I'm sitting here, writing this for a class assignment in English 2102. I didn't really WANT to do this, but, as they say, I like getting good grades on things. Of course, this could be a "catharsis." My therapists keep saying that I need one. Like, a purging of my inmost self by opening fresh wounds to public inspection. Yeah...right. What a joke. I mean, haven't you ever noticed that when you look back over your life, one way or another there's this...golden haze over everything? It's like some fairy queen came in and went nuts with a vat of butterscotch, dripping it everywhere until it's nearly impossible to dredge up any BAD memories. Usually. Of course, there's an exception to every rule. And I do so loooove being an exception.

My name, as you already know, is Hannah. What you don't know is that my last name is not Kincaid. It's Kirkland. Gah...now I'm giving myself away. What the hell, I might as well tell the whole stupid thing. My full name is Hannah Rosalee Kirkland and I was born on April 4, 1980 in Springfield, Massachusetts. My parents, George and Anne Kirkland, were both active duty servicemen in the USAF. They had been married the previous December in Hartford, CT. (Yes, don't gasp...I was conceived in SIN!! heh...) I was a colicky baby, or so I've been told, and routinely drove my parents bonkers with my wails. An admirable trait, don't you think? When I was four months old, we moved to Dyess AFB in Abilene, TX. I don't remember much about Texas except for dust, a playground slide, the vague impression of cold, and my big, black German Shepherd whose name was Charcoal. I've never forgotten her, though the images fade a bit at a time.

When I was five, my dad got orders to Hickam AFB in Honolulu, Hawaii. My mom had, by this time, retired from the military so she could better take care of me and my new little brother, Edward. Hawaii, it seemed to me, was an adventure! I'd never been in a place of such color, warmth, or life. The cool, blue water of the oceans contrasted with the absolute green of the foliage in the forests. Fresh water bubbled up from the ground, joining with the rain that daily fell on the green rainforest, streaming down the mountainsides in creeks, rivers, and waterfalls. The people accepted the little haole child dropped suddenly in their midst, embracing me into a culture rich with symbolism and legend. In school, I learned the Hawaiian language and history, while at home I was taught of WWII and the price my ancestors paid to keep the world free. To this day, I consider myself a transplanted Hawaiian, for in truth, I was happiest when I was in the Islands.

The August after I turned nine, my father was transferred to to work at an air force base in North Louisiana. I absolutely HATED moving to Louisiana. The place was too hot, too cold, and too scary for me. There were bigots, too. I was ostrasized because I hadn't ever been taught that a white girl like me shouldn't socialize with black girls and boys. This rather confused me because I had never considered that my fair skin made me different from those with dark skin or that dark skin was a bad thing. With my oh, so signature stubbornness, I told the little brats that they were full of crap. Needless to say, this did NOT endear me to the sweet little dears.

Just before we moved to Louisiana, I got a second little brother, Raymond. It was at about this time that I realized something about my father -- he would choose one child to shower his affection on, leaving the others alone in the cold. In this case, it was Raymond, while I got the cold shoulder. No more hugs for Hannah. No more daddy-daughter trips. No more talks. Silence. For a young girl just entering puberty, this was a severe blow to my self-esteem. At school, the taunts had already begun. Nigger-lover, snob, fatso, lard-bucket, fat mama, big mama -- they were all the same. All were cruel and cut me deeply. I didn't know how to deal with it. To this day, no matter how thin I am, I see a fat, cubby bowl of lard. Some days it's a struggle to eat at all for fear of getting bigger. At around this time, as well, that my Judeo-Christian beliefs began to clash with what I was being taught in school. Of course, being the stubborn bitch that I am, berating me or calling me stupid in front of the class only served to make me cling to my beliefs even more.

I never showed them my tears. Never. Tears were mine alone, and I would have died before I let anyone get that close to me. I had unconciously begun to dress down, stopped washing my long, golden-brown hair, and become extremely introverted. My parents didn't notice and if any teachers did, they kept it to themselves. Mom and Dad had started fighting and I was not getting along with my dad at ALL My inner anger at his treatment of me and a persistant inner voice that kept telling me there was something bad about him caused me to resist anything and everything that dad told me. It was not until years later that I realized I had been experiencing the symptoms of depression. It wasn't until then I realized the truth of that little voice inside.

Did I mention that I'm musical? No, I suppose not. Well, I played the violin for three years, and when that became too expensive, I turned to the one utterly natural talent I had -- singing. It was also a great way to piss off my dad, who HATED anyone singing around the house. His annoyance made it just too tempting for lil 'ol me. Early on, people said I had talent beyond my years, and when I was 13, I started going to a voice coach. My first coach didn't know jack shit. She told me, all 5'0" of me, that I was an alto and tried to help me find my "style" of singing, which basically meant that if I sang the way she did, I was right. Just like everyone else in my life, she just had to put me in a box. I was 15 before I found a good voice coach, one that came highly recommended. His name was John Brownlee and he was the first gay person I ever met.

No matter what anyone else tells me, I will always remember John as one of the most loving men I ever met. No matter how bad things got at home, and they got pretty bad for a good three years, I knew I could go to John and just forget, losing myself in the music I sang. He taught me Italian, German, and quite a bit of French, and I learned I was a Soprano, not an alto as the other woman had said. He never judged me, never criticized. John encouraged me to follow my dreams of singing opera, though I wasn't sure about it. And when things go so bad at home that I started thinking of suicide, John would let me stay at his place for a while. He became the father I needed, the one I didn't get.

