled into the groove of things. George and Peter were my new family, and if I mentioned my old one, they just patted me on the head and told me it was okay, that the people I remembered weren't real, just pretend friends I made up.
They were never mean or harsh to me. The only day that Peter ever used force against me was when he took me from the mall, that's it. I kept telling the cops that. We were a little family of three for ten years, and they never hurt me, and yet they wound up in jail for charges of kidnapping. They even did an investigation on child abuse. The truth is, nothing out of the ordinary happened in those ten years. I was just living life with my parents. So I had two dads, no big deal. So they weren't really my parents - isn't that what it's like for every gay couple trying to raise a family? When they made me go back to living with my real mom and dad... it just felt wrong. I even had brothers and sisters that I didn't know about. This wasn't my family.
So everyone always asks what it was like. They think I was abused, used as a punching bag or some shit. It's not fair for them to think that, they know nothing about it all. Peter and George Yanchov will always be my parents, and I will always be Sierra Yanchov, no matter what. I had a loving, caring home where I was the center of attention. I had a dog and goldfish that I won at a fair. I went to school with other kids and my friends came over to play sometimes. When I got older, we had family game nights and we'd invite our family friends over. They even gave me a fake birthday, to make me feel happier - November 23rd. My birth-mom tells me I was really born on July 12th but... that's not me, that's the three year old with the pink beret who drops things in the fountain.
Sometimes, I don't know if I'm Sierra Briden or Sierra Yanchov. Names don't matter, identities do. I'm the girl who was kidnapped, the one everyone saw on the "Missing" posters and on late night TV. I'm also the girl who grew up in New York with a lovely family, in a great home where I was happy. Then, I'm the girl who was taken away from her family and told it was never real, that I was a victim, that these men - my parents - are criminals. I'm the girl who's going to Somerset High, I'm the girl who writes letters to her dads in jail, I'm the girl who lives with her birth-parents but doesn't want to even know them anymore. I'm the girl who's confused, wearing a beret that's half pink and half purple, because there are two sides to my life.
