I really don't understand some things… But mostly I was just thinking, if my mommy went away there'd be nobody else in the whole world who loved me. Not that I'm having a pity party or anything, like 'Boo-hoo, nobody loves me'. And I've come to this conclusion before, so it's not like it's a surprise or anything. I was just thinking quietly to myself. I partly feel a loss, like it's something I could have prevented. But you can't make people love you, and I can't change who I am. Because if I changed myself to make people love me, they wouldn't really love "me" then. In a movie I watched once, someone said that everything sprouted from, revolved around, love. I guess it's true. It seems to revolve around all my problems.
I simply exist for my mother. She bore me, she raised me, she continues to love me. After all the love I seem to miss—friendship, love from aunts, uncles, cousins, my grandparents, and even my own father—she fills those gaps. I couldn't—wouldn't want to—survive without her.
My mother takes me to see a therapist, a woman named Kari, once a week. As I am terribly clever, it's (mostly) easy—even though we're so close—to hide how severe my depression is. Sure, my therapist and my mother do know I'm depressed. That in itself was impossible to hide since Kari was waiting to pounce from the shadows to stamp it on my forehead since I started seeing her in the sixth grade. She's not mean, in fact, I like her, she's just a little over-zealous when it comes to her job. I did hold her off for almost four and a half years. I feel severe depression is a part of life. To quote a book I read once; "Life sucks and then you die."
School's starting up again, and while this year, I flushed out the remaining people who were my friends (not that they were any good for anyone's sanity or good health—not that I professed to have either) and started out all alone. I promised myself I'd work on my studies this year, and hopefully continue to be ignored by peers.
The alarm clock woke me up, it was incredibly loud and sent my heart pounding, jolting me out of a fading dream. I stood, dressing in my bad-ass gear—a white wife beater, a brown faux (yet still soft to the touch) fur lined satin jacket, dark jeans and black sneakers—and heading out to the bus stop. My dad didn't bother getting up, so I left him to snore on the couch. My mom was long gone, she'd left me a note. I had stuck it in my backpack, behind my art pad.
I dumped some water on my head, attempting to fix my honey-colored hair. Mom always cooed over my hair, how it matched my eyes. I snorted. Well, it didn't anymore. Too many sun baths in the lawn bleached it at least two shades lighter. I sighed, giving up. I don't know why Mom liked my eyes so much. They always seemed too dark to me. I thought people seemed put-off by them.
I touched my chin. I grew a few hairs, but I mostly shaved it off. I didn't really do much to my appearance, it mostly did everything itself. My brother was like that too. My mom had a baby a little before she met my dad.
Darion, my brother, goes to military college or something. West Point maybe. Anyway, he chills with us at Christmas for a few weeks, and then goes back. So I don't see him. Mom fusses over him while he's here—he's kind of a dick, but mostly okay—and it's bittersweet. Mom doesn't focus so much on me when he's here—which is nice, but then I also get jealous as hell. Not that I'd freak out and throw stuff or anything; I'm more of a smolder-angrily-in-the-corner kind of jealous.
Anyway, so I pop in my head phones—completing my very bad-ass look—and ignore my thoughts for a while.
I get to school, the bus picking me up four minutes and twelve seconds late, chill in my homeroom, doodling, and ignoring my teacher. I look around—I'm going to need something to stare at while I'm being bored outside my mind—when a male walks past the room. He's tall, bronze, wearing a black beanie with short dark brown hair—almost a black—poking out. He wore tight long black shirt, light colored pants and black boots. I took this all in quickly, almost abstinently, and then he turned, looking at me. He had piercing green eyes that went through me like a shock.
I offered a wry smile, and went back to finishing my dragon on my notebook.
The girl behind me, or at least it sounded like a girl, whispered, "Oh my god! Thane Woods just totally walked by the door!"
The only thing I could think: Who the hell's that?
The girl sighed in exasperating—her friend apparently had the same reaction—and went to explain that he was the hottest male since the last time Brad Pitt was actually cool.
…The kid would have to be a lot older to qualify for that.
The girl's friend, again, spoke my thoughts. Hm, maybe we were kindred spirits.
The bell rang, and everyone split. I sighed. I didn't have art for another two periods.
Finally, several periods after art, I had lunch. Sitting in the exact same spot I did the year before, bittersweet memories assaulted my mind. Paralyzed, I waited for my mind to calm down. The one lone friend I had made the year before, a senior named Jared, had moved on to college. As it should be. It wouldn't be right of me to wish someone behind just so I could catch up.
You have to go get something to eat. Else you'll be cranky and hard to deal with the rest of the day.
Also, I'd freak out if I started to cry over a seat. I locked the feelings and memories away, and I went to go get lunch.