The Girl with Antlers

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

The thoughts of an 18 year old trying to deal with growing up, mistakes from my past, and fears of what's to come.

Chapter 1 (v.1) - The Girl with Antlers

Submitted: April 20, 2013

Reads: 203

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Submitted: April 20, 2013




Time: 1:37 am.
Rule 1: When you start to ramble, your mind is struggling to keep up. Simply take a breath. Collect yourself. Visualize your goal. Identify the next step. Attempt that step.
I'm just going to write. If people read this and like it, thank god. If not, then I've completed one step and one goal. That's all any of us can do at any one point in time is attempt to achieve our goals. I've been thinking about my past a lot. How much I've fucked up. I wish I was a little girl again. I wish I was someone I looked up to when I was 8.
What if everything had just ended the way it was supposed to in 8th grade. What if I hadn't listened to everyone and my problem just kept progressing until I did die. Well, I guess I'd just be dead. Ha. Why do I want to die? Well that's a good question. A better question is why do you want to live? To see the world? To find love? To achieve something you thought you never could? Chances are none of us will do that. 25% of you reading this won't be alive in 10 years. The other 75% will wish you weren't. Why do we crave this world that is steadily getting worse every day? Everyday there's more drugs and violence than ever before. More people dying every day until one day a scared politician just presses the button and we're all gone.
Let me introduce myself. I'm Izy. I have a few nicknames. Izzy, Punka, Punk, Nixy, Pumpkin. And bitch. I'm 18 years old and I live in Chicago. I trust no one. I live with my mother, Stacy, and my aunt Kitty. I have two younger siblings, Michelle, who's about to be 11, and another Dana, who I believe is turning 6. Dana doesn't live in Chicago with me, she lives with our dad in Arkansas. I haven't seen my dad in 2 years I think. Or is it 1 1/2? A long time. We're a normal family. I'm the outcast as every family has. I'm the artist in a family of geniuses. My aunt is like a president of an environmental consulting company. I don't suppose I can name them. My mom is currently unemployed but she's going to school for I believe surgical technology (it changes a lot). She also got a 99 on her ASVAB. My a modern marvel. She spends all day researching topics like sharks and how to invent certain things. She disassembled my laptop at one point and helped my reassemble it. Keep in mind she's 10. She also was able to multiply at the age of 3 and is currently attending a gifted school that 1,000 children applied to go to and there was only 5 separate spots for. She managed to snag one and keeps up very well.
Coming from such an amazing family you must be thinking, 'well, if you're an artist you must be very good at what you do! You must have taken many art classes in high school and excelled just like your family.' Of course you realize by now, that is not the case. I actually spent my first two years of high school fucking around as many of do, barely passing from grade to grade. We moved to Chicago my junior year. I was so angry to be here that I really didn't focus, latching onto any friends I could have. If any of you have ever been to Chicago, you realize you NEED to be a little more choosey of friends. I dropped out when I was 17. I got enrolled in online classes and graduated a year early when I was 17. Maybe I did get some of my mother's brains.
Other than that, I've been on my ass. Waiting for something to happen. I know I need to get up and make it happen, but I'm too terrified of where I live to even try to make something of myself out there. I live down the street from a park that's known for gang activity. My little dugout behind my apartment building has gang tags in it, which mean they hopped our fence to tag our building. It's right outside of my backdoor. If I hear voices, even my neighbors, I get paranoid, dead bolt the front door, grab a kitchen knife and try to talk myself down. By now you must be thinking I'm completely insane. Positively paranoid. Maybe. But let's list some facts. People in my apartment building have gotten robbed, meaning their doors kicked in, a few times since we've lived here. They are never home. You know what dropouts do? They are ALWAYS home. You know what gang bangers don't give a shit about? Killing the dropouts that are always home.
Rule #2: restoring your faith in humanity is impossible. No matter how many good people there are in the world, there's 10x more bad people waiting to fuck you over. Believe there is good in people, expect there to only be bad.
My one claim to intelligence though is my theories. I have many theories. Like Evolution or Creationism. Why couldn't God have created the planet and had us evolve. The bible is just a book of stories that aide us in how to live our lives. Not a book of direct ways we must live. Otherwise it'd be slightly ironic to sing the national anthem with God's name all through it at football games. Because touching the hyde of a dead pig is a sin? Or my dot theory. My thought that the brain is it's own organism and everything we have is just a casing to protect it. Like a mollusk. Our bones, skin, organ are all just a shell to protect our brains.
I have a few more things to explain. For now...I need rest. Good night book. I hope this turns into something special.
Time: 3:21 am.
Time: 7:24pm Saturday the 13th. Yes write this under the time.
God I actually remembered to write this. I can't write what I want. What would my mom think. Watching adventure time. I need to get some Tyler the Creator. Shit. I can't breathe. U You can't breathe. Inhale. Inhale retard! There ya go. You're breathing sweetie. Ut's beautiful isn't it? I miss my mom. I can't breathe again. Wait was I talking in 3rd person? That'd be if I kept saying Izy breathe. You is 2nd. I'm not watching adventure time. Wtf? Regular show dummy. That's 2nd again. Oh god am I gonna puke? Sweethear are you --
Time ended: Unknown
Time 4:01am
Date: 4/14/13
Getting too tired to write. Uneventful day anyway. Came home. Cleaned. Drew a picture. Talking to a boy right now. Goodnight til marrow.
Time: 1:02 am. 
Date: 04/20/13
