I was fourteen turning fifteen, meaning I was still caught between being myself or applying to the constructs of society, aka the standards of the bitches in my town. I was a girl in love with the thought of being in love. My life revolved around romance stories. My days started and ended the same way, with looking at an aged poster that hung above my bed, on my cream roof. Oh, how David Bowies face could really brighten up your day.
I lived my life through rose tinted glasses, or as Edith Piaf puts it, je vois la vie en rose. My pubescent brain romanticized every situation I was put in, I'm wording it as if it was an issue, it made my life worth living if I'm being honest.
Don't get me started on soulmates, I had journals filled with different stories I had collected involving them. All the different ways they fell in love just in case I ever got into the situation myself, I'd know what I was doing. If I was to be asked now, what I thought about soulmates? I'd tell you it's a load of rubbish, the true horrors of our first loves disguised as the time of your life.
My golden locks flowed just below my b cup breasts, usually along with a navy-blue ribbon acting as a hairband. My brown eyes were big and sad, so you'd never catch me without my trustworthy mascara.
I'd be a liar to say appealing to society's beauty standards was not one of my concerns.
I'm quite reserved and quiet, especially when it comes to talking openly about my feelings. As far as I'm concerned, I have too much feeling, far too much to share with another person, someone I care about. But I guess at the same time, not enough feeling other than numbness.
I hadn't seen my "classmates" since before the summer holidays, a positive thing in my books. They say a lot can happen in those months, but that's not that case when it comes to me. Nothing ever happens with me, I never change. I have a feeling at the start of each year that this time I'll feel different, but it never happens.
I wasn't what you'd call popular within Ryedale, our towns only high school.
In saying that, I wasn't exactly an outcast either, although I did tend to keep to myself and my tight-knit friend group (that consisted of my two and only friends).
I was diagnosed with social anxiety well too late in my life.
The boys loved my slim figure, but that was about it. My body may have been fit, but that was only because of the lack of food I would eat.
The girls hated me because I was a "slag". I was only a slut to them because I wore what I wanted to, just because I dressed for myself.
I was an awkward, shy fourteen-year-old still walking around with my first kiss. Looking back on it, I truly think they were scared their boyfriends would want to root me.
Before I was fifteen, I had never even had a boyfriend, unless we're counting my eighth-grade romance that lasted 4 months, but we are not. This boy, my first boyfriend was different. He will always be different.
The first time I saw him was in grade 10 biology class, February 2nd, 1972.
The first day of school
Hell.
I woke up with my hair in a mess, and sleep in my eyes.
I have a few new notebooks for my classes, a new tie, and a stomach-ache.
I received my schedule in home group, my first three lessons of the day were English, history and Biology.
I never understood why learning about anything other than the basics in science was important, it's not like I plan on being a scientist.
