(no subject)
I hated the smell of the stale heat coming out of the metal pocket dug and covered in the floorboards. I always preferred to instead be wrapped up in old thin blankets, covering my ears and arms but letting just my feet exposed. I was born in March and for the rest of my life, I would be caught in a struggle between extremes, leaving me bounded with the 40 editions of To Kill A Mockingbird in my far from vacant basement. You see, with a birthday in March, you can never tell if it is going to rain or be sunny, so I always felt I lost the innocence in my childhood where your birthday can be a swim party. I don't know why I always felt poignant about that fact, I hated swim parties.. I was covered in huge layers of fat cells and that wasn't accepted for such exposing events. I missed big proceedings like that because I was ashamed of my façade, even my own mother would make comments about my secret stash of chocolate chips underneath my couch.. that even my 16 year old self who has gone through extremes of over-eating to serious anorexia still can't give away. I've always felt comfort in food... it makes you feel less empty in various ways. By the age of four I was put in therapy for curiosity and then got into my parent's first choice of private school because I drew eyelashes in my self-portrait. I was always aware of details, I remember the time I lied to my parents about drawing on their art books with my new pen that looked like an ice cream cone [the motif of food continues], I remember the designs on my mobile as an infant [this could be due to photographs], I also remember the seat number I last sat in on my plane ride to my father [4A.. which is my favorite because you get the extra bulk room in first class.] I can tell you what you wore on certain days, what song reminds me of you and an elaborate explanation to why, when and how. I don't know dates in history because numbers don't mean anything to me. It really doesn't matter to me what date Napoleon's reign diminished or how long my parents were happy for.. the only number I truly ever obsessed about was my weight, but then again, I was generally obsessive last year. This year I could be on my way down the route of love and I am completely frightened because I've never experienced true, unrequited love that remains constant. For the past 15 years, I have attempted to let go and forgive all of the passengers who have stopped and gotten off at all of the awkward and most unexpected stops. The fact that I might let go of all of the composure I have barely built up for someone of the opposite sex is going past my comfort zone, which is something I don't have the knowledge to be prepared for. The nails that have been carefully drilled in are starting to unscrew due to my mind taking over matters. I hate that similie because I hate contractors for my own personal reasons but also the fact that they destroy old and create new. Things shouldn't be renovated, restored or rebuilt… if things were constant, we'd all be a little more sure of ourselves. My English teacher would be bouncing off his ego because he's helped me think this through. He believes he has taught me how to process themes in my head and not resort to the first assumed answer… But I believe there is no answer. My birthday will always fall in the middle of seasons, popsicles don't make you full, thin blankets don't keep you warm, in a couple of years I will leave my parents as they had once left me and yet I won't have destroyed their lives, I may or may not have loved by then… but I will still be a nuance. I will probably have over-dosed or at least still be in therapy due to curiousity, I will still be rambling in my head or on paper wondering if I will make any impression in the world, and capturing beauty wishing I could see such in myself. Goodbye. Goodnight. Au Revoir.