my siren
At 15 I was diagnosed with depression. The final straw that pushed my parents to seek psychiactric help was an episode in which I had just gotten a bad hair cut. Being so caught up in image as every tennager is this was no good thing. But not every teenager would have grabbed the scissors, held tight, and pulled them across the palm of the hand, needing 5 stitches.
But that wasn't the first time I had stood in front of a mirror hating my appearance, nor was it the first time I had hurt myself on purpose.Through the years I had played with the concept of carving into my flesh, suicide, and self-hatred. I was a taller than average skinny pale girl dolled up for years by my mother with perfect blonde hair and the perfect prep school outfits. My mother would actually pick out what I was to wear the night before, iron it, and lay it out on the bathroom counter for her to dress me the next day, right down to tucking my shirt into my pants. I was her doll. Her only doll I might add and I never had to lift a finger as far as chores and working, unless it was to make a perfect grade in school. I excelling in academics but was lonely, awkward, and had a morbid imagination. I wrote my first horror story in second grade, and had a field day at times scarring the other kids.
Its easy to simply say I was rebelling, wanted to be my own person, ect. but for ten years I was an only child, brought up spoiled and selfish, that was all I knew. My mother had been told she couldn't have anymore children and yet I prayed every night for a younger sibling. When one finally came I wanted to be there for everything, the birth, dirty diapers, you name it, to a ten year old girl it was like an interactive baby doll.
No longer mother's only dolly. I had heard and understood ever at that young age that it was normal for the first child to become jealous and not know how to handle all the attention being taken away from them, but I kept that in my mind trying to keep myself from doing so. Whether I was still a spoiled only child or not, my parents and family continued to bring up my self-centeredness, calling me hateful at times and telling me I only cared for myself. But I didn't see how I had changed any. I was just as obnoxious and violent before my sister was born, possilby more in my point of view. I thought I was doing better, or trying to at least.
There had been times when I was younger that I would get so angry at someone, and sometimes myself, that I would go into a fir of rage, grit my teeth, wring my hards, sometimes even bite myself. When I began suffering the warning signs of adolescense simultaniously I was going through a more and more visable depression, it was hard to decipher one from the other.
My most traumatic experiences and episodes came while dealing with members of the opposite sex. At first I was a teeny-bopper little boy band crazed average teen. I had posters on my wall, and the main thing me and my few friends conversations consisted of was the new issue of Teen Beat, or a new internet site devoted to our beloved group Hanson. Since I've heard the most popular one got married, and nothing of the others, they were popular like the beatles (for about a summer and that was it) but we were devoted, I kept in touch with the fan clud for probably 3 or 4 years. Ridiculed, and teased at, because they were 'one hit wonders' in jr, high school I still was loyal to my band wearing t-shirts with their faces on them every day of the week. By this time I had become used to being the loser and loner, simply because I wasn't interested with the other fads of the day.
I had a boyfriend that I didn't take seriously, we made out on occasion and he tried pressuring me into intercourse but I knew I wasn't ready, at least not with him. The only sexual attraction I had known was the boy band, I didn't even know these long-haired, clean-faced, shiney happy guys. But I knew that there was something about them that I liked, yet hadn't seen in any of the boys at my school. Sure before them in grade school and such I had found myself having little crushes, but none of them made me think of sexual acts. The boyfriend I had, turned out to become a close friend and eventually almost proposed to one of my best friends at the time, but were weren't right for each other. I still talk to him when he calls from out of state and it makes me happy to feel like I did before all of this, but we've changed so much that its just not the same anymore.
I was a gifted student and had a great love for books, fantasy, science fiction, and classical literature. For some reason it seems that almost every young girl who reads Romeo and Juliet feels the same way the characters do, unabiding love and lust, to die for. I sometimes think no one every really feels love as harshly as they did when they were an adolecsent. I began reading Bram Stoker's Dracula, and eventually Anne Rice, and other vampire fiction novels. There was something I found romantic about the ideas of death and love being brought together, though now I look back thinking about it more lust than love. I read Poe, Lovecraft, and anything involving death, and the vampires fascinated me. The idea of death, revival to immortality, and passionate pain caused by love and hate, intrigued me.
I felt that since I had become a new doll, the exact opposite of the one my mother had made me into, that I should dress as one also. I painted my face to that perfect porcelein pale, with dark eye makeup and blood red lips. I died my hair, from black to red, and other colors in between. This 'dolly' began wearing long black skirts, with revealing blouses on colors of red, blue, purple, and black. One year earlier I had been wearing pastel nail polish and working on a tan.
I had literally went from Hanson to Manson.Being raised a Christian whoose family never went to church and was pretty hypocrtically by nature I lost hope in the Christian teachings. I began my own ritualist punnishments, by letting everthing slide off of me until i was in the bathroom or alone somewhere where i could make myself bleeding. Bleed out the frustration, meditate on the direction that one little trickle of blood might end up.