I was 17 when John died, victim of a massive coronary. A lot of people hadn't known he was gay, and the things they said about him... God, I hated them. I mourned John for months, slipping deeper and deeper into depression. I felt like I had been thrown into the ocean with no life jacket, abandoned to flounder in a sea of darkness. I began to lose weight, which my parents thought was wonderful, but was really a sign of my growing anorexia. I still don't understand how no one could notice that I went from over 200lbs to barely 100lbs in three months. The summer before my senior year I began to fantasize about suicide. I would sit in my room, holding my dad's gun and staring at it for hours at a time, trying to get up the courage to pull the trigger. My grades dropped as I lost interest in school, even in singing. I had no friends, so afraid was I of their rejection. After all, if my own father couldn't love me, how could anyone else?

But I didn't die. Instead, I found a love that "chases me through broken glass." I met Jesus Christ on September 28, 1997, and I have never been the same, no matter how far I've wandered. God spoke to me like an echo in the darkness and filled my heart with light. He delivered me from depression and for the next year and a half, I was what you call a "Jesus Freak," telling everyone I knew my story. When I went to LSU for college, I made friends with a group called Chi Alpha Christian Fellowship. For the first time in my life, I had friends and a social life. Mind you, I didn't ever tell anyone about my family or my anorexia, but I had my life under control and I was finally trusting people enough to let them get somewhat close to me. Unfortunately, I had to return home the following summer due to lack of money.

It wasn't until I went home that I realized just how emotionally and verbally abusive my father was. He would constantly criticize me, had to try to control my money, withheld priveledges from me for the slightest infraction. I was 19 by this time, and more and more I rebelled. He became "religious" and I became a little heathen who got drunk at constant parties. But I never slept around. Hell, my parents wouldn't even let me take sex ed. in High School. I wouldn't have known what to DO, let alone how to protect myself. Besides, I was terribly shy around boys. I still am.

My mom finally got sick of my dad and kicked him out in July. He went fucking nuts. I found out, thanks to him, that he'd been addicted to pornography since before I was born. Including child pornography. And who was the subject of his unholy fascination? Me. That I could not handle. I moved back to Baton Rouge and prepared to go back to college. But dad wouldn't leave me alone. How do you go to the police and tell them that your FATHER is stalking you? I got a restraining order. It didn't work. He went from being annoying to being downright frightening. I couldn't handle it. In October, I bought a German Shepherd puppy and moved to Kenner with a friend. I dropped out of college, but in August I transferred my credits from LSU to the Georgia Tech University, Atlanta, and changed my name legally. I got a new liscense and went into hiding, hoping he will NEVER find me. Please, God, don't let him find me.

There's a song by a group I love that's called "Keep the Candle Burning." The chorus goes like this: "When you're walking in the dead of night When your soul is churning When your hope seems out of sight, Keep the candle burning. All it takes is one steady heart In a world that's turning. Shine a light and pierce the dark. Keep the candle burning Keep the candle burning."

I've kept the candle burning as long as I can. I can't hear God anymore, and I...I'm not even sure He's really there. The Flame is sputtering, and I don't want to be left alone in the dark...

My God, look at what I'm doing? Writing all this like an idiot. No, no...this won't do..

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A few weeks after moving to Atlanta, Hannah had a rather nasty break-up with her then-boyfriend Preston. Her friends talked her into going clubbing in an effort to cheer her up, but she backed out at the last moment. It was just outside the club that she met a very charming Englishman, Falstaff Ledingham. She, of course, had no idea that he was Garou. She just knew that he was incredibly nice and charming, and actually talked her into going to dinner with him.

It could have ended rather badly, especially since she and Preston constantly fought about what she ate and what she didn't. Her Anorexia was in full swing at the time, but Falstaff managed to coax her into eating a few bites. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. She, of course, had no idea that Falstaff knew exactly what she was, and was planning on "expanding" the relationship.

The two began dating, and over the ensuing months, grew closer. Hannah's heritage came to call, however, when the kinfolk of the area met at her employer's, and she was invited. What she learned there horrified her. Her feelings only intensified when the kin defended her father's actions towards her, saying that with Gaia being "raped" that it was only natural that her father would be so disturbed.

She left, not wanting to hear anymore. That night she called Fal, pouring out the story over the phone, in tears. It was the perfect opportunity for Fal, really, and he came over straight away. He told her what he was, but that he wasn't like the "Gaians" and that he didn't agree with their philosophy. Amazingly, she believed him and even accepted what he said. Then again, he'd never treated her as anything other than a precious, beautiful person. He seemed to love her, and she couldn't turn away from that.

When Fal disappeared again, she nearly fell apart. She tried to go on with her life, but it wasn't working very well. Her relations with the local Garou and kin did not get any better. In fact, they seemed to get worse. In the end, the only people she would speak to were the kin Vivienne and her mate, Lifeline. She persevered, however, continuing in her schooling and working. At one point she was forced to give her dog away, realizing that she did not have the funds or ability to care for him with her life so busy.

Fal didn’t come back this time. She kept hoping he would, but it just never happened. She finally began to move on, her schooling almost finished… she graduated in May of 2002 and was admitted into Medical School in Charleston, SC. She doesn’t know anything about the area, doesn’t really care. She’s still going through a semi-chronic depression over her loss of Fal coupled with all the horrors of her childhood. What she is hoping for, this time, is that she won’t run into anyone who’ll just…know what she is. She doesn’t understand how they do it. It’s not like she yells like a banshee “hey, look at me! I’m kin!” But…they always seem to know. This time, she hopes they won’t.