I leave the town I grew up in, in two weeks. My actions are slowly losing all repercussions. I confessed my love to a boy dating my close friend. I punched the boy who cheated on me. And I disrespected my teacher. Maybe it’s just me and my lack of interest in this town that lets me do this, or maybe its that none of these people will never see me again, but I can feel my permanence slipping away and I’m not sure if it’s a good thing.
I have been everywhere, but I can’t find a home for myself. I know that family and my heart is where home is, but I want my own home where I’m happy at and with what I have in my life. I broke off a couple of engagements and ran away to where nobody knew me. Still, I can’t find it. Some say that’s because I’m coming from a broken home but that isn’t it. It is that because I see people are willing to chase their dreams but the question is how do they find them without the future telling us?
I am 20, a college student and just got myself a part-time job after a long recession and slouch in the country’s economy. I’ve been in a relationship with the same person for 6 years and couldn’t be happier.
Two years ago I thought I’d never be accepted into college, I was in debt with no hope of finding a job, and all of the stress and anxiety was taking its toll on my personal relationships with everyone.
I realize now that I’m still young, life is short and there is always a rainbow at the end of the storm, you just need to hang on under that little umbrella that is hope.
Sometimes I hope that I’ll find out I have melanoma again. I had it once before, when I was 15, but I only needed surgery, no extra hospital time, no drugs to cure it. Just some tissue and lymph nodes taken out. Sometimes I hope that it will come back and it will be stronger and I’ll need more than just surgery to cure it. Maybe then I’ll be able to admit I had cancer.
The other day, I realized that having sex makes my body react the same way as when I’m having a panic attack. My breathing shortens, I get cold and clammy, I shiver uncontrollably, my entire body goes numb, and I start crying. How about I go get a new life, one where you didn’t rape me and I didn’t have to see your face around the house every other weekend? A new life where I could actually enjoy sex, or being in public, or meeting new people, or expressing myself somewhere it might be found and related back to me? How about that? Wouldn’t that be nice? Hmm? I think it would be pretty fucking awesome. I’m never going to enjoy sex, or art, and art is what I live for. No wonder I have mental problems. Fuck you, you know? Fuck you.