An Unextraordinary Girl

Chapter 1~ Who Am I?

Chapter 1- Who Am I?

Who am I? Well, I guess I can start by telling you my name. It’s Cleo. Yep. Cleo. Short for Cleopatra, the Egyptian Queen and I’m not even Egyptian let alone beautiful. My mum was always completely obsessed with the ancient history of countries. Her passion for the pharaoh influenced her to name me after her. Cleopatra Rowan Finley Flannan. Daughter of Mrs Donna Rowan Finley Flannan, an Irish history teacher who married Donald Rowan Finely Flannan, the Irish man who worked behind the counter at the pizza place on Harrow Road.

Despite my mum and dad being completely Irish with the thick accents and all, I speak and look like I’m from London. My hair isn’t thick and fiery red like my mothers. My eyes aren’t emerald green like my father’s. No. I’m a short, slightly olive-skinned girl with almost ebony black hair, eyes like coal and completely un-extraordinary. It’s debateable whether that’s a real word or not, but, regardless, I feel that it best describe me. Well, maybe not the real me but at least the one I’ve become.

If I were to describe the way I look it would be that I have nearly no curves, a body that, no matter what I want to wear, never seems to suit clothes other than ones that are a few sizes too big. I’m not under or over weight and neither am I slim (but I always try to hide it with my man clothes). It’s like I’m not a real girl. Even if I put on make-up I still feel less beautiful than the other girls in my school or on the street. Even if I diet or exercise I still feel like my thighs are too close together and the need to pull my trousers up above my belly button. Even though my mum and dad tell me that I’m beautiful every day and that I am special, I always feel like I am un-extraordinary.

I have a younger sister, Shannon, though she’s not that much younger than me. I’m only a year and a half older that she is but she acts as if there’s so much more of an age gap between us. She gets away with almost everything she does and she finds life so much easier that I do. I love my sister but sometimes I look at her and see how lucky she is compared to me. Everyone in her year at school is friends with her, whenever we meet new people or members of our family they always, though they don’t admit it, prefer her over me. She’s intelligent, maybe even more than I am, and is in good shape. Unlike me, her hair is thick, a bright shade of brown, and she got my dad’s eyes. Maybe the nurses gave me to the wrong family.

I’m single. It’s not shocking. I’m not exactly the most feminine person you’ll meet, neither am I the most attractive. I guess if you look at the other girls and compare them to me you’d think why they would even go for me when there’s others who are much better. Or there are just others full stop. Yeah, I’ve lied a few guys now and then but I’ve yet to find one who likes me back. Have I ever told them how I feel? Are you bat-shit crazy? I’m not scared of the almost definite possibility of rejection. I’m scared of what comes after it. The torment of others. The awkward silences when we have to pass each other on the stairs at school. No, I’ve never told them how I feel. However, others who I trusted took the pleasure of doing it for me.

Friends, eh? You never know when they’re going to just get bored of you and leave you. It’s hard to tell which ones are loyal or which ones are waiting for the opportunity to just stab you in the back and leave you once and for all. I can’t possibly explain how many times I’ve have to make and leave friends. The amounts of times I felt like I was just a burden to some, just a girl who walks on their side while they laugh with the rest of the gang. I sometimes feel that I might just never find another person like me who I can trust and never leave.

I’m at that time in my life where I just sit and contemplate what I have achieved, what I have left, and who I am. Looking back on my life I realise that I’ve made so many mistakes that I find myself wishing desperately that I could just go back in time and start over.

I know that I’m not alone and I know that there are probably people out there who are like me: alone, nearly depressed and sick of always being at the bottom of this social strata in this sick society. Now days you have to be stick thin and twerking to get attention from guys. To have friends you have to be rude to the teachers who are offering you an education for free and ultimately opening up your future. You have to go out late at night and bitch about the girls who just aren’t as cool as you are (and then bitch about the bitches you were bitching with).

Now I’m just going to write down my story. Whether you can relate or are just sitting there feeling sorry for this sad, lonely loser, I want it to be heard. So people who understand what I’m going through don’t have to go through it alone, and so people who aren’t can probably call me a professional therapist that I can go and tell my bullshit problems to.

Ah, teenage-hood. When will it ever end?