your hands roaming around my body.
your lips against my neck.
your warm breath against my shoulder.
your tongue dancing, experimenting, massaging mine.
your body pressed against mine.
my body pressed against a wall.
i want to feel.
My life isn’t interesting. I haven’t lived many years or learned many lessons. I’m eighteen and have a tendency to want to write at five in the morning.
It’s five in the morning and I’m back to my peculiar sleeping schedule. It’s not so strange to those I talk to online.. Okay, even those I talk to online find it to be a bit odd and obviously those who I know in real life find it to be insane. I don’t have insomnia and I do have depression but that doesn’t really matter. At night, when the moon is out, you hear the faint sounds of cars driving by and sounds of the night. I hear silence. I hear my television shows in the background, barely above being muted. I hear my mom snoring. Sometimes I swear I hear my heart beating in my ears. When the sun is shining, life is so busy and you have to actually face ‘the real world’ that you were taught to fear as you grew up. Pay bills, go to work, have kids, get married. No. No that isn’t.. That’s what we were taught to fear but God, all I wanted to do as a kid was be a big kid. To be able to do the things the older kids did. Did I understand what the older kids did when I was five? No I did not but I wanted to do the things they were allowed to do. If I had known it meant no more nap time, homework for every subject in school, and dealing with problems.. I wouldn’t of wanted to grow up.
The funny and sad part of it all, I kind of had to grow up pretty quickly as a kid. My family stopped being a family when I was nine. We were living in a house that I had considered a home. The home turned into a war zone which turned into a distant memory. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t remember the fun times I had in that house or when we moved to that house. I finally had my own pool and a hot tub, and a slide that went into the pool. The largest backyard ever. A place for the dogs, fruit trees, a koi pond, and even a pool house. I finally was able to have sleepovers at my house and go to sleepovers, even if I called my mom crying to come pick me up. I biked to my friend’s houses and ran around the cul-de-sac. The good times don’t outweigh the yelling, the crying, and the fight that ended with someone being called a cunt. Hands over my ears like it would protect me from the screaming, words that eventually ended up with me blaming myself that I was the reason my grandmother passed away. My family isn’t a family anymore even though we all like to pretend.
Now I’m a big kid and I’m considered an adult. Lately I’ve been kind of going insane with wanting tattoos and falling in love with words that can’t be translated into English. All of it sounds a bit silly but I’ve turned eighteen. I don’t think it really matters.. I would’ve fallen in love with the words at any age, well, when I was able to fully understand them. The tattoo part? I’m eighteen, my body is a white wall and I feel like decorating it finally. I find it hard to understand why tattoos are still such a taboo thing in the workplace. Where these people feel the need to group everyone together and automatically assume if you have tattoos that are showing, you’re unprofessional and not worthy of a job. I think even my mother would judge me for the placement of tattoos. She’s told me since I was thirteen that I shouldn’t get them in areas that I wouldn’t be able to hide on a daily basis. Arms, mainly, I suppose.
Being a ‘big kid’ or an adult, that’s no longer what I wish to be. That five year old who wanted to grow up has vanished and I just want to go back to those times. Running around a playground with my friends and not having to worry about turning in homework the next day. Wearing clothes that didn’t match and no one judged you for it. It kind of all changed when I entered middle school. A Christian private school at that. The kind of school where kids have been going since kindergarten and have known one another their whole lives, basically. So you add a tall, fat, new girl into the mix? Doesn’t go over well.
I made friends, don’t get me wrong. Well.. I made friends with this small group and not with all of them. There were six in the group and I think I really only befriend three of them. We were considered the outsiders and I like to call the other group of girls ‘the Plastics’. Not that all of the girls were horrid creatures. Just a few of them who thought they were better than you even though if I took a single swing at them, they would be on the floor.
I spent four years in my own personal hell and those four years might have been the worst years of my life. At least, the years I’ve lived now. I’ll just assume for now that they are the four worst and that nothing could be worse than those four years.
Fifth grade, the start of it all.
I remembering starting high school and feeling like they expect you to have your whole life planned out. Or some five year plan and most of us don’t even have the next week planned out. Sometimes, not even the next hour. They want to know about what colleges you plan to apply to, what you want to major in, and where you plan on working. I thought I had it all figured out when I was ten or maybe eleven. I would go to UCSD, major in biology, and work at Sea World or do what Abby Sciuto does on NCIS. Except I wanted to do exactly what she did and pretty much be her.
For a few birthdays in a row, my mom had taken me down to Sea World for the day. We would have lunch or breakfast with Shamu, and one time I even swam with the dolphins. I thought it’d be so cool to work with the dolphins or just take care and feed them. Even with all those reports with ‘Shamu’, even though they had about 7 different Shamu’s, killing or putting the trainers in danger. But when you have lunch or breakfast with Shamu, the trainers have Q&A’s. I asked what you would have to major in if you wanted to work there or be like them, biology of course. Or she might have said science. I had it planned. Then again, I really liked oceanic animals back then.
