Dictating Decisions

February 26, 2012
Drink. Let the strong liquid pour down your throat. Smile. Grin as if it’s completely normal; a fun experience, if you will. Repeat. Again and again; once more, endlessly throughout the night. Allow the alcohol to daze your vision, stun your mind, and hypnotize your well-being. Then allow yourself to fall for the first guy you see. Let him touch you and kiss you sloppily until you’re convinced you’re in love. Slur to him that you want him. Let him lead your intoxicated self to the first bedroom he finds. Drop your clothes. Throw them off. Undress him. Go with whatever he suggests. Go with whatever he wants. Hear the cheering of your friends from outside the door. It’s muted. The pounding in your head isn’t. What are the red lights? Close your eyes. They become more vivid. You know something is happening. But what? Stand up, and throw your clothes back onto your body. Is the room swaying? Throw a hand against your forehead. It’s only instinct. Yes. The room is swaying. Or is it you? So confused…colors blur…sounds mute…eyes close. Body falls. To the floor, and you’re gone.

That was me. Every night. It was just me and my dad at home. It wasn’t like he cared for me at all. I was allowed to do what suited me. Get pregnant, drop out of high school, or marry someone completely wrong for me…that probably wouldn’t faze him at all. Sometimes, I wish he did care. It would have prevented me from those choices I made. I had rebelled. And that was stupid.

Now, I’m here. Ten years later. Twenty-seven, and way past my expiration date. Tattoos are scattered all over my body. Unattractive reminders of a past I beg to forget. Big, gaping holes are in my ears. They are from gauge earrings; big, black circles people inserted into their ears to space a big hole into them. It was the fashion of the time. Why had I never thought that in ten years, the fashion would be gone? All that was left were the holes. Holes that would never heal; holes that constantly reminded me of a past I longed to look from. My hair hangs limp and stringy daily. It’s no longer the gorgeous, dark brown silk that I once had when I was younger. Why had I bleached it constantly? Dyed it constantly? Straightened it constantly? I had killed it constantly. The small holes bigger than pores near my eyebrow, nose, and lip. Earring scars; what else? Ugly, stupid earrings. They had never made me pretty. I look at my wrists. Thin scars, blunt marks…all from the many times I had taken a knife to my wrist. The pain made me forget about the problems I had. But what had they really caused? They had caused more pain, more regrets. They had meant nothing.

I can’t find a decent job. Who wants to hire someone looking as troubled as me? I can’t find a decent boyfriend. Who can love someone looking as disturbed as me? I can’t live my life. How can I live when my past truly does dictate who I have become?

I can’t escape my past. I can’t escape the bad decisions I have made. At seventeen, I wasn’t thinking ahead. I wasn’t thinking about this. I wish I had. But I had rebelled. And that was stupid.





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