(no subject)
I just found my writing folder from school. In it there are stories I wrote when I was around thirteen or fourteen, and the starts of many short stories/prospective novels that I don't even remember thinking about. There is one in there that I wrote at fifteen, about me as a lesbian trying to live my life with my strict, homophobic family.
I wanted to live in the world of the fairies. Amongst elves and pixies, hobbits and dwarves. The Lord of the Rings was one of my favourite books. It was, for me, a great adventure, a book I found myself lost in. Once I started reading, I could not stop, and once I'd finished, I'd weep for it was the end of my adventure.
The thought of being a hermit appealed to me. Speaking to no-one, having to deal with no-one, not having to hear anyone's cries, these things appealed to me. Just me and my books, I would have liked to live that way.
I often wondered what it would be like to die. Death - it intrigued me. I feared Death, but unlike Hamlet, I did not fear what would happen after Death. I feared the pain during Death. My tolerance for physical pain was very low, I would have very much like to die and end this life which I felt did not belong to me, but I was afraid.
My life wasn't bad - I lived with my parents and my two sisters. You could say my parents were rich, and so we had almost everything we desired. Material things. Even so, I found myself constantly wishing that I was not alive. My parents fought often, and my sisters, to me, were evil. Which is partly why I desired to be a hermit - to escape their sour faces and cruel remarks, and constant attempts to get me in trouble. I would talk to them as little as I could and spend most of my time shut up in my room. Privacy was not something that existed in their vocabulary. I found they interrogated my every action. Often, I felt as if I was under attack, and though I appeared nonchalent from the outside, inside me, I was hurting. It woudl be like a shadow had fallen over my heard, and it just kept getting darker and darker. They were mean.
I guess I didn't have as many problems as some others in the world during that time, nor were they serious. But they were enough. I wanteded freedom. Total freedom. From everything. Everone. And the way I saw it, there was only one way. Death.
My family was a very proud family. They believed in keeping their children in line, and disciplined. Not that I was out of line. Well, I didn't think so. I was just different. When I tried to rasie the subject with my family, they laughed it off. So I kept it isnide me, knowing that I would never be happy. My problem? I found myself attracted to other girls, and I'd often jokingly tell my family I was gay. They didn't believe me, of course, And why should they? With the number of boys I had as friends, no one would take me to be queer. I even had boys claiming to be "in love" with me. What could I do? My hints about my sexuality were shot down. My family was homophobic.
Can you imagine that? A queer living amongst homophobes that constantly accused you of having "boyfriends".
The thought of being with a boy disgusted me in a way which I cannot explain. It made me uncomfortable, it wasn't right - for me. I suppose that's why I got along with boys so easily. In a way, I was one of them.
My life was a mess. Girls I found myself drawn to were themselves not queer. I had not the nerve to tell them how I felt, for I knew that it would be the end of my friendship. And then there wer ethe guys. I found myself rejecting date offers with no ligitimate reason. It made those that asked me out bitter towards me, but what could I do? What could I say? Not the truth. I know that it would only be a matter of minutes after revealing the truth that I would find myself living the life of a social reject. And I didn't want to be a reject. I had many friends, and I didn't want to lose them, or their respect.
So I dreamt of freedom, and of Death. And of the day that it it would come and take me away. Free. Forever.
I am a bit concerned for my teenage self.
What does it mean that I seem to be as good a writer now as I was then? Does it mean that I will never become a better writer?
I wanted to live in the world of the fairies. Amongst elves and pixies, hobbits and dwarves. The Lord of the Rings was one of my favourite books. It was, for me, a great adventure, a book I found myself lost in. Once I started reading, I could not stop, and once I'd finished, I'd weep for it was the end of my adventure.
The thought of being a hermit appealed to me. Speaking to no-one, having to deal with no-one, not having to hear anyone's cries, these things appealed to me. Just me and my books, I would have liked to live that way.
I often wondered what it would be like to die. Death - it intrigued me. I feared Death, but unlike Hamlet, I did not fear what would happen after Death. I feared the pain during Death. My tolerance for physical pain was very low, I would have very much like to die and end this life which I felt did not belong to me, but I was afraid.
My life wasn't bad - I lived with my parents and my two sisters. You could say my parents were rich, and so we had almost everything we desired. Material things. Even so, I found myself constantly wishing that I was not alive. My parents fought often, and my sisters, to me, were evil. Which is partly why I desired to be a hermit - to escape their sour faces and cruel remarks, and constant attempts to get me in trouble. I would talk to them as little as I could and spend most of my time shut up in my room. Privacy was not something that existed in their vocabulary. I found they interrogated my every action. Often, I felt as if I was under attack, and though I appeared nonchalent from the outside, inside me, I was hurting. It woudl be like a shadow had fallen over my heard, and it just kept getting darker and darker. They were mean.
I guess I didn't have as many problems as some others in the world during that time, nor were they serious. But they were enough. I wanteded freedom. Total freedom. From everything. Everone. And the way I saw it, there was only one way. Death.
My family was a very proud family. They believed in keeping their children in line, and disciplined. Not that I was out of line. Well, I didn't think so. I was just different. When I tried to rasie the subject with my family, they laughed it off. So I kept it isnide me, knowing that I would never be happy. My problem? I found myself attracted to other girls, and I'd often jokingly tell my family I was gay. They didn't believe me, of course, And why should they? With the number of boys I had as friends, no one would take me to be queer. I even had boys claiming to be "in love" with me. What could I do? My hints about my sexuality were shot down. My family was homophobic.
Can you imagine that? A queer living amongst homophobes that constantly accused you of having "boyfriends".
The thought of being with a boy disgusted me in a way which I cannot explain. It made me uncomfortable, it wasn't right - for me. I suppose that's why I got along with boys so easily. In a way, I was one of them.
My life was a mess. Girls I found myself drawn to were themselves not queer. I had not the nerve to tell them how I felt, for I knew that it would be the end of my friendship. And then there wer ethe guys. I found myself rejecting date offers with no ligitimate reason. It made those that asked me out bitter towards me, but what could I do? What could I say? Not the truth. I know that it would only be a matter of minutes after revealing the truth that I would find myself living the life of a social reject. And I didn't want to be a reject. I had many friends, and I didn't want to lose them, or their respect.
So I dreamt of freedom, and of Death. And of the day that it it would come and take me away. Free. Forever.
I am a bit concerned for my teenage self.
What does it mean that I seem to be as good a writer now as I was then? Does it mean that I will never become a better writer?