Post by Becca Barden on Dec 26, 2012 14:46:32 GMT -5
Name: Bandecca Marie Barden
If you call me anything other than Becca, I'll kick you wherever it hurts, because Bandecca is a stupid name and I hate it.
Age/Grade: Becca was born on June 3rd, and is currently sixteen. She's a junior here at Somerset.
Activity/Sport: Becca joined Chorus in her freshman year, and then her brother forced her to be in drama with him.
Appearance: Ever since she was little, Becca was the tomboy. She ran around with the neighborhood kids and got into all the trouble they did. Her fiery red hair was always rumpled, and she was opposed to showers and baths. After she got to be around thirteen years old, however, things started to change. Mascara and eyeliner were smeared around her hazel green eyes, and lipstick was ever present on her lips. She began to treat hygiene with more importance, straightened her hair daily, and even slimmed down a bit.
Now a days, you'll catch Becca with yellow or neon colored eyeliner and heavy mascara. She wears pink lipstick and tries everything to make herself more appealing. she likes to photograph herself, which is why she takes such pride in her looks. Her clothing style is alternative, of course. She likes her tomboy style and feminine looks - so she often wears jeans, a cami, and a men's plaid shirt over top, with combat boots. She thinks it's the perfect outfit, especially with her hair down or pulled half back. Simple, easy, comfortable style.
Personality: Becca isn't a mean girl - but she's not an innocent little school girl, either. She'll give you a piece of her mind whenever she wants to. She studies, she pays attention, she gets good grades. But she also likes a good party. She won't be a "good girl" and she won't be a "bad girl." She's right in the middle of it. She likes to keep her record clean, because she wants to keep her brother out of trouble. But if someone messes with him, she'll pick up her old tomboy ways and go into protective-older-sister mode. So, be nice to Becca and she'll be nice to you. Get on her bad side, and we'll have a bit of a problem.
History: All my life I lived on the same street, in the same neighborhood. My brother and I had the same friends from before we were even born. I remember we would all practically trade houses - one day we'd play at my house, the other day we'd be at Derek's, the next would be Casey's, and so forth and so on. Things went well for years - no one fought, no one really had any problems. Everything in my world was perfect. Aaron and I played soccer, kickball, and baseball. The neighbors had weekly backyard BBQ's and bonfires. School was a piece of cake, life was a breeze...
When I turned twelve, I started in the middle school. I had my first boyfriend when I was thirteen. I was an eighth grader, and he was a freshman in highschool. I thought I was so lucky to have an “older man.” We were still dating when I started highschool. I was surprised to find that all these older kids already knew me. They knew my name, they knew who I was dating, and most of them actually liked me, which was nice. I already had a crowd to hang out with at just a freshie! We did everything together - we went to the movies, the mall, the lake near my house... we went to parties. I’m not proud of everything I did with them. I started drinking, smoking, shooting up, anything I could do to “have fun” with them, get that buzz that they all had that I apparently didn’t have without illegal substances. In the summer between my freshman and sophomore year, I got pregnant, right after I turned fifteen.
He, my boyfriend, wasn’t happy when I told him. I wasn’t happy to be either, but I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t tell my parents or any of my other friends. The only people who knew were my boyfriend and my brother. I didn’t know what was healthy for a pregnant teenager - I was too hooked to drugs to even think about prenatal care. I didn’t have a plan for this kid, I just... didn’t know what to do. I never really started showing, not that much. My parents had suspicions, but they didn’t want to think that their daughter was a drugged out, pregnant rebel.
My beautiful baby Heather was born on December thirty first, almost a whole year ago. I never went to the hospital. I was just going for a walk outside when I felt it - that sudden, burning urge to get whatever the fuck was in my uterus out. I called my brother, the only person I thought I could rely on. I managed to wander into one of the empty for-sale houses on my street. It was only a half an hour of agony, lying on a cold, concrete garage floor. My brother was there to hold her in her first few minutes of life... she only last ten minutes, wrapped in his sweatshirt. I didn’t even get to hold her while she was alive.
He took me to the hospital against my wishes. It took months to get me sober. I was so in denial by that time, that when I was finally free of drugs, I wouldn’t admit that my baby was dead. I kept saying that they were lying, that she was alive, I saw her alive, how could she have died? Aaron was the one who had to explain it to me. They had someone examine her while I was in rehab. She was addicted to the drugs I had been taking, a heroin baby. She was also two months early, and so tiny that it was a miracle she survived that long. If I had bucked up and taken responsibility, Heather would be almost a year old now. I just didn’t think of anyone but myself and I am the sole guilty party for her death. There is not a day I don’t wish I could have saved her.
Other Facts:
If you call me anything other than Becca, I'll kick you wherever it hurts, because Bandecca is a stupid name and I hate it.
Age/Grade: Becca was born on June 3rd, and is currently sixteen. She's a junior here at Somerset.
