Taking recent events in to account, I've decided to write a journal. Before I started writing this, I wondered why the idea never came to me before. After several minutes of looking at a blank page, I remembered why.
In truth, I had tried to write a journal before. Many times, in fact. It seems whenever I try to put my feelings out on a page, the pen stops me. Or maybe I stop myself. I don't even know anymore. All I know for sure is that if I don't tell someone I just might explode. But where do I start?
Do I start with Ian and his sister, and the contrast between their personalities? Or my parents? Or should I talk about Jenny, and how completely amazing she is? I guess I'll just let my pen guide me through these blank pages, trying to make everything sound nice, charming, and superb.
Superb. How is that word allowed to be part of my vocabulary? My life isn't exactly superb. If only everyone else would see it that way, maybe I wouldn't be forced to write this journal. Well let's see then…I guess it's the beginning, that's where people usually start, isn't it?
Well, keeping the whole beginning thing in mind, I suppose I should give you a bit of background on myself first, seeing as how it all starts with me, and from what I know, the beginning and the start are quite the same thing. I'm Madison, or Maddy if you're feeling amiable. I'm seventeen years old, and I've learned quite a bit more about the world in that time than most my age.
I live on Requiem Crescent. I know, not a very good street name, is it? Especially when this street housed the richest families in the area. Personally, I think whoever named the street was a morbid person with a point. All the really rich families that live on my street seem dead inside. They thrive on gossip and social status. It's quite sickening.
Anyway, I happen to live in the largest house of them all. We have 120 acres of green grass (I always feel sorry for the people my parents hire to mow it) and a large castle-like house made of great grey stones and white marble pillars. Our house has seventy-two rooms. I honestly don't get why we need seventy-two rooms. I could live with ten. Though mother and father insist on staying in this mausoleum, probably because it's an ego-booster. I have the smallest bedroom in the house. I used to have a bigger one but being the lazy ass that I am, I never kept it clean enough (I absolutely refuse to let the maid clean up my room for various reasons). So I moved to a smaller one on the ground floor.
I have two siblings. My youngest sibling is my brother, Derek. He's a little monster. He eats just about everything he sees and colours on the walls. He's Mother's little boy, too. Then again, he's only three, so I suppose he's allowed to be immature.
My other sibling is only a year younger than I am. Her name is Miranda. She's perfect. Everyone knows it too. She's beautiful, intelligent, athletic and just about the nicest person you'll ever meet. She's one of those people that you'll sit next to on an airplane, and you want the window seat that she has. Before you even get the chance to ask the complete stranger to switch seats (if you would do so anyway. I know I wouldn't) she would turn to you and ask if you wanted the window seat. That's just the kind of person she is.
I suppose it's starting to sound like what I said before about my life not being superb is quite a lie isn't it? Well, one of the reason's my life isn't superb is because of Miranda. Yes, perfect Miranda. I don't hate her or anything. I don't even dislike her. It's impossible. No, the fact of the matter is I am insanely jealous of my sister. She's so perfect at everything… even at the things I think I'm somewhat good at. I can honestly say the only thing I'm better at than her is art, and—to be completely cocky for a moment—it's because I'm insanely good at art. So yeah, my parents constantly praise Miranda, while I'm left there feeling worthless and neglected.
For another thing, I have no friends. Well I shouldn't say that. I do have friends. Two of them to be exact. The only thing is I don't go to the same school as either of them. They go to Riverside, while I'm stuck at Westmount. Now don't get me wrong, Westmount is an amazing school, the best public school in the province. Once again, my parents insisted I go there. I used to go to private school. Only something happened and… Well I don't feel like writing about that right now. Back to my friends. Their names are Jenny and Adam. They're brother and sister. They constantly complain about each other and tease each other, but they're about the closest siblings I've ever seen. I wish I were like that with my family.
I met Jenny and Adam because their mom used to work as a maid for my family. Since Jenny and Adam were about my age (Adam is a year older than Jenny and I), their mom would bring them to work and we would play together. That was over ten years ago, and we've stayed friends over the years, much to my parents' dismay. Their dad left them when they were very little, but they don't care. Their mother loves them so much and treats them like angels. Or she tries to. They aren't rich like I am, their mother being a maid. It sometimes makes things awkward in the relationship we have, but we always make things work. They understand my situation, and I theirs.
I just realized I spent twenty minutes describing everything but myself, when I clearly stated that's what I was going to be doing. Returning now to that topic, just so you know a bit what I'm like. I'm 5'5, with an average waistline. I'm probably the only girl on this planet who doesn't find herself fat. Though that doesn't mean I find myself flattering either. I have long dark brown hair and freckles. I have these amazing sparkling green eyes that I completely adore. Why I was blessed with such amazing eyes I have no idea, but I can honestly say they're the one feature about myself I love.
I'm also completely obsessed with music. I own more CDs than should be legal, not that I mind, of course. I like everything from indie to punk to emo to rock…pretty much anything alternative. I can't stand most of the stuff they play on the radio these days; therefore I do no listen to the radio.
I understand how lucky I am to have a life like mine, with a roof over my head and both my parents and no financial difficulty, yet I always find myself fantasizing about a normal life. A life where my parents love me regardless of school and social status. A life where I don't have to attend numerous social events that I have no interest in. A life where people aren't constantly talking about how 'conceited' I am. I never realized that was an adjective that described me until I started public school. It seems that just by the way I walk, public school kids can tell I'm loaded. They don't understand. I would give it all up for something different. Not more, not less, just different. I can't think of how else to describe it, and the only people who seem to get it are Adam and Jenny.
At least that's what I thought. It seems I was wrong though. And that, my friend, leads us to the beginning.