I grew up.
Sea World was still kind of an idea planted in the back of my mind. As in, ‘If I get accepted to UCSD, I’ll totally do the Sea World thing.’ Grew up to be 15 or 16, my mom had bought me a subscription to Seventeen magazine. I remember reading about this girl who worked or works at Google and all of these amazing benefits. They had a location in Santa Monica, where UCLA is. Beautiful area, beautiful and great school, with a shitty football team. So I’ve heard. I wasn’t going there for sports. Communications became my main focus, maybe minor in journalismor photographyor public relations.
And they wanted me to have a five year plan by the time I was 18. I’m still not sure if I want to major in Communications or major in anything at all. (If that doesn’t make sense. In short, I’m indecisive as fuck. I’ve heard it’s a trait of Pisces. My mom says it’s just me because my grandmother was never like that. What does she know.)
Okay, that’s a lie. No one has ever asked me what my five year plan is. Though I try to think that I’d be able to tell them all these things and impress them. Yes, people have asked me where I want to go to college or go work. I think that’s because I bring it up. Because I want to know their plans, get ideas off of them, never be an original but try to blend in. (Don’t blend. That’s the worst way to live life.) Anyway, instead they would ask me my plans, and after a while, I got bored of my plans.. My, ‘Where I see myself in 5 to 10 years,’ plans started to bore me. Then I started to think. Is that who I am? Is that who I want to be? A person who wants to impress other people? A people pleaser. I can’t even please myself – not in that way, but I can never be satisfied with who I am as a person. Maybe that’s why I try to please others because I can’t please myself. Like I said, not in that way.
I remember as a kid that most of us wanted to grow up and do what the big kids were doing. We saw it in movies, we saw it in your older siblings (not that I had any, in my case they were my cousins), we saw it out on the streets. Everyday life. We wanted to do what they did. Or what we assumed they did, at least. To be honest, I don’t remember what I liked so much about the thought of growing up. Maybe I liked the idea more. I’m sure it wasn’t the drinking or smoking or the drugs.
I didn’t know that I’d grow up to like those things and rely on one.
I think that I thought how cool it would be to disobey my parent’s and stay out late all night. Not come home and sneak in in the morning. Go out partying and make out with a boy. Or a girl, doesn’t matter which. That I’d grow up and have sex in high school.
I didn’t until what you would call my junior year, except credit wise, I was only a sophomore. And that’s how my school went. Not by September beginning the start of the school year and June ending it, but by how many credits you had. Great way to make some of us feel like complete idiots or worthless. (August 17th, 2012. In one year and some months, I’ll have finished three years of high school.. I expect to be done by December. So maybe not worthless.)
So maybe they didn’t want us to feel like idiots or that we were worthless, maybe it was because I had no motivation. No motivation at school or home. Like I said earlier, I didn’t grow up with older siblings who had straight A’s or were taking AP classes, etc. I had no expectations to live up to. I have older half-siblings. But I’ve never met them and I never plan on meeting them. So I grew up with what my cousin’s did and obviously whatever they did, it didn’t matter if they influenced me in some minuscule way, because I wasn’t their responsibility. Let’s start with Matt, who is only four years older than me. Obsessed over me when I was just a baby, we were really close. Still are. He got suspended a lot, had to go into different high schools because I think he stole computers from one at some point. He did, does, drugs. Weed, E, I think he did coke once.
Maybe that’s where I got my influence on to try drugs.
Cory is his brother, and my oldest cousin. Already graduated college. I think he’s five or six years older than I am. I don’t know. I don’t pay much attention to any of that. He’s older and that’s that. I don’t remember much of what he did. All I remember is hearing one time that he had gone out a few times and would steal the hood ornaments off cars. Like the jaguar and things as such. I never saw the appeal to any of that.
But I did see the appeal about stealing things. I would say I got the influence to steal from him, I didn’t. Plus, I think he was maybe 13 or so at the time, which would only make me 7 or 8. I didn’t start stealing until I was 13.
I shouldn’t blame others for my flaws.
When it comes to my family, I have this love-hate relationship with them. And then I remember, so does everyone else in the world. Sometimes I think it’s more a hate-hate relationship. At times the only person I feel like I can actually tolerate is Matt. Probably because I rarely see him and I kind of just stick to the older memories I have of us and it’s okay. What I mean is that.. I have all these good memories about my family. My now fucked up family. Okay, now that I think about it. That I keep thinking about it. How my family is now compared to how it was. I don’t really remember many good times. Or I’ll continue to tell myself that until I believe it.
Now you’re probably wondering why I would do that. Try to make myself believe that this family of mine – family? No. That these people who are related to me by blood never had any good times. I can’t see them the same way ever again. It takes too much work and it’s so fucking exhausting. It’s fucking exhausting to search my brain, through every memory I remember, to find something good. When the bad ones are just sitting in front and easily accessible.