My name's Katie, and ever since i was little, fitting in was something I was taught to resent, something unrealistic that I would never experience. So is it wrong to still envy those girls who have lots of friends, who are skinny and pretty, those who wear designer clothes and expensive perfume?
Deep down I've always craved validation from others, but not in the way most people do.
I started to put on heavy eyeliner, fishnets, loud music, fancy nails, big boots and spikes.
To see the disgust and disapproving looks from people on the streets, the empowering feeling of the god complex being different gave me. The power I got from being weird taking control, changing me from the inside just as fast as it did the outside.
When I found other people who were alternative, the overwhelming feeling of being popular among my own gained greater power over me than anything else. But was I actually happy? the short answer is no, no it didn't.
Being known as the crazy one made me feel proud and powerful: being the one that took everything to the limit, not being able to stop even though I'd had enough.
Being the one who smoked 3 packs in a day and was still willing to smoke more, the burn in my lungs reminding me that I'm better and I'm cooler.
Downing quarter bottles of vodka until I couldn't remember my own name, the burn in my throat reminding me that I could still feel something other than the self pity and self-hatred I had felt sober.
Breaking the law and all boundaries, to feel that rush of adrenaline.
Making new friends every weekend, loud music crawling into every inch of my brain, ripped clothes, greasy hair, running from police, burning my hands on broken lighters, smoke rings, learning how to roll, being the first to down a bottle, smudged eyeliner, meaningless kisses, dancing on tables, jumping off of the peer, dirty nails.
All the things that made me feel powerful.
I was at the high of my life, being numb while sober and being better than everyone when drunk.
Internal struggles went away after a quarter bottle of vodka and a packet of cigarettes, so why not do it all the time?
The bruises over my body after a night out, the sting of cleaning my cuts the morning after, showering the dirt from my hair, covering up my eye bags with cheap makeup and pretending to be better than I actually was.
Struggling isn't okay. That's what I've learned in my 13 years of life. Prolonged sadness isn't allowed otherwise it's just feeling sorry for yourself.
I was in kilwinning, like a lot of weekends. i was at the abbey, with Kai, Clay and Rhiannon. Niamh appeared, brandishing a large bottle of vodka, following her was about 5 other people with their own bottles.
I didn't want to drink that day, I had managed to convince myself I'm better, I don't need the burn in my throat to feel good.
i get offered a drink, the stares from people around me burning into my back and sides, I take the bottle and drink, more than anyone else had.
the feeling comes back, the adrenaline and need to be the one who pushes the limit.
I drink more and more, I start to black out. There's music now and boys I don't know. I danced in streets I hadn't seen before, my lipstick got smudged kissing girls id never met.
I'm blacking out.
A while later Im on the floor, I got kicked in the ribs by a boy who was downing a bottle of buckfast.
i couldn't see iack anywhere.
After blacking out again, I'm staggering in another unfamiliar street, I fell hitting my head on a wall, smelling the sour scent of my own vomit.
The only things I can remember after that is the disappointed expressions of my grandparents looking at their eldest grandchild in such a state, my mum trying to help me.
I woke up at 3am and came into my sister's room, the harsh news that my best friend had been jumped continued to ring in my head the rest of the night, unable to sleep. I was so angry at myself and the people who had hurt him I started to sob, my ribs aching where I had been kicked, my head starting to spin. Lights out.
The morning after was nothing but endless guilt and aches.
I don't get hungover, yet my head was in agony, the place id hit it.
my ribs were screaming at me, the place I was kicked.
My stepdad coming downstairs and lecturing me at 9am, everytime I tried to speak I was interupted by a, "shut the fuck up, I don't care."
Looking back at all this I still dont feel okay, my ribs still hurt when I laugh too much, the guilt consumes me all the time and even though I smile and I hang out with my sister and I seem okay.
i don't feel it, there's always a voice in my head reminding me of every shitty thing I've ever done and every shitty thought I have about myself.
the overbearing anger and sadness that is my mind is controlling, and has controlled me for longer than I thought.
i was supposed to write a persuasive essay on teen drinking, specifically in girls. But everytime I tried to write I couldn't send the right message. The last time I've written something persuasive was in primary seven, and it was to convince my mum to stop smoking, which is ironic now because I started only about a year afterwards.
I'm sorry, mum.
I know I've let the world dull my sparkle, and it's so exhausting to try and rekindle it.
i turned into the person I always promised I never would, I bet primary school me wouldn't want to be anything close to the person I am now.
