Chapter 1
We are told at a young age who we are to become, what our parents want for us. Some, many of us actually, stray from that path while others follow our parent’s plan. I guess you could say I fall in between the two. I am following my parents life plan to the “T,” only it doesn’t feel right. Maybe I am trying too hard, or maybe I’m not trying hard enough. I don’t know. Before I go any further I suppose introductions are in order. I am Greg Andrews. I am sixteen and a sophomore in high school. I live an okay life; my father works in construction, my mother is a secretary for the local college. Many say I’m like my father, tall, muscular, strong jaw (I don’t know what a weak one looks like,) but I have my mother’s hazel eyes and her light brown hair. I was born with my father’s green eyes and dark blonde hair but I outgrew that very quickly. I’m a good student for the most part. I study hard, and make sure I bring home nothing less than A’s. My parents aren’t strict, not like some but they want to see me excel. The fact that I am bullied despite my size bothers them. I don’t know why I am always bullied, perhaps I just seem like an easy target. Who knows maybe I am. I can’t fight to save my life. My father enrolled me in karate back in elementary school, that’s when it started, the bullying I mean. My father refused to have a weak son so he signed me up to the best dojo in town. I’ve been going ever since and I can’t say I hate it, though I won’t say I love it either. Maybe I could tell my parents I know why I’m bullied but I like having a place to sleep. I enjoy eating a warm meal. Besides, I’ve found ways to cope with the pain I feel, the confusion, the hatred I have towards myself, towards being me. I live in a small town, a super small town in Maine, Baldface, Maine. Which has nothing to do with the the Mountain in Washington. We actually have no mountains near us. There are at most five hundred of us and everyone knows everyone so if something happened to me at home I would be screwed.
I can’t believe I am watching another sunrise, God, this sucks. For the past week I haven’t been able to sleep. I have the same old stupid shit on my mind and this urge to run a blade across my body hasn’t been helping. Some nights I’ll lay in bed and I have these visions that I’m taking a blade and running it from my neck down to my arm but making beauty with it along with the blood that would escape my body. I could make this vision come true, my blade is not even five feet from me. Not to mention that the simple cuts across my wrist don’t seem to be doing as much for me anymore. Guess you know my little secret, I’m cutter, have been since middle school. Sometimes I can go months without a cut, my scars actually looked like the faded once. Now I cover them with a big wrist thing. I don’t know what one would call it. It’s not a band like those for awareness, it’s bigger and has these clasps to keep it in place and so I can take it off when I shower. See my parents don’t know I cut, that would not be a good thing. My father would be beyond angry that his only son was what some called ‘emo’. I can’t say I understand the name but I’m not the one that came up with it. And I don’t do the whole black thing, again it wouldn’t be allowed. Not to mention that I don’t care for it. I’m a fan of blue jeans and button ups with a tee or plain undershirt underneath in case I’m warm; I can to keep the buttons open.
Seeing the sun on the paper I was drawing on I guess it I don’t need my light anymore. Maybe if I had some friends I could talk to them and maybe get some sleep. But, I don’t talk, not really, not unless I have to. I’m perfectly okay with a quiet existence. I could do this for the rest of my life if I had to. Looking down at the paper I now realize I have been drawing random things again. I’m not really bad at it but unless I draw something manly like sports I would get in trouble. “Drawing is for girls and perverts,” as my father likes to put it and I am not a girl nor a pervert. No son of my father would ever be a pervert, we are god loving people. We aren’t really, sure we do the church on Sunday thing but that’s about it. All of us are in this town, we have a synagogue too and you’re free to practice something else. All of us stay in our respective groups and don’t bother the others but that doesn’t mean when one is affected the others aren’t as well.
