Untitiled

Tuesday, 06 May, 2008 12:46:47 AM
Unfortuantly, the real world has no fairies. The worst things in life are far more terrifying than trolls and ogres. No magic spells can save the hero at the last second and sometimes the bad guy wins and the good guy dies. Happily ever after was lost somewhere along the way from a long long time ago. So here in the real world, people just have to make do. We hope and try and pray that the good guy doesn't die and the underdog rises to the top. It's to often a story prooven by every news program that exists that these things we wish for just don't work out. No matter how often we tell the stories, it won't make them come true. Some things just aren't real. But courage does exist and so does strength, qualities that seem rare and at times coincidental. So as I'm writing these words, I wonder if anyone will ever read them, and if they do--will they believe my story?
I have a scar on my left hand that's still a bit tender to the touch and as I wince I remember the blade that put it there. I can almost see the blood that drips out and onto the floor. I open my eyes and look at my hand to remind myself it's all just a memory. That's another difference between real life and fairytales, damsels never have nightmares about the distress part of the story. I suppose I could see a shrink or something, but I like to think I've earned my independence. I like to think I've proven to myself that I don't need anybody. Besides, if I needed someone, I'd be just as helpless as before...I'd be right back into that mess. It's a memory that's hard to recall, it's a struggle to find the words--it's important to me that those who hear my story know not only what happened, but why. The reasons are possibly the most important part of what I need to say.
I know the world watches the t.v. and all the horrible things that happen across the world--headlines never read "Happiness and Peace Worldwide." There's always somebody's little girl, some pregnant teen murder-suicide, and somebody who's not me. It could never be me. These things happen to poor people who couldn't have possibly been raised right. Bad choices, bad decisions, bad parenting. Something caused this. It's human nature to rationalize it as such. If these things could happen to anybody then nobody's safe, the world would panic and chaos would make everyone a victim. But as calming a notion it is to believe it could never be a truth in one's own life, it can. One day, waking up means a break-in and a 45 shoved in your face. I had a normal childhood. One brother, one sister, a mommy, a daddy, and of course the family dog. I even had a beta fish when I was younger until it ran away. I had straight As in school--perfect student, volunteered for years, helped around the house and my biggest problem was not cleaning my room when I was supposed to. My parents did everything they ever could for me, just the right amount of watching me and letting me make my own mistakes. So why is it, that these things happened to me? I blamed God for awhile, blamed the world, blamed myself most of the time, blamed him, and then I quit blaming and started thinking.
This world can be a very scary place, I know because I've been to a place where nightmares exist. I've been to a place where the relief of crying keeps you alive. Nothing in my past could have predicted what happened to me, but maybe if people hear it, it will help them to prevent it in their own lives. Maybe if people hear it, it will help me.


I remember preaching to all the kids my age of the pricelessness of virginity. A gift you give to your soulmate on your wedding night. I remember being the wholesome one--the good one. The one who was never quite pretty enough to be even kissed let alone faced with the actual dilema of teenage passion. But I need to believe had I been one of the bunch to spend a Saturday night on the town, I would have held fast to my virtues and values. Some point along the timeline of my life I grew into a pair of boobs and a skinnier--pretty face. Brown hair, blue eyes, a charming personality and a witty clever mind. That's how I would describe myself then, perhaps I'm giving myself to much credit--perhaps not enough, but I had no real skills or talents so I needed something to stand out and I chose intelligence, purity, a sense of clarity in my morals. That's really all I ever had to offer anyone.
Then my first year in high school, a boy took notice of me. All the value I put on my rationality flew out the window in the excitement of it all. A boy wanted MY number. A boy thought I was beautiful. Women put too much importance on how a man percieves them. All it took was for a boy to think I was beautiful and I was practically in love. I was actually going on a date. In a moment I turned into just another simple minded little girl. But in my defense I was so very young and he was nearly four years my senior. I wish there were some way I could send a message to myself telling me to run so far away from him, but to be honest I wouldn't have listened. I know that for a fact, because at the time I was sending myself that message--I knew he was bad news the moment I laid eyes on him. Everypart of me then screamed to escape. Everypart of me except that stubborn innocence and that fatal lie we all tell ourselves that it could never happen to me.