I don't know what made me write this. I guess I've just had a lot of emotions lately and I needed to get them together. I decided to share this because after reading through it I actually thought it was pretty good considering. So please tell me honestly what you think about it. looking back now i think i was mildy inspired by the Perks of Being a Wallflower. (PS if anyone's interested the song she listened to when she was drunk that she didn't want to end was Strangers by Stellamaris. They have a myspace, check them out, they're amazing. And if you fill like it check me out too )
Her only regret was that she wasn't born in nineteen seventy-nine. That way she could have been a teenager during the nineties, and her theme song could have been by the Smashing Pumpkins. And she would have been around to watch Daria when it was still on TV and actually enjoy it. And she could turn on the radio and listen to Oasis and Smashing Pumpkins all the time. And she would have grown up in Charlottetown like her older brother and she probably wouldn't have been so bitter and jaded about people. And then right now she would have been an adult and in University, studying to be a psychologist, or in a place like New York writing her stories getting them published. And she still would have been longing for the nineties but this way she would have clear memories of them instead of the quick and fractured haze of her childhood.
But she wasn't born in nineteen seventy-nine, she was born in nineteen eighty-nine. Her theme song has to be by the Lostprophets. She has to download episodes of Daria, and pull apart the CD racks to find even the Smashing Pumpkins Greatest hits let alone something like Mellon Collie & and the Infinite. And when she turns on the radio all she hears is the American Idol bullshit and poser rock bands like Simple Plan and Good Charlotte. And she had to be a teenager in Woodstock, and she had to see how prejudiced and hateful people could be, and it scared her. And her memories of her childhood were mangled by how much her parents hated her. And she's still in high school right, and like everyone else she hates it. And she keeps writing, btu everyone tells her that her stories are disturbing and scary, when all she is doing is writing about life. And her mother says she can't be a psychologist because she'd never be able to handle the load. The only memories she has of the nineties is the song Wonderwall blasting on all the radios for a little while before the Spice Girls took over the airwaves. And she remembers not caring about them but pretending to so she could fit it.
So now she's seventeen, and she here on the floor, after having too much alcohol, and she's crying her eyes out, because her parents didn't love her. And because the beautiful song she just listened to may never be heard by anyone else, because no one understood music anymore, and no one ever wrote sad music that still had meaning to it. Because no one wants passion anymore they just want angst.
And she's crying because she didn't want to be a burden to her friends who took care of her. And she didn't want to let go of the one thing she had ever felt safe about, but he had let go anyway.
And she's crying because soon this song will end, and she can't reach the remote to put it back on. And her body feels like it weighs a ton and she can't lift it. And she keeps thinking about what she sees on TV about a young girl being murdered, and groups of people united only by their hatred of gay people. And she thinks about the girl she was in love with, and wonders how loe could ever be evil. And she thinks about the people she knew who were murdered. And how their children ended up. And how their deaths affected her parents. And how they affected her. And how no one is safe in this world, because someone could have the power to just end your life and not even regret it.
And then she cries because she misses her brother. Because he used to make her feel safe. But then he started doing drugs and suddenly he didn't need her anymore. But she still needed him. And then she remembers that she found someone else, but she was afraid to depend on him because everyone else had left her. And she thinks about how he's two year younger then she is. And how he says he doesn't know what he'll do when she graduates and leaves him. And about how even though she won't admit she doesn't know what she'll do without him either.
And she thinks about how much she wants to love everyone that she meets and how people at her high school hate her for the clothes she wears, for the songs she sings, and the stories she writes. And she thinks about ow that used to upset her, but now for some reason it doesn't. And she thinks about how everyone finds it odd that she likes to be alone, and yet they don't want her around at the same time. And how the people who do want her around don't live in her town, and how people think she's odd for missing them so much. And then she thinks about when she bought her friend ice cream when she was crying, and she was told that she was an amazing friend. And how her best friend told her to never change, and the boy who loved her brother said that she was special and that anyone would be lucky to call her a friend. And she thinks about the people who says she's two faced and a liar. And how they only said when she told them the truth. And she thinks about how at one point she had really cared for those people, and that they had broken her down beyond belief.
And she thinks about how she thought she was ugly, because she was overweight. And how when just one person told her she was beautiful she finally believed it. And she thinks about how fucked up the world is, and how people could look at some people and say that they're ugly and try to hurt them, when really they were beautiful and kind. And how she hated being a teenager, and not being taken seriously, and written off because every time she got upset it was "just hormones". But she actually was upset, and she really needed to talk. And how maybe if she had been able to talk then she wouldn't have gotten drunk and cried her eyes out for four hours.
And she thinks about how much she loves life, and how she can't wait for the future, but people still tell her she's bitter, and miserable. And how no one really knew anything about her, but they liked to assume.
And she thinks about how her parents hate her and how she hates them back. And she remembers when her best friend told her she was selfish and childish for hating them, when he didn't even know anything, because she'd never been able to open up to him about it. And she wonders why people hate, and why they can't just be happy. And she wonders why people think adults are so wise, when they've fucked the world up so damn much, and then complain about it. And she wonders why it's alright for people to be vocal about being an atheist or for hating "faggots" but when she tries to voice her love of God or say that she is bisexual and that she doesn't care about sexuality she is being preachy, or that she is just ignorant.
And she wonders why she's pitied for being a virgin, and for owning her body, when other girls are screwing boys they barely know. And she wonders why the fact that she hates drugs makes her judgmental. And why people who do them and quit are praised and people who never did them at all are just pussies. And she wonders why sad songs are depressing not uplifting or enlightening. And why movies like Brokeback Mountain are sick and disgusting but movies like Saw are appraised and beloved.
And then as she pulls herself up to puke into the bucket she thinks about her friend's new apartment, that she's in. And how to her friend it's the beginning of a new and exciting life while to the women across the hall with two kids and no husband it's a dead end. And then she prays that she doesn't end up like that.
And then finally her head still heavy with thought she manages to pull herself up and into her bedroom. And when she wakes up the next day, she wishes she didn't remember any of it.
Like it hate it? Please tell me. It was a very personal piece of work and I'd like to hear people's thoughts about it.