Syrup

Specs of Me

My name is Cassie Abadiano. I don't really know what to write here, this is basically just a journal of all the shitty things that have happened to me. Or- it's supposed to be. Let me sum it up then. My dad is a shitty drug addict (let me clarify, its drugs. Not alcohol. So many people mix that up) My mom is a controlling clean freak who probably has mental problems, but my dad doesn't care enough to ask her to get on medication for whatever the fuck she has. And then my brother. I guess he's fine. He can be really nice to me. He actually seems to care, even if it's only a bit. A few days ago, my mom got me into therapy. I don't think it's because she cares about my wellbeing but more so it's an excuse to say she's a good parent. Uhhh that's kind of it. I don't really have anything that bad going on. Not in my life at least. I don't consider all the problems with my parents having anything to do with me. It's their life. Thing is that my therapist is an actual good therapist unlike all of those ones that neglect your feelings and give you false hope in order to get money from your parents that pay for someone to listen to you instead of attempting it themselves. I don't have anything better to do. So here I am, listening to my therapist and actually doing work at home for the first time. Apparently, she thinks I have bipolar disorder. But she can't actually diagnose me until she knows for sure. I fortunately won't be expecting any medication yet. I'm not crazy. I know how I feel, and I recognize myself. I know I'm not bipolar or anything else. I'm just me. 

Ever since my last year of middle school started, I've been feeling confused. Confused like I don't know where I am or why I'm here. Sometimes I feel as though I'm lost in a thick layer of snow that forces me to go numb, relieving me of any emotion at all. But other times, I'm the realest I've ever been. Like the world isn't but I am. And that is the only truth I know. Snow fall is honestly the loveliest of all sights. I guess that's why I like winter. My hand goes red, my tussled hair has turned from black to white as it lays on my shoulder. Too bad it's Fall. I shuffle into the bathroom and take a peek at the time on my phone. 6:34 AM. I should take a shower. I reach for the faucet and let the specs of water splash down onto the shower floor. I'm still dressed. A white tank top contrasting my palish-olive colored skin and a black pair of shorts. I slip the shirt off over my head. I pull down the shorts, struggling them off around my feet. I throw them both to the side where they land in the corner of my bathroom. I take off my underwear, unhook my bra, and peer into the mirror. I observe every shape and curve, every mark and every scar. I step into the mildly heated shower and just let it drip onto me. Feeling what I need to. I love this moment. I love it because I know it won't last. My mom will come home, and I'll have to go to school. All that unsteady loudness will practically devour any peace I keep with me.