I cant explain my love for the cold side of the pillow. How it feels against my cheek. It's like my own brand of sex on my bed.
I'm random and I know that. But it's the only way for me to keep sane. Since I'm far from optimistic, but how could you expect me to be? Look at me. 5'5 with lucid dark brown eyes that are hid by my dark eye lids. My hair is long and often brushed across my face. And I'm pale as hell. Not like the normal white girl pale. Like the Bella-Swan- Edward-Cullen-I-Will-Suck-Your-Blood type of pale. And I lived in the Sunny State. Florida! But I try to stay invisble. Why? Because I loathe being alive. I hate waking up and know I'm not going to die for another 60 years. It kills me. They say God watches you and is there for you. The devil is the same but for different reasons. But it will change...hopefully.
My day is like another 17 year old girls day, I wake up, skip breakfast and walk as slow as possible to get to school. Strangely I'd rather be at school than at home. At school, I actually have people who courage me, who actually care if I roll my lazy ass out of bed and show up. But unlike other kids, I am exceptionally rich. No, scratch that. Wealthy. My wealth was only limited to the hefty checks my mother brings home from the Food Network she works for. That's where the wealth ended. We were poor in love. However, what the people at her job failed to realize, is that my mother is a Narcotic Addict. Basically a fancy word for a crack head, burn out, junkie, space cadet. Whatever you want to call it. That's what she was. But I wouldnt fret because I was at the point to where I have grown used to it. Used to the vivid images no child should ever have to witness, especially a parent. But alas, yes, I am used to coming home to her being sprawled all over the kitchen, her face covered in white looking dust. Lord knows I thought it was some other white stuff when I first saw it. But I blame the child in me that was hoping it was some sexual favor instead of drugs. How could I mistake the flour looking substance for semen?
I later learned that I'd rather my mom suck díck in her spare time than succumb to her demons and numb with deathly alternatives. But there are perks in my life. Outside of my mother being, well my mother, she always made sure I never went wanting. She made sure I also had what I wanted and more...so I couldn't ever complain about what I really needed and at the end of the day, I just wanted my mommy. Still, this is all I wanted. I still act out sometimes in hopes of grabbing her attention, but soon the behavior I had conjured for attention, had now just become apart of me. Since I'm an only child, it never bothers anyone to slam the door during a fit, to take the longest in the bathroom, or to even take the last Rice Crispies. So that's my life for you. A box of Rice Crispies.
I had begun a new leaf on this very day. September 3rd, you've heard it exclusively today folks so mark your calendars. I was determined to choose happiness and speak nothing but life into myself. Even with the negative whispers that always counteracted with my positive thoughts, I decided out of sight- out of mind, would be my new life mantra. The things that scared me were no longer in visible view. So why let it control me?
On this very day at school, my best friend in the entire world since baby teeth days, Jackson was walking to the cafeteria with me. It was the first day of Junior year, which was a big deal to everyone else in our graduating class. Being an upperclassmen I suppose meant more respect. But somehow, 3 months of vacationing did not mold us into the 11th graders they thought we were. In fact, I felt more immature. 3 months passed by, so where did the new respect come in? I suppose, just on this day, September 3rd.
"And now we chuckle as the young bow down to us," Jackson teased as we strode past our old floor which was known as The Sophomore wing, or as others called it 'The SoftWhore wing."
"As if we weren't bouncing up and down these halls with glee literally 3 months ago." I reply with a slight smile, taking a moment to absorb my childhood friends appearance. He definitely looked different since our freshman year, but even now, his puberty came in waves and left him looking too good for me to speak about as his best friend. I think his life experiences aged him, gracefully but still nonetheless. I believed the reason we have stayed friends for so long is because of his ability to constantly push me to be better and do better. But not necessarily with academics and eat your vegetables type shit. But, he pushed me to live. He has seen how I too almost succumbed to my demons but he danced with them dangerously. But not deeper into the shadow cloaked abyss in my mind: no. he danced and distracted...so he could bring me out.
