Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Information, I got off my chest.

It takes 10 positive compliments to make up for one negative/mean/hurtful comment.

I don't have but 100 and some odd amount dollars to my name, and I am a mediocre writer at best, I feel as though I will never achieve my goal of becoming a published writer. When and if I get to Seattle to go to school I'll be broke alone and scared.

I have a personality that is hard to get along with, I'm nice, but I have quirks eg: I say unapproved things at inappropriate times. I like to be alone, unless I'm off opiates, then I can't stand to be alone. I need constant action to feed my need to included, but I am never included because of said quirks. I hate college type bars, and enjoy Burkoski type bar, where its all alcoholics, but even there I feel out of place.

I feel out of place here at home with my parents. I can feel the natural anxiety I have again now that I'm going down on my dose, and it is hitting me hard.

If I had the ability to write, this post wouldn't have started out like it did. Me just stating what I'm feeling.

I could try to make it better. Try being key word. I'm not giving it my all because it takes time to give a post ones all. I am tired and sleep always overwhelming me.

I got my period when I was 11 years old. I was too embarrassed to tell my mom so I would steal her maxi pads when I could, and if she ran out, I would wear toilet paper stuffed in my crotch. This would cause a foul smell, and I know the people around me noticed it. I was in sixth grade, and was still best friends with Kaycee.

I remember I couldn't wait to get my period, it was like my right of passage into adulthood. Yet for me it wasn't like it is on T.V shows, or for my friends. I was embarrassed, because I was the oldest, and I didn't want my parents to think of me as woman yet. So I never did tell my parents, my mom found out when we were on a car trip up north, and I was laying in the back seat wearing shorts, and my mom saw toilet paper sticking out of my panties and shorts, and she asked me in front of my dad if I had my period. I denied it, but when we got to our hotel I couldn't go into the pool or hot tub, because I new I would bleed all over the place, so I had to have my sister tell my mom that I need to buy pads. I went two years without telling my parents.

From sixth to eleventh grade I was defenitley the ugly friend. Seventh grade me and Kaycee are still best friends, and did everything together. Kaycee started making new friends, and these friends did not like me. I was not smart enough, pretty enough, normal enough. Since grade school my marks were low. My parents never really took an interest in me nor my sister's education. They were busy working so we could have stuff, not just stuff, but nice stuff. Which meant they had to work all the time. Kaycee's family was more my family from third grade thru seventh grade. Kaycee and I were stuck together like glue.

The fact that my parents HAD to keep up with Jones pissed me off. We didn't need these things, but my parents did it out of love. They wanted Angie and I to have everything we wanted. Somehow the got the idea that things showed love. Now I wish they would have took an interest academically, and such.

One day in seventh grade homeroom, I was sitting at my desk waiting for the bell to ring, and for school to end. Kaycee's homeroom was across the hall from mine, and that particular day her homeroom had to clean out their lockers. Kaycee's locker was just out of eye shot from me, but I could hear every word she was saying. We still had fifteen minutes of school left, and after school Kaycee and I were suppose to hang out, and ride bikes.

As Kaycee was cleaning out her locker, she had found some of my stuff in her locker, and one of Kaycee's locker neighbor's locker said, "Oh my god, why do you have Anna's Y. stuff in your locker, and she pushed it towards him and said I don't know here you take it." Then he pushed my stuff back towards her, and said, "eww gross I don't want her stuff"!
I tried to hold in the tears after hearing my best friend in the whole word deny that she liked me. My chin began to quiver and as soon as the bell rang I ran to the bathroom and sobbed. When I finally came out Kaycee was waiting for me, and she kept asking what was wrong, and I couldn't tell her, and I kept tearing up, and holding in tears. She asked if we were still on for going bike riding. I told her sure, and we met up later.

That was the moment my eyes were opened. I was the weird, ugly, dumb, friend. Kaycee and I were both in special ed classes because of our learning disabilities. I think that is why in third grade when I first met Kaycee we became best friends fast. We lived in a small town, and my parents had put Angie and I in Parochial school, St. Anthony's. Even back then all the older kids made fun of me, just me. I didn't understand why, I tried my hardest to conform to their standards of coolness, but it never worked. I was the kid that got to hang out with the popular crowed because my best friend was popular, and therefore I was let in, but not all the way in.

Eight grade came, and over that summer I had lost my virginity, to some random guy because I just wanted to get it over with. Within the next day everyone knew, and in a town of 2,000 everyone knew. With Kaycee I found the Beatles, and with Kaycee I had found alot of things. I shared my childhood with Kaycee. I met Kaycee right after my Papa committed suicide at our house, and after I watched my dad try to kill himself. Kaycee was my best friend in the world, until she found out I lost my virginity. She was so mad at me, and I couldn't understand why. She and I just did not look at virginity the same way. The summer between seventh and eight grade was a huge life changing time. I started wanting to date boys, and have sex. I found Nirvana, and I shared it with Kaycee, including Hole. I would stay up until 11pm weeknights just listen to indie bands playing on the radio. I didn't want to listen to Boyz to Men, or all the other in bands at the time, aside from Nirvana. There was only one other kid in my grade and I think school who liked Nirvana as much as I did, and that was Clayton. I liked Clayton, but he didn't like me back.

There was alot of family problems at home, mostly caused by me, and running away. I was a monster during those years. My parents made sure I knew I was the cause of every problem in the household. Still my parents loved me, and bought me expensive clothes so I could fit in.

