My Stepmother Liked to Race Trains

Raised By Wolves (I Wish)

I had a stepmother who liked to race trains. We would be at the caboose of the train and she would floor it. Her ’72 Roadrunner would thunder down the road while the four of us kids, unstrapped, screaming would bounce and bop in the back yelling, “Go Mel, go Mel!” At 8 I had enough sense to realize if she didn’t make it, neither would we. The adrenaline pumping through my veins was a precursor for all the drugs that would follow later in life, trying to reach the same high. She would pick off one train car at a time. Each second, each meter closing in on our destination- the turn off, a mile beyond. With the train engine approaching, Mel’s eyes would narrow with complete commitment- there was no turning back. I swear I would hold my breath for the last minutes of this game, not knowing…

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About Kelli K.

The purpose for staring this blog is threefold, one, to push my personal limits a bit and share my story with others, two, hopefully in doing so, to get a clearer understanding of myself and three, to inspire the youth with similar stories to keep going. My story is weird. I’ve seen the response on people’s faces my entire life. I am fairly guarded on what and how I share with people but I have decided I’m too old give a fuck anymore. As I’ve said, my story is weird, but only parts. Many parts are very normal. Hopefully this blog will allow me to introduce myself in a way that reflects my many angles (and curves) and refuses to let you walk away and peg me as, “the girl who did this” or “the girl who did that”.
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