Nineteen years ago, I was born in some boring regular hospital. Nothing was wrong with me, I was a healthy baby. Black hair and green eyes that ‘looked like emeralds’. I was named after my lame grandmother, who had an equally lame name, Shannon. Shannon Annette Spencer, what a mouthful. Sad part is, I can’t even think of a good nickname for it.
In order to understand my childhood, you have to understand my parents, and how ridiculously crazy they are. For one thing, now they don’t care about me. I don’t have any contact with them and they don’t try to have contact with me. But it was a whole different story back then. I was an only child, so my mom, when she wasn’t working, she had all the time in the world to fuss over me. At the age of eighteen months, my mom became obsessed with entering me into beauty pageants. I guess it was her way of living her life through me, If I ever won a pageant she treated the victory as if it was hers, and not mine. I never really liked participating in the pageants, standing in front of all those people and selling myself to them, the idea never sounded very appealing to me, let alone doing it. So, around the age of eight, when i starting protesting my participation, i found out what it was like to be grounded. Locked in my room, yelled at, and treated like a piece of s*** until i began agreeing to do the pageants again. It continued that way until i turned eighteen, told her she could go die and stormed out of the house with my stuff. And my dad simply wasn’t around enough to care.
But, during my high school years that was only a small, hidden part of my life. I figured out how to crawl out of my room through the window on the second floor and then onto the garage roof then onto the car when I was about fourteen, and that was when my rebellious stage began. I must say, already having black hair saved me from the pain in the a** hair dying process, it just helped me fit the stereotype more. A bad girl. What did that mean? Oh right, drugs, alcohol, and plenty of guys. It was nice, girls envied me and guys wanted me to be their arm candy. School was easy, straight Bs, nothing more. The social aspect of it was more important though. Constantly jumping from one guy to another gained me a reputation as a sl**, which actually didn’t bother me because I was. Oh, and the parties. The parties were massive. I thrived off them, and still do. The seemingly endless amounts of beer, enough pot and other drugs to be passed around, and plenty of chances to simply forget your problems. The parties, cliche enough, is what lead to me getting my... attachments to the drugs and the drinks. Forgetting was what it’s all about, forgetting and letting go. All the problems that came along with being a teenager and my insecurities. I could honestly do without them. Besides, the parties gave me a social group, to be loved be others and envied, I loved that attention.
Now, we have to take a quick step back to my earlier teenage years to understand my senior year. I was about thirteen when Hayden moved onto my street. Me and my best friend Lindsey were sitting on the front porch drinking slushies when he walked up and pulled some of his cool guy charm and we were hooked. Lindsey, Hayden and I were inseparable at the hips for all of middle school, being the infamous trio. Then, in high school, things began to get a bit more complicated. My Sophomore year Hayden and I had decided to get drunk together, and one thing led to another and we hooked up. It was anything but a healthy relationship. One would go off and sleep with someone and the other would be filled with jealousy and do the same thing. We were off and on again every other week even up to the point where Lindsey couldn’t keep up with where we were at in our relationship. Every break up was worse than the last, building up to screaming and throwing things.
Miraculously, we’re still together. No ring on my finger. I’ve been out of school for only a few months so I don’t expect it. Our relationship is the same as always. A game in both of our eyes. I don’t know how our relationship will look like, or what our next break up will look like, but to be honest I’m scared to find out...