Eight grade starts, and I just gave up. I said fuck this popularity contest. Fuck eating at the cool lunch table, which I sat at up until eight grade. I stopped wearing name brand clothes, and I started hanging out with the outcasts, but I didn't fit in with them either. Those kids were the kids who didn't have parents who gave a shit about them, and my dad gave a shit about me and Angie. I wasn't aloud to go out and walk around Main St. Oconto Falls. The freaks didn't even let me into their group. I got beat up twice trying to become friends with them, and I beat up one chick after she put a ciggies out on my leg. I liked boys, and some liked me back, but I didn't know how to act, and I hated talking on the phone, my dad wouldn't let them come over, so I just emerged myself into listening to music. My biggest regret to this day is that I didn't ask for a guitar and amp and lessons. Instead I wrote poems. Passionate poems, often suicidal poems, teen angst poems. I found that I preferred Mazzy Star, and Fiona Apple, and REM, more depressing music. Yet I still loved to listen to what I though was punk music, Nirvana, Butthole surfers, Pixies, Mudhoney, Vaselines, pretty much every band Nirvana would say was cool I liked, and I really did like the music. Then I found L7 and Bikini Kill, and they were girl bands who play loud music with good riffs, and verse chord verse pop songs mingled with a heavier sound. I hated Alice in Chains, still do, I only sort of like Pearl Jam, one song which I can't remember the name, I think its daughter. Otherwise I disliked them. Mind you Kurt was dead by this time, and I was find all this out from Courtney Love's band Hole, and as I got older my musical taste stayed the same. I liked music you could hear on the radio. Yet I never learned how to play.

Eighth grade passed, and I was outcast, even by Kaycee now. High School came, my freshman year. I was excited because of all those movies showing how highschool is the time of your life. Nope, not at all like that. I thought I would find people who were interested in the same stuff as me, but I didn't dress like them, in the hip clothes. High School, all four years, I floated from crowed to crowed. Also a loner, never asked to parties, I just herd thru the grapevine that a party was on, and I would go by myself. I would get drunk and try to make friends. Then at one party I was 15 I met this 20 year old and he liked me. Enough to pursue me, and it was the first time I ever felt like I belonged. My boyfriend did, so I did too. That boyfriend was a fucking loser, he was too much like me. Never worked, drank too much, couldn't pay rent or buy food. Just drink, drink, drink.

Senior year, I found my dad's percocets, and I no longer needed acceptance. I had found it right there in a pill. I stopped writing, but not completely. I began reading more, I read alot. I was by myself alot. I graduated school, and didn't go to college, because I didn't want to be a marketer, which is what I signed up to be, and the day of registering came I didn't register. I would pretend like I was going to school every morning, and I would park my car in the fire lanes, and walk up and down in the woods, or sleep in my car for four or five hours. I read alot of books during that time, and listened to alot of music.

I only took my dad's pills on weekends, when everyone else was going to parties, and no one liked me. My weight fluctuated from 120 to 160, so I was always self conscience of my body. I grew into my face Junior year, but the people in town still saw me as the ugly stupid weird Anna from grade school thru highschool, and out of highschool.

I remember this one particular incident. I was walking into the library, and I had on a some clothes that were comfortable and I was in a skinny faze, my hair was long and wavy, and just as I opened the library door a car drove past and a bunch of boys yelled out Anna Young will never be pretty, you are ugly. Holy fuck did that burn deep. I tried yet again not to cry, but I walked into the library bathroom and cried. To this day, even after an adult relationship with a poet, and a living life on a razors edge, I still see an ugly duckling looking back at me in the mirror, I'm still the ugly, stupid, weird kid from Oconto Falls Wisconsin.

You know the rest, I got hooked, and moved out of Oconto Falls, then out of state, and finally I decided on what I want to do with my life, and it is write. It would be play in a band, but I can't sing nor play an instrument. Musicians are writers too. A Lot of musicians write books. Its human nature to want to be idolized. Since the Romans, King's and Queen's, and royalty. We all strive in some way to leave our mark on this world after our deaths.

When we give up, or realize that we will make no difference dead or alive, and that the only thing we left behind are children, sometimes not even that, we kill ourselves. Mediocer is not what I want my life to be, but it is what my life is. It is what my passion is. I am no better, and probably worse than you are. Still I've shot up with two needles full of full blown AIDS syringes, and all I got was Hep C. and I don't even have a viral load, which means I'm sort of immune to it. Its been close to five years since used those tainted syringes filled with HIV+,AIDS blood, and still every three months my HIV results come back as non reactive.

I've tried my hardest to kill myself, aside from a gun to the head, which when or if I do decide to kill myself I'm going with the blast to the head. Just as the kids on at recess wrote on a note after my first suicide attempt in the summer between seventh and eighth grade.

My guilt is keeping here with my parents. The guilt that my sister could still be alive if I hadn't drove up to Michigan a day earlier to get at my dads Oxycontin. The guilt that I've put my parents thru hell, and every day I'm reminded of that. The shame I feel that I'm just average, I'm in no way exceptional. The shame that I am who I am, and very few people except me for it. The guilt that it wasn't me that died, instead of my popular, driven, pretty, younger sister.

I've got three months, and hardly any money to start anew in a new State where no one knows my name, and go to school knowing I'm dumb and have a learning disability that I can't prove unless a specialized doctor re diagnoses me. After three years my highschool throws away the IEP papers that show I have a learning disability in Math mostly, and in Language some.

I complain too much. I am thankful for a bed with a soft mattress, a room of my own, a number of windows to look out, the abilty to come and go as I please. I'm thankful for Eleanor, and my parents health. I thankful that of the billions of sperm and millions of eggs in my parents reproductive organs that I was made me, me. Even though most my life I cursed the fact that I was created, I am lucky to have lived as a human on the planet Earth for the blink of eye in the continuum of time.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

It may be a decade to late, but I always thought you were beautiful.