Confessions:
The Truth of a Good Kid
This year has brought so many differences to my life, I can’t even imagine how I’ll ever begin to show how grateful I am of everyone, but those aren’t the only things that I want to talk about. In this essay I want to tell you all about the darker side of me. The side most people don’t think lives inside of me; the side that I never wanted anyone to know about because I didn’t want to let anyone in; anyone to help me. My constant worries, fear of the future, uncomfortable-ness with the present, and the unwanted remembrance of some of the past. The things that have pulled me from those lonely nights, lit that spark of hope will have there time. And yet, this paper will just be about me; as personal as it ever can be, maybe so personal I will want to puke before I place it into your 4th period bin . . . This is when I take a deep breath and plunge into my soul.
Should I start when I almost died when I was born, rushed to Children’s to save my life, or when I broke my femur in such an illogical place that the doctors thought my mother and father were possibly abusing me, or when all I wanted to do was be part of the older kids, but I never could keep up? That’s not bad things, though, that’s events in someone’s life that will help to build character. Maybe when I was eight or so and my parents so nicely put the worry of living on the streets in my head because they couldn’t pay the rent. I was eight, all I should have to care about is getting the latest Malibu Barbie and wondering what kind of game of pretend my friends and I were going to play next at recess. They weren’t really my friends, though, well, one girl was, only because she was just as weird and cast-away as me. We weren’t pretty 3rd graders, didn’t spend the night at the popular kids houses, and didn’t have 5th grade friends. I’m glad I had her to get through elementary school. Sometimes the hardest part of fitting in for me was always being a year younger, but wiser than my peers. We had to move across town in 5th grade and I had to be ripped away from the roots that had finally settled. I went to Olympic View and no one knew me; no one bothered to give me a chance. “She’s fat and ugly, who cares what we say or do to her.” That’s when I met Anjulie. A rockin’ girl just as crazy as me and didn’t care what I looked like, but as we grew older, she had what I didn’t; the ability to be pretty and popular. Then I met Kristina, a girl who used me because I didn’t want to be alone; I wanted friendship, so I’d do anything she wanted me to do. In a way, I think she saw me as a friend, but she didn’t have me on such a pedestal as I did for her. She wasn’t a good kid, though. Part of the things I look for when I find friends, is someone interesting, someone so interesting that there is enough to make up for me (because I suck at being interesting). She came with stories of extreme underage smoking, stealing, and drinking. I always find those people. I need to fix that.
When I was twelve, my parent’s fake relationship finally snapped, well, my father did. He was tired of putting up with it. I just started the 7th grade and I was in an advanced math class. You had to keep your grade about a C or you got removed and put back in the regular class. I couldn’t handle it, either. Required visits with my dad every Tuesday and Thursday, his constant trash talk of my mom: I started to break, too. They couldn’t keep their dramatic break-up to themselves and screwed a big part of my future up. Oh well, though, what was I going to do, pretend like their break-up wasn’t effecting me? At least I had a teacher willing to help me stand strong when no one stuck around. 8th Grade sucked a whole lot, also, because, in October, just after the grade started, my mom, my sister Sable, and I moved to Connecticut to be with my oldest sister and to try and give Sable a new start; away from all the drugs she buried herself in. It didn’t work, for either of us, and that’s when, I think, the long history of depression in my family surfaced in my life. I didn’t want to, but all I could think about was what was going to happen to us, the three of us, we had no money, and we are constantly being kicked out of some where to live; constantly running into a future that seemed dark, cold, and filled with sadness. We moved back just in time, before it was too late for all of us.
When I was a freshman, I was so scared of Mrs. Casey. She was my English teacher, and our first year of high school, but then I later learned that she was a savior. She understood that the thoughts of hurting myself were in my head, even without me having to tell her. She listened and let me feel better. We learned to love each other over time. 10th Grade rolled around and over the summer I had managed to stay afloat in this confusing world, with the hope that someone out there understood how I felt. It felt like she changed, she still cared, but she showed it less. Toward the end of 10th grade, I started going downhill. I started cutting, that stereotypical thing that almost all teenage girls do at one point or another. It’s strange; I remember being in 7th grade watching my sister hurt herself the same way, telling my mom, trying to save her, promising myself that I’d never do that and now I look down and see the scars. In one year, I had picked up a cutting habit, become a hermit, built an alternate persona on the internet that was far cooler that I really was, and sunk farther into a sort of depression. It was my way of punishing myself and just to feel like I was alive; I wasn’t empty inside. The summer after 10th grade and before 11th grade, I asked my mom if I could have a friend (via the internet) from California come up and stay with us for two weeks. Quite frankly, I thought I was in love with her. I later found out that it was only her personality I liked. She is an amazing girl, don’t get me wrong, but when it came down to it, the feeling just wasn’t really there. She ended up asking me out, but I had grown apart from her, and now she hates me. Before I understood what she was feeling, she was angry and called me a b***h, so I got angry and said some rude things, too. After a while, I missed her friendship. I wanted her back in my life. It made me turn my back on my friends, the sun in my life; made me question if they really liked me; if they were really friends with me. In a fit of rage and sadness, I wrote this to an online confessional:
“I want to rewind time. I hate how this has all come down to this. I hate myself. Before, you were hurting and I didn't know. And things were fine in my world. I was oblivious to what I've unknowingly caused. And then I found out, and I was angry for you trying to make me hurt, even though I had no idea you had been hurting so much. Now, I hurt. All the time. I constantly wonder if you'll ever talk to me again, what I'd say to try and make you feel better, to try and not make you hate me. Because of this, I don't trust those who brought the sunshine into my life. I can't ever keep the good things, good; can I? I'm constantly paranoid they don't like me anymore, and they are just keeping me around out of pity. I want to die again. I want to hurt myself again. I want to make others feel the pain I'm feeling. I want others to suffer because I'm suffering. I'm a monster. I don't deserve to live. I'm such a monster. The rain has stopped my parade. The rain has drowned my world. The rain is my tears. I'm a monster.”
I got over it, not fully, but I don’t want to hurt myself anymore, I don’t want to die, the people I love and consider my family is always there to support me. Through my toughest of times. I’m glad I have them, I’d be lost.
Erika, a girl at the Boys and Girls Club, I’ve written about her before, saying she’s my best friend, but after all this time, I’ve come to realize it’s so hard to be her friend. She has the ‘my way or not at all’ attitude about everything and she wants everything, but hardly gives in return. There is something about her, though, something that makes me put up with all the crap she dishes out. Then there is Dillan. You know him, Mrs. O’Connell or do you? He is so generous, but only at times. Yes, he gave me his old iPod, after he won one. He procrastinates so much; it makes me angry and is always expecting help. I love him dearly, he’s become like a brother, but sometimes I just can’t stand him.
After all this time, I have to thank a select group to thank. They have gotten me to where I am today. Ms. Norrie and Ms. Nikki: they give me faith that some where out there their not only is my soul mate and my best friend, but that they can be the same person. They give me faith in God, that some one is watching over us. They showed me that it’s okay to cry and to talk about how you feel and life’s toughest lessons come in unsuspecting places.. Desiree: she has shown me that even some one I never in person can light a candle of hope in the darkest of places. And Mrs. Casey: she has just always been there for me, forgiven me when I’ve messed up and pulled me up from rock-bottom.
This is it. This is my deepest thoughts, the things that could easily make me cry just thinking about them. The things I never wanted anyone to know. Don’t be sad, don’t try and get me help, I’ve got plenty of people to lean on when I need it. All you have to do is read this paper. Since you made it this far, I imagine you did. Thank you. All you have to do is listen. That’s all anyone really wants. . .
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