Sometimes I am so happy that I am different. I like to pretend I’m cool, a rebel without a cause who doesn’t care what others think because I’m so above it all. I like to be controversial and opinionated, always talking, fast paced and loud. Never thinking, just speaking. I’m sarcastic with dry wit; a smart mouth and a sly tongue. Words that describe me. There are so many words that can be used.
Weird
Crazy.
B****.
A slap in the face those words were at first. But now I relish them, I breathe them in, filling my lungs deep with the poisonous air they expel. My therapist says that anyone would feel hurt at the sound of those words, and I’m not being overly sensitive. I believed her words at first, but now they’ve become the twisted ones, the words I don’t want to hear.
Words are astounding. In grade 8 I was told I had the vocabulary of a second year university student. Even when I was young I was different. Pulling against the current. I was the first of my friends to discover music, beautiful music. I fell in love with John Lennon and Buddy Holly, the legends of such who died tragic deaths. Magical, tragic, horrible, brilliant deaths. These words come flowing out of my mouth, rolling off my tongue. I’m a walking thesaurus. I have flash cards in my room of lovely words that I review each night before bed. I dream of complicated worlds where everyone speaks eloquently before I meet the kiss of death.
My dreams have no structure. In my dreams I am betrayed, tortured, mutilated and murdered. I am forced at night into a world where I’m not safe from my own mind. My brain has the capability to create something wonderful and special, so detailed and marvelous, an escape so to speak, somewhere I can look forward to; instead it sends me to my own corner of hell. I rely on sleeping meds to knock me out. I never have to remember my dreams again.
My dreams. My hopes for the future are to make it out okay. My hope for right now is to be accepted at this place, my other personal hell that is more formally known as an educational institution. After living in an artificial society for five months, I’ve been released and now able to run rampant through the streets. Quite literally. My last midnight stroll found me passed out in a park by my elementary school. I could’ve sworn there was someone in that car.
My main thought is this: I used to be cool. Cooler than cool, a real groovy chick who was vegan and listened to Sonic Youth. Or maybe that was just a friend of mine. I can’t even remember who I am anymore.