Activity/Sport: Becca joined Chorus in her freshman year, and then her brother forced her to be in drama with him.
Appearance: Ever since she was little, Becca was the tomboy. She ran around with the neighborhood kids and got into all the trouble they did. Her fiery red hair was always rumpled, and she was opposed to showers and baths. After she got to be around thirteen years old, however, things started to change. Mascara and eyeliner were smeared around her hazel green eyes, and lipstick was ever present on her lips. She began to treat hygiene with more importance, straightened her hair daily, and even slimmed down a bit.
Now a days, you'll catch Becca with yellow or neon colored eyeliner and heavy mascara. She wears pink lipstick and tries everything to make herself more appealing. she likes to photograph herself, which is why she takes such pride in her looks. Her clothing style is alternative, of course. She likes her tomboy style and feminine looks - so she often wears jeans, a cami, and a men's plaid shirt over top, with combat boots. She thinks it's the perfect outfit, especially with her hair down or pulled half back. Simple, easy, comfortable style.
Personality: Becca isn't a mean girl - but she's not an innocent little school girl, either. She'll give you a piece of her mind whenever she wants to. She studies, she pays attention, she gets good grades. But she also likes a good party. She won't be a "good girl" and she won't be a "bad girl." She's right in the middle of it. She likes to keep her record clean, because she wants to keep her brother out of trouble. But if someone messes with him, she'll pick up her old tomboy ways and go into protective-older-sister mode. So, be nice to Becca and she'll be nice to you. Get on her bad side, and we'll have a bit of a problem.
History: All my life I lived on the same street, in the same neighborhood. My brother and I had the same friends from before we were even born. I remember we would all practically trade houses - one day we'd play at my house, the other day we'd be at Derek's, the next would be Casey's, and so forth and so on. Things went well for years - no one fought, no one really had any problems. Everything in my world was perfect. Aaron and I played soccer, kickball, and baseball. The neighbors had weekly backyard BBQ's and bonfires. School was a piece of cake, life was a breeze...
When I turned twelve, I started in the middle school. I had my first boyfriend when I was thirteen. I was an eighth grader, and he was a freshman in highschool. I thought I was so lucky to have an “older man.” We were still dating when I started highschool. I was surprised to find that all these older kids already knew me. They knew my name, they knew who I was dating, and most of them actually liked me, which was nice. I already had a crowd to hang out with at just a freshie! We did everything together - we went to the movies, the mall, the lake near my house... we went to parties. I’m not proud of everything I did with them. I started drinking, smoking, shooting up, anything I could do to “have fun” with them, get that buzz that they all had that I apparently didn’t have without illegal substances. In the summer between my freshman and sophomore year, I got pregnant, right after I turned fifteen.
He, my boyfriend, wasn’t happy when I told him. I wasn’t happy to be either, but I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t tell my parents or any of my other friends. The only people who knew were my boyfriend and my brother. I didn’t know what was healthy for a pregnant teenager - I was too hooked to drugs to even think about prenatal care. I didn’t have a plan for this kid, I just... didn’t know what to do. I never really started showing, not that much. My parents had suspicions, but they didn’t want to think that their daughter was a drugged out, pregnant rebel.
My beautiful baby Heather was born on December thirty first, almost a whole year ago. I never went to the hospital. I was just going for a walk outside when I felt it - that sudden, burning urge to get whatever the fuck was in my uterus out. I called my brother, the only person I thought I could rely on. I managed to wander into one of the empty for-sale houses on my street. It was only a half an hour of agony, lying on a cold, concrete garage floor. My brother was there to hold her in her first few minutes of life... she only last ten minutes, wrapped in his sweatshirt. I didn’t even get to hold her while she was alive.
He took me to the hospital against my wishes. It took months to get me sober. I was so in denial by that time, that when I was finally free of drugs, I wouldn’t admit that my baby was dead. I kept saying that they were lying, that she was alive, I saw her alive, how could she have died? Aaron was the one who had to explain it to me. They had someone examine her while I was in rehab. She was addicted to the drugs I had been taking, a heroin baby. She was also two months early, and so tiny that it was a miracle she survived that long. If I had bucked up and taken responsibility, Heather would be almost a year old now. I just didn’t think of anyone but myself and I am the sole guilty party for her death. There is not a day I don’t wish I could have saved her.
Other Facts:
- Becca was sent to Somerset as a punishment.
- Heather is burried in a graveyard next to her great grandparents, in southern New York.
- Becca blames herself for Heather's death. She's totally clean now, and does not take drugs anymore.
- Becca still smokes and has an occasional drink.
- The man who got Becca pregnant is currently in jail. She writes him letters every once in a while, but they are broken up.
- Becca's twin is Aaron. They are never far apart.
- Becca wants to be a musician. You'll find her with headphones on all the time, her laptop showing some sort of music mixing program. It's just what she seeks solace in.
