She Doesn't Care . (Being Edited)

I'm Just Fucked Up . ; Chapter Four .

So, I figure I should just tell you about myself. It’ll probably help you ‘understand’ me a bit more. My names McKenzie Marie. I look like any other average person, not super-model gorgeous, but I’m nothing horrible to look at either, I guess. I’m not tall, I’m not short. Everything about me on the outside screams normal.

                I have a messed up family. I know almost everyone says that, but I’m not lighthearted about this subject. My Mother and Father got divorced when I was about one. And I suppose, I was a mistake child. But since my Mother got pregnant, they kept me. The one thing I was meant for, saving their marriage, I failed at. This by all means, is a great way to be welcomed into the world – if you ask me. I also have a sister, and a brother. And I happen to be the youngest out of everyone.

My Mother is a total psycho bitch. Unfortunately, I’ve had the misfortune of living with her my whole life. She needs just a tad bit of anger management, and maybe a few pills to control her bipolar. She was a very good mother, before I was around nine. By that time, she decided she wasted too much effort trying to make my sister and brother good people, and failing. So she wasted no effort on me, and gave up. At this point, I hate her. And she more than hates me. She’s told me multiple times, she hates me when she’s drunk, and she hates me even more when she’s sober. She’s absolutely dreadful to deal with.

                My Father, well he’s a character. Mind you – not exactly the good kind.  He acts like a downright coke head, yet he doesn’t do drugs. On top of that, most of the time he’s stone cold. He acts completely emotionless, and more than likely belongs in either counseling and or a mental institution. I know that sounds mean, but regrettably, it’s true. My Father, isn’t a father to me. I consider him more of a, sperm donor.

                My Step-Father, however is a totally different story. I actually enjoy his presence, and he adores me. He usually gives me anything I want, and he believes me to be his princess – or that’s how it seems. He’s a wonderful old man that everyone seems to love, including myself. Although, I don’t understand why he would be with someone like my Dearest Mother, but that’s his option.

                My sister, Jesse, is nine years older than me. She’s just like my Mother – in terms of being a bitch. Though, unlike my Mother, Jesse is legally diagnosed as psycho and bipolar. I’m a stone-hard believer that she got it from her though. Nonetheless, she’s my sister. So I have to love her, right? Not entirely. If she wasn’t related to me, God. I would hate her so much.  Besides the fact that her fiancée is in the army, so every time he goes over seas, I’m stuck with her. With her bitching, crying, complaining. God, she’s awful.

                My brother, Ryan, is six years older than me. And, he happens to be the only tolerable one in it. In the simplest form possible, Ryan is a stoner. All he does is smoke, and then when he’s high, he smokes some more. This is why I absolutely adore him – sometimes. We get along like normal siblings, which involves the occasional hate. I piss him off, he pisses me off, but either way we still love each other.

After I started high school, Ryan and I became a lot closer. At that point, I was friends with his current girlfriend, and his best friend’s girlfriend, so you can imagine that he was stuck with me. He didn’t mind it all too much though. Usually we were too fucked up to fight, anyhow.

                I’ve always been weird with friends. I’ve never felt close enough to someone, to tell them every thought that went through my head, and every one of my darkest secrets. Maybe that’s just because I’ve always been an awkward, uncomfortable person when it comes to being personal, but who knows.

                From the second to the seventh grade I had the same two best friends. We were always together, and they always told me everything they could think of. I hardly ever told them anything. They knew common, everyday things – things that didn’t matter. But they didn’t know anything about me, in reality. But, that also could be because I wasn’t a normal child either. I never had crushes, I never thought boys were cute, I just hated a lot.

Any way.

                In the seventh grade, I distanced myself from them. They were complete good girls, while I was the opposite. I started smoking and drink in sixth grade, and I wasn’t the most innocent person you could find. Mind you – I had other friends that acted a lot more like me, not entirely of course, but they were more okay with what I did and had a much different attitude than my best friends. So why would I deal with innocence when I could have something better? Something, more relatable.

                When we hit high school, I stopped talking to one of them altogether. But I blame the on the fact that she hung out with people that hated me, but then again, a lot of people did. But she picked them over me, which I don’t think bothered me as much as it should have. I talked to the other one a little. Every time she saw me she’d greet me, even if she was with people that hated me. And I completely respected her for that. 

                The person I considered my best friend from seventh grade to sophomore year was Skylar. She was unfortunately from the town over, so I didn’t see her as much as wanted. During the school year, I only saw her about three times a month, maybe a little more. But during the summer, we were always together. Although we were best friends, we never really talked personally with each other. Sure, she knew a lot about me, but I usually told her everything after it was done and over with. So she never knew the whole story, and she never gave advice – which I of course, was glad about. 

                My everyday friends in high school were all weird. Almost all of them had completely horrifically dirty minds, loved raunchy humor, and all things perverted. I had less than a handful of ‘normal’ friends. Depending on what normal is, now-a-days. Besides, almost all my friends only liked me because I made everyone laugh. But a lot of people hated me for that, and of course because of how I dressed and acted. But I didn’t care, and neither did my friends.

                Another reason why a lot of my friends adored me was because of my personality. I was a very ‘adorable’ person, in quite a few minds. I acted like a complete girl more than half the time, and I had a ridiculously preppy voice and laugh. Everyone thought it was cute, but it made me want to stick knives in my ears. But along with the girl acting and speech, I apparently had a very ‘badass’ attitude. Which I suppose, people like. 

                I had at least one friend in every single group of people. I got along with most everyone, as long as you didn’t piss me off too much, and you looked over my bitch-like-attitude. I could go from hanging out with geeks, to preps, to darker more depressing kids. It was easy to get along with so many different types of people, because I always dressed differently. Some days I could wear heels and a pretty blouse, and other days I could wear jeans with chains all around. I was an oddball.　

                In general, I as a person can be described as multiple things: many of them not the greatest. For the record, I am a bitch. I’m not afraid to tell you my honest opinion, on any given thing. My thoughts are my thoughts, and I’m obliged to them.

                I can say I take after my Mother and sister in the craziness department. I have some serious anger issues, and I like to flip out about everything. I have been diagnosed with numerous sorts of Mental Disorders or Disabilities. Including, but not limited to, Bipolar, Schizophrenia, Psychosis, Depression, Obsessive-Compulsive-Disorder, and ADHD.

                 Like I said before, I’ve done drugs and I’ve drank since around the sixth grade; Which means I was about eleven when I tried Marijuana, and maybe eight when I tried alcohol. But my family didn’t care, and neither did I. Honestly, my brother and sister did support my smoking habits. And my brother always gave me alcohol. My mother always left alcohol in hands-reach too.

Oh well, what the hell can you do about it?

I was a bit of a slut, I suppose you could say. But, I honestly don’t think that was my entire fault. I just didn’t like relationships, after everything that happened in previous ones. I never dated anyone, but I didn’t exactly go from guy to guy, nor have more than one at time. Around middle school, early high school, that is. So technically, during the period, I was just very promiscuous. And in my personal opinion, that’s not always a bad thing. 

But what can I say ? Everyone has different opinions .

I’m just a completely fucked up person , and I always have been .