Starting Now

Stevie 1

It sucks, not knowing who you are. Or so people say. Does anyone really know who they are? I think not. I think people just walk the halls, wanting to be wanted. But how can you be wanted if you don't even want yourself? False advertising, I think to myself. But who in this place knows who they are anyways? I like to think no one, but then again it's probably easier for people who don't walk in my shoes. Talk about a hot mess. Some days, I wish I could just wake up from this bad dream, but I stay asleep, and the nightmare continues.

Not many people know what it's really like to live in a small town in the South. Some movies make it look picturesque, one neighbor helping another. Others show the quintessence of dystopia. In truth, it's somewhere in the middle, for the most part. The part that movies never fail to capture is the feeling of being trapped. What chance do you have to get out of this place, when no one else can? What makes you special? Self-compassion isn't really my thing. I guess I go for more of the self-hate side of things. I never fit in anywhere. I'm not black, not white. What even am I? Stephanie.... I'm Stephanie, or at least that's what I think. Actually, call me Stevie. Stevie. Better right? Just don't tell the kids at school... I'm already that weird girl, 5'10, no chance of finding a boy taller than me. But who really cares anyways? Boys suck... 

"I'm leaving!" I shout into the house and hear the old porch door snap backwards on its creaky hinges. A slight grunt makes its way out of the house. Or maybe that was wishful thinking, maybe today she cares where I'm off to. But I know better than to put any faith in her. I raised myself anyways, I don't need anyone else, just me. That's all there's ever been.

Walking slowly to school, I pull out my pack. Smoking kills, right? Let's hope so. As I let a puff of smoke slowly escape my ring-shaped lips, the school comes into my view. God, I wish I could skip today. This place is a shit hole. But if I ever want to get out of this god-forsaken place, I need to graduate school. To graduate, as obnoxious as it is, I have to actually attend my classes. My cigarette has burned almost down to the filter. Embers still glow as I crush the remaining bits of paper into the cement. Time to face the bullshit.