The Actress

Older people worry about getting married and engaged and the plans that go with all of that. The plans for receptions, parties, honeymoons, and then the actual wedding is all that those same people worry about. And what do we, teens, young adults, and infants to them, worry about? We only worry about finding a boy or girl good enough to love so much that we trust them with passion, someone good enough to be comfortable near, someone okay enough to try the things those peer pressure commercials say is bad and too influential.

The only thing stuck in my mind because of my age was his face and the things he repeated to me just to make me smile. I still felt the way he touched my cheek with his fingers and stroked my hair with his whole hand and rubbed my back and touched my sides. Birthdays and age progression make you realize marriage could be coming up and then there’s children following the wedding because of the sex during the honeymoon. And sex is only because of the peer pressure television

I try not to worry about him and I in a week or in a month or in three and a half months. I try not to think about the fights we have sometimes and the fights we will have. I try not to worry about what could happen if the fights get worse. I try not to worry about the illegal things we do and the cigarettes we smoke. But it’s hard not to when that’s all that runs through my head.

All I can really do to better my thoughts is ignore the fact that the future most likely will be negative. It’s terribly difficult to ignore something that could be here in a week or four months. The world spins too fast, and people make it go a hell of a lot faster. Life moves and generations change and modernize but do emotions? I highly doubt people will feel differently in the next one hundred years. I bet anyone money that people will still be heartbroken and sad. This whole stupid world is hell bent on depressing its population.

And it does a hell of a job.

Living with what I live with is just ridiculous. Wake up in the mornings, and pretend you’re not there. Walk in my shoes down the stairs and you’ll fall flat on your face and I’ll give you a prize for even trying. I deal with so much, yet so little. I’m under a lot of nonexistent pressure that’s killing me. I have people to impress, a boy to love, a house to clean, and hair on fire. I am being burned alive and it’s the thrill that gets me.

This pressure is suffocating me. Sometimes I can’t breathe. Sometimes I have to lay flat on my stomach with my eyes closed pretending it’s not happening. I have to pretend I’m dead. I have to pretend to be a corpse in the ground because corpses don’t have futures and my future is frighteningly dreaded.

Goals and aspirations don’t exist when it comes to me. I am nothing, I will always be nothing, I will not change, and that is that, the end. So asking me where I’ll be next year is a bit silly. I plan to be in a bed with blankets in a home with furniture. And if that doesn’t work out, well, I plan to be on a street corner in a refrigerator box. Goals mean nothing unless you’re playing soccer. I don’t play soccer.

I was walking down this dead end street. I walked all the way to the dead end with a cigarette in my hand. I stood there looking at the suburban glory at its best. The rebellious suburban kids were under a streetlight just talking and having fun, complaining about how poor and depressed they are. They don’t understand depression in its true form. They don’t understand poorness in its actuality. They have no concept of being destroyed at all. I felt like running over there and backslapping every single one of them. I didn’t though; I had a cigarette in my hand.

A cars headlights were shining towards me and coming closer and closer and closer. I just stood at the dead end, took a drag on my cigarette, not exactly enjoying the nicotine. The car didn’t stop when it was about twenty feet from me. In fact, it started moving faster. And then it hit me. Everything at once, the realization, the happiness, the thank-you, the car. It all just crashed into me so hard I was under the car. I was dead and that’s all that matters.

I was breathing a few last breaths. I heard the last five seconds of my life. Those ignorant fucks came over and tried pulling me out but by the time they got a good grip on me, my heart was done beating it’s broken pieces and my lungs were collapsed. I was a corpse; I was what I had always pretended to be.

And I would like to thank the person who hit me for making this a dream come true. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be alive.