Two sink holes in Illinois. Two bombs went off in Boston. They believe over 7 were found. I think around 10 were supposed to go off. Chicago floods. Fertilizer plant exploded.  3 people killed in Boston bombing. Over 100 injured. Man peoples limbs were blown off. President Obama calls the act an 'act of terrorism'. Police come up with suspects. Suspects are found in a car with bombs. The first suspect is killed (gun down), younger suspect drives over dead brother (suspect 1) in an attempt to get away. Boston is basically shut down. Suspect 2 is found in a covered boat, in a man's backyard. I don't think a bomb was found on him. He was a year older than me.
This is not a few months of events. This it not even a few weeks of events. This is one week. One fucking week. I'm beginning to fear the worst. I'm beginning to suspect it is the end. There is snow in April. 
This is the world we live in now. This is the world we have created. When I went to the bathroom as a kid, in the middle of the night, house pitch black. I would live in terror that the moment I'd open the door, Chucky, the serial killer doll, would be standing on the other side, murderous knife glistening against some imaginary light. I'd muster all of my courage, open the door, ready to attack him with my sidekick Spot, the handmade doll (ironic that I planned to fight a murderous doll with another doll). Of course once I opened the door and scrambled to the light switch, there was no doll. Simply a shadow of Spot. I'd get back in bed, phone next to me, swearing I'd figure out the Powerpuff Girls number and they'd aid me in any fight I had with Chucky, watching music videos until I fell asleep.
Fast forward 10 years.
I go to the bathroom as an 18 year old. House is not pitch black, fish tank gives off a little of light. Cats are running around the house. I look at myself in the mirror. Take a quick note of how many acne scars I've accumulated through the years. 6 now. I pick at my nail polish, vowing to stop biting my nails. I hear a creak from behind the door. Too loud to be a cat. I'm too old to believe in Chucky. Spot got thrown away when I was 11 by my dad. She can't help me anymore. Panic sets in. Logic tells me to think. It must be a cat, maybe even my mom trying to get a midnight snack. Panic tells me someone's broken in. Panic wins. My bravery as a child has all completely faded. No person has survived from being brave, but I can't stay in the bathroom forever. I go over every possible person that could be on the other side. A scared punk ass who just wants to break in and rob people. Easily scared off if you show that you're in command. A hardened criminal. Perhaps if caught off guard could be subdued if hit with a metal device. I grab the metal thing we keep to hang hand towels on, on the counter. The bottom's pretty heavy. Could defiantly fuck someone's world up. I stayed in place. Fear too overwhelming. Then I thought of the worst human. The most terrifying human that I would never hesitate to swing this heavy thing at their head. Keep swinging until I hear a clink on the tile. That way I'd know I'd actually hit them enough times to cut through their head, having the metal connect all the way through to the floor. This human is the one who sees the bathroom door shut, but opens it to keep everyone together. Visions of someone with a bandana covering their face, gun pointed in mine bursting in. I decide I will not be a victim. I will kill who's on the other side. I open the door. It was my sister. My heart is racing. She asks why I'm hold the towel rack. I lie, saying I need to clean it. I give her a hard time about being in my business, she laughs walking to the bathroom. Hopefully next time she won't ask why I have the towel rack. She doesn't need to know about my paranoid fears, for now, it's best for her to be afraid of fictional monsters.
She'll have the rest of her life to be afraid of the real ones.
I saw a movie called Megan is Missing. I can't even type what it's about because it disturbs me too much. Google it if you're brave. *Warning* I did a report on serial killers for a project, have watched many documentaries about them, and spent countless hours googling images, newspaper reports, books, and many other things telling the haunting stories. I am not weak when it comes to movies. I watch them, eyes glued to the screen fascinated, excited, entranced. I am not a weak girl. This movie made me unable to look. Squeamish almost.
When I was growing up, I often wondered if I was paranoid. Not in the sense of feeling like something that was up that wasn't. In the sense that I always was afraid of something. Terrified my parents couldn't protect me. How would I be one of those 'survives' on the news. Easy. I decided not to be. I tried to stay barricaded in my house. Or close with family. I can't really remember not being near them. The farthest being a house away, with other family. Only when I went to friends houses was I really 'far'. Which I believe means they did their job. None of you have ever seen me for being kidnapped have you? The answer to this question is no. Ha.
Rule 3: You must always remember to laugh. If you don't, you are dead.
Why did I tell you this long story about my bathroom habits of when I was 8 and 18? To make you uncomfortable of course! No. To show an example. When we are young, we fear fictional things that could never hurt us. Not because we are so easily scared by something as implausible as a serial killer's soul transferring to a child doll, going around murdering people; Because we are so incapable of believing an adult, people we see as authority, protectors, could hurt us. People who are like our parents, our parents friends. How could they ever hurt us, kill us, or even each other.
Through growing up we realize that all those monsters we were afraid of as kids, couldn't do this. It's down right impossible. Almost laughable. That's why we enjoy horror movies as much as we do. Especially things that could never happen. It's simply entertaining. What makes movies absolutely terrifying, is not how loud and suddenly they can play music to make us jump. It's when something COULD happen. What's even scarier...
When it already has.
I believe I'm going through the change, from teenager to young adult.
Where I'm catching a glimpse of the real world.
The evilness.
The anger.
People should be glad I don't run the world. There wouldn't be any people left.  We are over socially. My mind has rambled. 420 discussion on FB.
I'll write more tomorrow at Amanda's.
Rule 4: The monsters aren't under our beds, they're inside our hearts. Most people keep them locked out. But the people who embrass their monsters, run the world.
Happy 4/20 world.
Time: 2:13 am.

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