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Growing Up

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She sat on the red swing, motionless. