Why so serious?

(Chapter 2) January 1, 2010

Just to let you know-

Topic: my feelings

First off, I'm going to try to be as honest with you as ever. Who knows? Maybe this will finally help me. Hell, I need it. I'm not going to write about directly one feeling and incident because there are a couple that sum up my relationship with feelings pretty well. I've never done this before, so remember that. Wow okay. Well, here it goes. Let's give it a whirl.....

I can't breath. I haven't been able to since I was 13 years old looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. I received my very first zit. Mom never wanted to talk to me about my future womanism, and puberty was in that category.

Every girl was already done with their transformation, but I was the caterpillar who couldn't take a hint. They teased me as I cried over my reflection.  I didn't have anyone at home that would make me feel like the princess I should have been. Mom would gouge out the pimples and cake my face with makeup for her honored guests that would come by. Richard was the first to look at me in disgust.

If I remember correctly, he was the owner of a drugstore in the downtown area. He was 45, lean, average height with slicked back hair that looked like Leonardo Decaprios only greasy. As he went into one of our dark bedrooms, and turned on the light, he saw my makeup face and scars where the pimples were. He spit in my face and stormed to mom screaming about how he "didn't pay a shit ton of money to look at a whore".

I thought about death right after that incident. I looked at my reflection, staring into my ugly face as if my eyes would burn my skin away so I could be truly ugly instead of partially. As I picked up the razor blade, I thought back to all of those years being mom's scape goat. All of the greasy men, all of the taunts from privileged girls mocking me as if I was below them. But, how could I not be? I'm a psychos daughter and a skank at one.

I made my first cut over my left wrist, and I watched as the blood oozed from my throbbing arm. The world around me got fuzzy as I could hear myself scream, but couldn't feel my mouth move to make the sounds. My mom was too drugged up to hear my shrieks of pain, but that didn't bother me. The pain was the first real feeling I could feel at that age, and I'll never forget it(or forgive it).

At age 16, I fucked my boyfriend. It wasn't glamorous with hundreds of lit candles surrounding our bed of silk and rose petals. It was in his truck. Behind his work. Yep. I lost my approved virginity outside Dominos.

I'd like to say it was magical. That it was painless and that we cuddled after while looking up at the stars. Now, all of this is just my fantasy, but I will say that the magical part was the shrooms he gave me just before. In a daze of colorful bricks and a tweaking out guy running his tongue over my neck, I was in pure bliss.

The sex part was even freakier! I had no idea what was happening, only I could feel a sharp pain from my legs creeping up my spine like snakes under my skin. My boyfriend was close to me, and I knew this only because I could smell his mouth as he took advantage of my one dignity.

Afterwards, he was back to normal from his buzz, but I sure as hell was still in Disney land. I started crying for some reason, and he didn't want to deal with a whiny bitch that was bleeding everywhere. He pushed me out of his car and sped away from a crouched girl who was higher than the Empire State Building to try to find help home.

My aunt found me at four in the morning. She was searching the entire night trying to find me. As she scooped my frail body up from the grime covered ground, I could hear her heartbeat thudding against her chest bone. And as she drew me a bath, combed my hair, and laid me against my fur lined pillow in my bedroom, I finally understood what love felt like.

She never asked what happened. She didn't see me as a hassle of trying to deal with. I was her child who needed her. True love from someone like that is never found except when you look towards your mother figure. Through all these years of my life, only once have I felt love. That was a moment I'll hold on to till the day I die.

I can't think of anything else than my feelings right now. So many years of hate against me. The comfort from evil rather than the comfort of light has covered me for these anguished years. I can't do anything else! I'm sorry, but you know too much already.

I'm a grenade that will blow your head off and blood, sweet, sweet blood, will fill your ears as my needles prick your nails off. I can't escape what I'm living for and nothing will change that!

I can't think, I can't dream, I can't breath without remembering something so small yet pungent from my life that I haven't lived in years! The thought of opening up to someone! Can you imagine it?

Have you ever wanted to say everything you've thought of to someone? Someone that you wanted to love brighter than the sun shining on the earth? A feeling deeper than the epitome of the ocean?

Feelings are not just a void in the pit of nothing. You wanted me to open well here it is! You can't change yourself because that's you changing you. It never ends! The ringing in your ears as you do something that takes courage. Whether it's asking that one person out or the act of holding your breath to see how long it takes till you suffocate and leave this world.

My head! My head can't think because it's telling me the solution to my problems is me holding my breath and everyone says to not do it but is it because they love your, or are they afraid of someone actually doing something?!

....have you ever thought what it's like to not feel anything? Or what it would be like to cut a little deeper than before? What would the blood look like? Will I feel something finally? I have. Or have you wanted to literally tear your skin away to see the pain that makes up your heart? I do. Have you ever done something that makes you feel so disgusting, yet you can now be certain that you're still alive because you feel the vomit of despair rising up from the center of your being? I have. Trust me. It's not pretty. And neither am I.

You wanted me to write about feelings. What do you want from me than what I think you want me to say. I only feel one thing.

I'm ugly.

Sorry.

Until next time.

- Mandy J.

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Authors not:

Hey guys!  Hope you like this chapter. It might be abrupt, and I apologize for that. But if you read this chapter as if you're a teenager writing something down for a therapist, then you might understand the emotion behind it a little better. Check in some more as I write the next chapter!

- Author
A.R.