Tonight I told the truth. The whole truth and it was terrifying. I feel like a new person, a new and imperfectly perfect person. I said all the ugly nasty things floating around my head and it’s wonderful. I feel great. I am happy and content. No, everything is not perfect and nothing will ever go back to what it was, but that’s okay. The world won’t end and neither will I. It’s time to start my next chapter. No more talking about it, more doing it. The tree will keep blossoming, the wind will keep blowing and I will keep living. The world is mine and now I’ll seize it. In the honest way.
I heard once, that it is easier to write an honest response than to say one aloud. I agree with this statement. I can write about all my future plans till my fingers bleed, but I will sit at the table and lie my agreement till I am blue in the face. I have really been using this writing platform to come clean about my lies and indiscretions but now I need to get my ass in motion and figure out what the fuck I am doing. Here are some truths:
I still smoke cigarettes
I am doing mediocre in school
I am filling out applications to schools I will never go to
I am ready to drop out of college and live under a rock
I might run away with a friend
My mom thinks I am a good daughter
Also, for as smart as I may be, I have a 48.5 in math…
I honestly have absolutely no idea what I am doing at the moment. It is exhilarating and absolutely terrifying.
If someone out there wants to adopt a moody wannabe writer- I am ready to make some moves.
I don’t think blogs are necessarily written to gain anything besides the gratification of writing, BUT. The but had to come and here it is: I AM RESTLESS. Twenty years old, one semester away from my AA in Liberal Arts and still living at home. I am ready to make a change but I do not know how! This is my cry for help: HELP.
I am open to ideas, suggestions, housing? No probably not the last one. If there is anyone out there who understands this babble, make yourself known!
Do you think about me?
Do you watch me trace your old rollerblade routes, like a lifeline?
I skate your routes in hopes you will appear. I feel you here, in the wicked whip of the palm trees, in the angry crash of the waves. I smell you in the sea soaked air.
How do I hold onto a ghost?
I wish I could hold your hand again, but I’ll settle for the coarse grains of sand creating indents in my palm.
Like messages from above.
There is a girl I used to know, but she vanished in a plume of ashen cigarette smoke. I loved this girl, she was funny and loving and happy. I guess I didn’t know much about her in the end. What i do know, is that she is gone but I will find her. Her vanishing act took place about a year ago, she was replaced with a twisted doppelganger. The only resemblance was bitten down fingernails and dark eyebrows. All other attributes had morphed into an altogether darker being. Knotted hair, dead eyes and hollow cheekbones. A stick figure full of jagged edges replaced the girl I once knew. She may never come back, but I loathe this version. The scent of tobacco and dishonesty linger in every room she travels through. Her presence, once welcomed now garners wary and worried looks and hushed tones.
What happened to her? the demons won. Sometimes, early in the morning, when I watch her swipe mascara onto her jet black eyelashes I catch a glimpse of who she used to be. Though she disappears as quickly as she came and I wonder how I can get her back. This mystery girl reminds me strongly of a chameleon, turning whatever hue the situation dictates. Among her crowd, she is wild, magnetic, yet almost dangerous. Gray smoke curls around each lie she tells, because there is no truth. I see her other times in certain classes, letting the old self shine through. The literary genius-ready with each answer. God I want her back. I follow her as closely as possible, cringing and admiring her brass exchanges. When did she start hating herself so much?
She goes home and channels her old self as best as possible; though it is a bit like wearing too small clothes. The feeling is off. She makes nice with the family she used to adore. Now, they are just more strangers to be civil with. I watch as she interacts with the mother she used to call her friend. Each sentence they utter is a cautionary volley, seeing which will be set off first. The mother utterly wary of this daughter 2.0, limits all freedoms in an attempt to find the girl she once knew. The brother who used to admire her, has lost all respect and sadly wonders where his sister went. He shakes his head, disgusted. I watch this girl-she does not care.
She is angry. Why? Why is she so angry? I can feel her blood boiling, I can feel the control slipping away. Who is she? why is she so lost. Anger is best channeled through treachery and bodily exchanges. The urge to kill, becomes the urge to fuck. Gone are the days of young boys and fruitless crushes. This is a time of charm and debauchery. She becomes a seducer. A serpent stopping at nothing. For whom she wants, she has. God, who is she? What is she? A whore? Femme Fatale? A victim? None, she is the girl I once knew.
Life is nothing but a series of missteps and miscommunication, throw in a few good moments and some fantastic characters and bam, it’s noteworthy. I myself have become one of these fantastic characters over the years, although the word may actually at this point be caricature. Ya know? Those highly distorted but probably frighteningly accurate representations of the average Joe. Yep I am one of those. My name is Emily, but depending upon who you ask, I am eight thousand different “Emily”‘s. Awhile ago, my mother finally decided it was about damn time to call my bullshit and tell me that I need to fix my compulsive lying issue. (See, now you are gonna second guess the whole blog; because when does a compulsive liar tell the truth?) I was utterly indignant, stuck my nose in the air and accused her of being nosy and over protective. I secretly wished, every day that she would just leave me alone; let me travel, let me drop out of school, just be my very own person. (Ironic because there are so many versions of me.)
A couple days ago, after a few months of smooth sailing and secret resentment she drops the BOMB. Nope, those aren’t just calcifications of breast tissue it’s cancer! Ta Da, that is a magic trick because just like that I for once felt utterly responsible for something. Shit, all of my wishful resentment has caused cancer. This is my fault for wanting to be left alone, is it too late to pick back up my Catholic faith? Anyway I know realistically that the cancer is not my fault but I have also realized that if I am to be fully independent, I most likely can’t handle it. So karma is a bitch right?
Sincerely, Emily the Liar.