Maybe Tomorrow I Will Shine Again

May 4, 2010
By Mary Sue BRONZE, West Hills, California
Mary Sue BRONZE, West Hills, California
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Were there ever a time or a place to be put off, I suppose the best of all would be now, while you hold these pages. It feels rather slimming to my ego to share… though it may appear rather grandiose, I relay my thoughts- the thoughts of a prodigal.
Even just now my wastefulness can be acknowledged. Dad only a second ago stopped by to kiss me good night, but was stopped and upset that my room is still in an unpacked state of disarray- take out cups and bags littered here and there. He left me with the ultimatum of having till Wednesday to have it all together- else he will steal my car away from me for a month. Perhaps at a different time in my life that might have invoked action from me, but now I echo a distressing feeling of apathy toward most all things, even Dad’s threats. Already in my mind I’ve most decided not to work hard at my room. I don’t believe he would take my car. Just as I don’t believe his threats to send me to military school or sell my car if I don’t get good grades. All words seem empty- his love of me (his first born child) will likely be his downfall.
I disgust myself at my own behavior. I never wanted to be this way, though I feel helpless to it- a certain thrill at getting away with whatever I so wish. I laugh now, at my younger self, because of a jealousy I feel toward her. Elizabeth always did her homework. Elizabeth was the perfect, honest role model child who only ever sought to please. Oh how I hate her, and her memory. I will never measure up to her as old as I may get. Lizzie is a wasteful teenager. She lies always and never does work. She has a nasty sense of humor and gets far more then she deserves because she knows how to tell people what they want to hear.
How sad it is to need to refer to oneself in third person- the futile disgust and hope and despair at being so many things at once, never being all at once the best of them, and too easily slipping into the worst. I suppose the highest I can pull myself to is Liz. Liz is an average student. She is good at English, and loves to read. She is bad at math and naps in class. She lies to keep her mother in the dark, so perhaps a few more days may go by without a fight of some kind. She hates confrontation. She is fiercely defensive of her friends and the people she loves, and lives by an odd sense of honor, helping others when she feels they deserve it. Liz is the best Lizzie can hope to be, and a girl Elizabeth would cry in shame to become.
At this time, I suppose I am Liz. But it’s hard. I very much love Elizabeth, but the young child is very elusive and hard to come by. I think perhaps she is getting fed up with waiting for me to come around. Lizzie never gets fed up. Lizzie is always there, haunting me, drawing me in more and more like a cancer. I am very scared of her. She is far too easy to fall into.
When I am alone sometimes I daydream that things are fixed and I am Elizabeth again. In the dream, I am worthy of my parents love, and all the gifts they bestow upon me. I have many friends and am beautiful like I know I have the potential to be.
Yet on the other hand sometimes I daydream that I’ve completely become Lizzie. I am hunched over, cold in a dumpster. I’ve run away from home- maybe become a thief, an addict, or a suicide. I have sold everything there is to sell. Even as I imagine this in my head I might well up with small tears because it seems far more likely to happen then the alternative. This scenario is complete and total hopelessness and fear.
Lastly though, I have small shiny daydreams of taking off in a car, trekking all along the country looking for someplace to settle. Maybe I never settle, but finding solace in the freedom of the road. I like this daydream almost best. Separated from family, there is no-one to disappoint. In choosing such a lifestyle, I am well. Free; though dirty, and maybe even happy.
These ramblings of mine remind me of a confused person, though I suppose that is exactly what I am. I feel very dazed- there are so many choices and opportunities to make or lose, it’s overwhelming. Perhaps I am most like this because I have yet to actually make any decisions in my life. Near all have been for me. Mom took care of my grades when I was younger, so it was easy. Then the babe was born, and I was left to sink or swim. Indifferent to these choices, mostly I just flipped over onto my back and floated. Floating along wasn’t so bad. It left me some time to develop socially, and I think I was happy. It’s a wonderful thing to be happy, the very best. It was then, I think, that I decided that being happy was what was important. I ate what I wanted, and indulged in fun with my friends, neglecting anything that dragged down my soul. Which was school. I hate school. I see no point to it- a system of numbers to decide what you can and can’t do with your life. I feel indignant toward it. I want to go to college, but classes are hard and I have long lost my work ethic. Lizzie is winning.
Sometimes I look into the mirror and feel sad because I feel I am a Fuck-up. I know I am a disappointment- there was so much hope to me, and I squished it all away and squandered my gifts and talents for selfish, stupid reasons. Whenever I feel like this, I wish I were dead. Not dead as in I wish I were to die. I like living, but I don’t like being a hassle for my mom and dad, so I think it would be best if I were to die so they wouldn’t have to put up with me anymore. I think god would understand that and maybe reincarnate me as an ant or something. But I would never be able to kill myself. Even as confident as I am that things would work out, death still feels too final for me. I think I had a taste of it when I was on that bad shroom trip. It is a cold, soul-crushingly dark and hopelessly scary thing. You lose who you are in it. Death to me is a dark curtain swaying in the wind, and when a person dies, they jump behind it and dissolve into the fabric.
I don’t like thinking about that though. But besides death, the future scares me too. I honestly don’t know what I want to do. Elizabeth always knew before that she wanted to be a writer or a doctor, but I don’t know. I thought I wanted to be an anesthesiologist, but that was just to make mom and dad hopeful and happy. I thought recently I wanted to be an animator, but I’m afraid I would be a failure at that too. Because of this fear, I remembered when I was younger I really wanted to be an author, so I whipped out my computer and started to type out what I hoped would be the beginnings of a book, but all that came out was just this big paragraph of my insecurities. Maybe I will print this out and leave it somewhere mom will find it. Or maybe I will delete this. I think I was honest most throughout, but Lizzie has corroded my own ability to be honest to myself, that I’m not really sure if I can even tell myself the truth when writing privately.
I hope maybe one day I will get better

The author's comments:
This is a very personal piece- entirely honest. Judge me please.

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