So, I'm not exactly sure where I can even begin this post. It's been over six months since I've updated this damned thing and I'm not sure where I can begin. I left these nonexistent readers of mine with hope. I had made the dean's list my first semester of college; I was coming up on my one year anniversary with Brian, my love from Scotland. I had direction. Purpose. I was whole and fine.
Now.
Now. I've fallen off the wagon a million times over. Miraculously, I passed my classes with a C this past semester. I've been kicked out of my house numerous times, and yes, it is being kicked out when you're told to pack your shit and leave.
Things have changed; I've learned many, many things over the course of six months. The first thing has become a new rule of mine, something that I'm sure that you, the reader, will find shocking (especially when I consider the fact mostly family reads this).
I've learned not to give a fuck what anyone thinks.
That's right, re-read it. I simply do not care. If it doesn't affect me or my son, I couldn't give a flying rat ass about your opinion. I am an eighteen year old college student. Yes, I am a mother. Yes, I do have responsibilities. But when I have my shit taken care of, when everything is A-OK, please for the love of all things good and holy do NOT try to condemn me for the way I live or for my beliefs. Do not try to tell me I am wrong, do not try to tell me that you've "been there" because trust me, lady. You haven't been where I am at this moment, and more on that in a minute.
Actually.
No.
Let's discuss that one now. The situation I am in is a complicated one, and you know what? I'm gonna lay it out for you, whether you be a complete stranger stumbling across the internet, or a family member who subscribed to this long ago.
As a writer, there exists numerous voices and characters in my head. A few, six to be exact, are NOT characters. Are NOT my own "inner voice" and, though I've had a psychology major argue with me and constantly reassure me these voices are in my control, I doubt that. Maybe I've watched too much Supernatural. Maybe I've been writing horror for too long. Maybe I do believe in demons, possession and the things that condemn you to hell in the Bible Belt. But guess what, I do not
I've learned that I believe there is no God, not anymore. Maybe at one time he created us, set forth a master plan the world "should" follow. Then he ditched. That's why the world is in shambles, why we have free will, why I am the way I am. Sorry Mom. But thats the way it is. I've come to discover that I'm borderline athiest. After all the shit I've been through, why should I be expected to believe there is someone, something higher than us that dictates the way of the world? He must be one sick fuck if he lets this all go on--and for what use?
No, I'd rather believe that there is Fate, Destiny, something set forth for us of a master plan that works its intricate ways to test us, prove us wrong, prove us right, make us stronger. There is no Good God. There is no saving redemption. As many times as you may pray to save me, this is my belief. This is what is on paper, and what is singing in my soul. Go ahead. Begin the exorcisms. I'll laugh, and try to restrain the raging voices in my head. They get loud, they get persuasive, and I have blacked out before. But go ahead, piss me off and we'll see what the voices have to say about it.
You know, it's weird. Sometimes I think this is all one complicated story with an intricately designed character. She struggles with life, challenges it, takes it day by day and battles the contant nitpicking from her own mind. She believes herself to be a lost cause; she's broken and destroyed. Her soul is no longer hers; her mind is no longer her own. She is never alone as six voices dictate her life. Kevin is aggressive, homicidial, even, and slightly paranoid. He screams all day long. Timothy is quiet. Timid, but romantic. He's the Nicholas Sparks of the group, and keeps her romantic thoughts alive and well. He's in love with Annie, the shy, conservative girl who holds onto all hope and reason. She still wants to believe there is a God, someone to love her. Erica is bitchy, she doesn't care to tell you off whether you're her worst enemy, best friend, or superior. Take no shit attitude. Her and Kevin fight constantly. Then there's two other voices, yet to be identified...
I'm split. I'm torn. I'm barely managing to survive on a day to day basis without succumbing to the evernagging feeling that I need to be self-medicated. Drugged. Whatever. Booze, sex, and nicotine. That's what I tell myself I need. The alcohol is impossible; I'm almost 19, legal age is 21? Yeah no. Nicotine? I'm like a damn chainsmoker right about now. It's calming, soothing, and, personally, I think it shuts Kevin up for a little while.
You know.
I had been hiding these voices of mine for years, yet here I sit telling the entire internet about it. It's...refreshing, not to have this giant secret on my chest anymore. Even if no one else reads this. It's a beautiful feeling to not have to have this burden a secret.
Anyway. So Alcohol, negative. Nicotine? Done deal. Sex....
Good God.
I've long since broken up with Brian, and let me tell you. I feel like it's been a rollercoaster from there. Bri was the last guy I've honestly loved, despite how many suckers I've said those heavy words to this year. I'm torn between the need to have an honest loving relationship, and just needing the pure, rowdy, rough sex. I mean, lets be honest. There's something euphoric about...well. Second thought. Let's leave it there. We all know the great effects of sex. My point is, I've been a horrible, dirty person here lately. I've used boys for a place to sleep; I've had sex with guys who were currently involved with my friends. I've been a shitty person bar none, and maybe I'm getting my fair share of karma now that I'm like "oh shit, yeah no it would be good to be in love again." And maybe that's why the universe keeps throwing me this curveballs.
I want to be that girl that is stable enough that you want to know more about.
I want to be that girl that is mysterious enough that it takes more than a day to have completely figured out.
I want to be that girl that you could fall in love with.
That you could take home to mom and dad
That you could see yourself with a year from now.
Five years from now.
I want to be that girl that you could marry and spend your life with.
If, that is you can put up with my bullshit and my issues.
Because let me tell you, it took eighteen years for me to figure this shit out.
Maybe I'm doing everyone a favour by publishing this.
Maybe I'm doing the hard work for you.
You know.
I thought the other day, what would life be like if I wasn't this fucked up? If I was that little girl that still believed in a God, in a brighter future. The person that wanted to grow up and teach students because I liked helping, not because someone's gotta know the past mistakes to prepare for the future ones.
And then I think.
What if I am that girl?
What if I am such a hypochondriac, such an attention whore, such a pathelogical liar that I've even fooled myself into believing these delusions I cooked up in my head?
What if I am so fucking boring.... that I've fashioned a false reality to live in?
That's when I get scared.
That's when I worry.
That...that is when I go on my journey to discovery.
