This is why I'm like this

Untitled Part 1

310

I'm from Los Angeles. I'm from memorizing 310-204-3256. Saying those numbers over and over again because mom always picks up. I'm from calling that number from the nurses office during lunch time because eating in the car with her felt safer than the playground. I'm from generalized anxiety, and suffering from it since I can remember. I'm from anxiety attacks before bedtime because all I could think about was the impending doom that'll come for us all. I'm from Los Angeles where children grow up too fast. I'm from make-out parties in my friends backyard because the yard went on for an acre and a half and the parents would never find out. They eventually ended though, STD's start in middle school. I'm from stealing a pack of cigarettes at 12 from my friends parents' cabinet. And thinking they'll never know. It's fun and rebellious until you can't stop smoking and it's 14 years later. I'm from getting my first job at 17 and befriending people 18 years older than me. I'm from those friends sneaking in vodka in water bottles for me so I can have a cocktail at dinner too. I'm from day drinking that goes till the next morning, and the birds telling you it's time to go home. I'm from ignoring my moms calls during those nights because the glow of her name on my phone screamed disappointment. I'm from growing up next to a bar where they'd get crowds as soon as the doors would open. I'm from never forgetting the stench of rancid alcohol on their floors. I'm from frequenting similar dive bars because some how that smell reminds me of home. I'm from falling in love at my favorite dive bar with the bouncer. I'm from never taking no for an answer because so much has been taken from me. I'm from fear of losing people because I said or did the wrong thing. I'm from fearing mental illness because it's in my bloodline. Los Angeles is home. It's eating cold Buffalo wings while sitting on your kitchen counter. Animalistic, safe, and primal. It's safety in your bed because there's craziness everywhere. It's not being able to connect with people, because you're afraid of scaring them away, so why try? It's keeping every thought to yourself because everyone puts their reputation over their relationships. It's lonely, it's lovely, it's home. 310-204-3256 is a number I'll never forget. And I hope whoever has that number feels the same way about it that I do. That someone always picks up. That there's a little girl talking to her middle school crush on a portable landline while hiding in her closet. That there's the same safety and sincerity there for her. For whoever has that number, and they can call it home.

Dolls

Little girls and their dolls. I used to be a collector of dolls, I used to like Barbie's. Pretty dolls that were mine. Made me think I could be that pretty one day. Until one day she came over. We built a fort in my room and we were jumping on the bed. I don't remember a friend before her. Or ever having that much fun. We were in first grade and she was my best friend. She'd slept over before. But there was something different about this time. This is my first memory of her now. Sadly not the last. We were jumping on the bed, laughing. But I was secretly afraid of getting in trouble. Didn't want to go to bed anytime soon so I wanted to quiet down so we could keep playing. But she had other plans, in the corner of her eye she spotted my doll. She grabbed her. Held her high into the air teasing me telling me that I couldn't have it back. She took what was mine. I was begging and pleading. After what felt like an eternity she said "you can have it back if you kiss me or I'll tell your mom that you wouldn't share." Share what my doll or my body? I complied. I kissed her. She was unsatisfied. She said "boyfriend/girlfriend kiss me." I was a child. I'd only ever seen slight smooches between my parents or romantic movies where they share an intimate kiss. I did my best to imitate them. I guess I did it correctly because she waited for the lights to go out. She waited to do it again. Holding the doll in the air; Kept asking me why I refused to share. That night I think I became her doll. She'd spread my legs apart like a Barbie. Clawed out my insides, made me empty, fake, molded, workable. She held the guilt above my head and made me her doll for four years. I was six years old when it began, and went on until I was ten. I transferred schools without letting my secret out. I got away without having to disappoint anyone. I became guilty. I thought I was in the wrong. I suppressed the memories and held them all down. Until years later I saw her in the mall. We were teenagers now and she was telling me about her boyfriend and that her mom still goes out of town all the time, that she has amazing parties and wanted me to come over sometime. I hesitated. But her mom and mine were always close and my mom seemed excited to reconnect. So I thought we'd give it a shot, see if you could finally act civil.