At 15 all of my friends were into drugs. They came to school messed up (when they were even there) , and all they would ever talk about was drugs .Apparently that was their way of coping, mine was cutting.
But that wasn't the first time I had stood in front of a mirror hating my appearance, nor was it the first time I had hurt myself on purpose.Through the years I had played with the concept of carving into my flesh, suicide, and self-hatred. I was a taller than average skinny pale girl dolled up for years by my mother with perfect blonde hair and the perfect prep school outfits. My mother would actually pick out what I was to wear the night before, iron it, and lay it out on the bathroom counter for her to dress me the next day, right down to tucking my shirt into my pants. I was her doll. Her only doll I might add and I never had to lift a finger as far as chores and working, unless it was to make a perfect grade in school. I excelling in academics but was lonely, awkward, and had a morbid imagination. I wrote my first horror story in second grade, and had a field day at times scarring the other kids.
Its easy to simply say I was rebelling, wanted to be my own person, ect. but for ten years I was an only child, brought up spoiled and selfish, that was all I knew. My mother had been told she couldn't have anymore children and yet I prayed every night for a younger sibling. When one finally came I wanted to be there for everything, the birth, dirty diapers, you name it, to a ten year old girl it was like an interactive baby doll.
No longer mother's only dolly. I had heard and understood ever at that young age that it was normal for the first child to become jealous and not know how to handle all the attention being taken away from them, but I kept that in my mind trying to keep myself from doing so. Whether I was still a spoiled only child or not, my parents and family continued to bring up my self-centeredness, calling me hateful at times and telling me I only cared for myself. But I didn't see how I had changed any. I was just as obnoxious and violent before my sister was born, possilby more in my point of view. I thought I was doing better, or trying to at least.
There had been times when I was younger that I would get so angry at someone, and sometimes myself, that I would go into a fir of rage, grit my teeth, wring my hards, sometimes even bite myself. When I began suffering the warning signs of adolescense simultaniously I was going through a more and more visable depression, it was hard to decipher one from the other.
My most traumatic experiences and episodes came while dealing with members of the opposite sex. At first I was a teeny-bopper little boy band crazed average teen. I had posters on my wall, and the main thing me and my few friends conversations consisted of was the new issue of Teen Beat, or a new internet site devoted to our beloved group Hanson. Since I've heard the most popular one got married, and nothing of the others, they were popular like the beatles (for about a summer and that was it) but we were devoted, I kept in touch with the fan clud for probably 3 or 4 years. Ridiculed, and teased at, because they were 'one hit wonders' in jr, high school I still was loyal to my band wearing t-shirts with their faces on them every day of the week. By this time I had become used to being the loser and loner, simply because I wasn't interested with the other fads of the day.
I had a boyfriend that I didn't take seriously, we made out on occasion and he tried pressuring me into intercourse but I knew I wasn't ready, at least not with him. The only sexual attraction I had known was the boy band, I didn't even know these long-haired, clean-faced, shiney happy guys. But I knew that there was something about them that I liked, yet hadn't seen in any of the boys at my school. Sure before them in grade school and such I had found myself having little crushes, but none of them made me think of sexual acts. The boyfriend I had, turned out to become a close friend and eventually almost proposed to one of my best friends at the time, but were weren't right for each other. I still talk to him when he calls from out of state and it makes me happy to feel like I did before all of this, but we've changed so much that its just not the same anymore.
I was a gifted student and had a great love for books, fantasy, science fiction, and classical literature. For some reason it seems that almost every young girl who reads Romeo and Juliet feels the same way the characters do, unabiding love and lust, to die for. I sometimes think no one every really feels love as harshly as they did when they were an adolecsent. I began reading Bram Stoker's Dracula, and eventually Anne Rice, and other vampire fiction novels. There was something I found romantic about the ideas of death and love being brought together, though now I look back thinking about it more lust than love. I read Poe, Lovecraft, and anything involving death, and the vampires fascinated me. The idea of death, revival to immortality, and passionate pain caused by love and hate, intrigued me.
I felt that since I had become a new doll, the exact opposite of the one my mother had made me into, that I should dress as one also. I painted my face to that perfect porcelein pale, with dark eye makeup and blood red lips. I died my hair, from black to red, and other colors in between. This 'dolly' began wearing long black skirts, with revealing blouses on colors of red, blue, purple, and black. One year earlier I had been wearing pastel nail polish and working on a tan.
I had literally went from Hanson to Manson.Being raised a Christian whoose family never went to church and was pretty hypocrtically by nature I lost hope in the Christian teachings. I began my own ritualist punnishments, by letting everthing slide off of me until i was in the bathroom or alone somewhere where i could make myself bleeding. Bleed out the frustration, meditate on the direction that one little trickle of blood might end up.
At 15 all of my friends were into drugs. They came to school messed up (when they were even there) , and all they would ever talk about was drugs .Apparently that was their way of coping, mine was cutting.