The spoken word is not my forte. So I’ll write instead.
I’ll start out simple. I’m 16. But most of the time, I feel like I’m about 12. (Being mistaken for a 12-year-old didn’t help much, either….) Mentally, I’m not prepared for a lot of the things that are expected of me. I’ve always been “mature for my age” well, that’s a load of bull. Maybe I used to be, but then I caught up to my brain, and everything sort of went to pieces. This is stupid. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I can’t talk about it, and writing is only marginally easier.
My dad and I used to be very close. Used to be. Key words there….
We’d go out to breakfast, play card games, play catch; all sorts of things. Then things just sort of stopped. I think it’s my fault. (No, I’m not having a pity party for myself…)
Because I started not being able to do things right anymore. No matter what I did, it wasn’t right. Probably because of a few things I did. Oh, heck. Why not go all out. Three things. I’m a kleptomaniac, (especially when it comes to sweets), I’m a good liar, (comes from practice), and I love reading (probably too much). One year, we had Halloween candy, and I ate most of it. First mistake. Then I lied about it. Second mistake. I was grounded, had to write lines, and wasn’t allowed any sweets for….a long time. I forget how long. Oh, and I wasn’t allowed to read books. THAT was hard. One thing stuck in my head from all that. “You broke his trust. It’s like a pencil. You’re on one end, and Dad’s on the other. Once that pencil’s broken, it can be fixed, but it’ll never be quite the same.” (my mom)
That was one time. Another time was when I read Harry Potter. I’d not been allowed to read them, because they were “witches, wizards, spells, and just plain evil.”
This coming from someone who’d never read them.
I forgot to return the book, so it was overdue…and I got sent a notice….and I lied again. Said I’d not checked it out…then they searched my room (Again. I forgot to mention that they did that after the candy incident)….needless to say, there it was….Restricted. Again. No reading for a month and a half. Damn.
That was the usual punishment…no reading of books for fun. The past few times though, I just get books anyway. Who cares?
See? It IS my fault. Because I’m a liar. And I’m sneaky. No one likes sneaky people.
Oh. And I’m not respectful. “No yes sirs or no sirs….but my goodness, if someone from CAP or karate told you to do something, you’d be right there!”
Bullshit. You think I’m disrespectful and don’t listen to you, you should hear some of the things I say to OTHER people.
Besides. Calling someone by an honorific requires that you RESPECT that person. I used to. I used to do a lot of things.
Not anymore. Remember that paper? The one I’m supposed to put ‘heart’ into? Well, it’s rather hard to put something you don’t have into it…
That’s why I’m so uncomfortable around people. I watch, and gauge my reaction off of what they do. Usually. Because most of the time, I don’t know what to do….and if I do something, it feels like I’m being fake.
Although, sometimes, I do come up with an actual human emotion….usually after I’ve been ribbonizing my arms…but now I’m supposedly not doing that anymore.
Yeah right. That’s like taking crack away from the druggie, and not giving him something constructive to do instead. “Cold Turkey” doesn’t work.
And truly, the threat of having my parents suspect something’s wrong is enough to make me lie to anyone.
And the threat of actually telling them….oy vey. Not good at all.
And the funny thing is, 5 years ago, I had no idea that this sort of life even existed. I wore my heart on my sleeve, as the saying goes.
I was the nice little church girl….the goody-two-shoes who is hardly able to say “butt” without laughing and blushing.
Not anymore. I think the nice little church girl is no more….how sad.
I’ve spent most of my life pretending to be someone else….I used to make up the never-ending sagas in my head. I was always the heroine…I was always the strong, brave one…or the one with hidden talents. Something special. Something to set me apart. I don’t do too much of that anymore. Pretending to be myself takes too much energy.
I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’ve pretended so much that I don’t think I’m me…not that there ever was a me.
A mimic and a parrot. That all I am. Tell me something, and I’ll respond as I’ve seen others do. Sometimes, I come up with something on my own, but I wonder how much of that is real?
I wonder if this is even real…..or is it something ELSE I’ve read or pretended?
I don’t know why I cut, or why I act so foolishly…I don’t know if it’s something I’m coping, or something actually mine.
I’m a pretender. For some reason, that’s all I know how to do now. (Or perhaps I’ve just fooled myself into thinking that…..but that’s a conundrum. I hate those.)
So, If I just pretend all this away, pretend that I never said any of this, will it make things right again? Since I’m so good at pretending?
Is this really what you want? This is my brain. My ‘heart’. Jumbled, ugly, strange. Unpolished and un-edited. And if this is the real me, then I think I’m a little off my nut. But, since I’m a pretender, we can’t be sure now, can we?
Yet another conundrum. My, I’m just full of them tonight, am I not?
Fake. I’m a fake, this is fake, and I honestly doubt I will ever work up enough courage to let anyone read this. So it really doesn’t matter, does it? I’ll just keep stumbling through my
oddball feelings and hope for the best.
Lost and confused, a mime caught behind a glass.
Can’t see where she’s been, can’t see where she’s going.
Such a shame.
To be so
Lost and confused, trapped like a bug under a glass
Having tried to explain myself, I shall now go do my drug again. You’ll never see this, so it won’t matter. You honestly think I’d stop so fast? You’re off your rocker!
I’ll stop now, before I confusticate myself further.
My chest hurts. That’s never a good thing. It’s that hole where I used to keep a heart. It aches sometimes.
I hate lying to you. I hate lying to my friends. What’s that?
It’s from climbing a tree.
Riiight (suspicious eyes)
What’m I supposed to do?
There isn’t anything, except the thing that caused all this in the first place. And that just makes it worse.
I thought this might help. It didn’t. It made it worse. I can’t show this to anyone, and I can’t explain this by speaking.
So I’ll explain it the only way I can.