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Sitting and Doodling.
I’m sitting in French watching people match words to pictures and listening to the teacher telling someone ‘You will not get any chocolate if you don’t behave!’ I would rather be dead, and this is not an exaggeration.
So I sit, and I doodle, and I think, and I worry. I doodle about the first thing I think about. I think about what I’ve got to worry about. And I worry about what I will do when it finally hits me that I am single again.
The teachers’ bad breath staggers into my lungs as she tells me I don’t have the ‘Home Life’ sheet and all I can think about is when the lesson ends. My writing is interrupted by the girl behind asking if I split up with Elizabeth. I say yes and act like I don’t care, but really that was the closest I’ve come to crying all day.
3:10pm. Home time.
Supressed Rage
You know the kid that gets a hold of a gun somehow then goes into school the next day and shoots everyone that pisses him off. I could be that kid. I can actually imagine holding the gun to jacks head, making him beg for his life, and then shooting him.
Some people might say I’m fucked up and need help. I think I am fucked up. I don’t want any help.
It’s pathetic how the only time I’ve experienced bullying is now, in the last compulsory year of education.
I’m pathetic.
I think steak is an important factor in my family’s life.
I’m sat on a table with two male cousins of similar age to me, two of my aunties and two of my uncles and they are all arguing over whose steak is whose and what steak is what rarity.
All this means nothing to me but at least after the party I can pretend I am a steak expert to anyone I come across talking about steak.
One of my uncles, who enjoys a bit lot to drink, I had named the steak king. It’s my granddads 80th birthday and I think everyone is just trying to make the most of the free bar and free meals before he goes off on some religious rant.
I go for a short toilet break but really I just end up standing in the cubicle and think how nice it is to be in silence and away from it all. I can’t spend too long in there though because my younger cousins will probably tell everyone I am doing a ‘poo’.
Back to reality and so far I’m sitting and observing.
“How’s school?” My aunt asks her nephew. Before he can even answer she turns to the steak king and starts talking about…steak. Then another cousin comes over and starts telling the steak king how her steak is ‘medium rare’ when she did not want this. This sets him off all night. This is not an exaggeration.
The table full of all my female teen relatives is in hysterics because, in the words of my aunt, they found a tiny hair in the meal. They obviously found a pube. Our table is all laughing at how annoying their laughs are and they all know this but don’t care.
“It’s weird how they all laugh the same” I tell my cousin. I then turn back to the laughing table and see everyone has stopped and one of my cousins is giving me dead eye. She obviously hasn’t forgotten about the time I bit her. I was five.
My name is …………………….. and I worry too much.
The shopping list:
I worry whether my friends like me.
I worry about how many kisses I got in that text off that girl.
I worry about my money situation.
I worry that I won’t be able to quit smoking.
I worry that my penis will always stay this way.
I worry that the good I do will not be rewarded.
I worry that there is something in the dark.
I worry that if I don’t blink an even amount of times then the monsters will get me.
I worry that if I don’t jump when I pull the shower switch something bad will happen.
I worry that my life is like ‘The Truman Show’ and I am Truman.
I wonder if people think the same way as me sometimes. Well I actually think this all the time.
Nothing
Nothing bad has happened to me. Well nothing seriously bad. No one I know has died. No one I know has got a serious disease. I don’t cut, my parents are together and I have never even broken a bone.
I just watch as everyone else’s lives fall apart. At times I drift in and out of their lives, taking control where they can’t. Sometimes it’s because I want to help them. Other times its because I want to feel what everyone else feels.
Nothing bad has happened to me.
How long will it last?
I remember
I remember a year ago you said to me “Because I will fuck you up”.
“No you won’t” I said.
One year on and I’ve helped you get better.
One year on and I’m fucked up.
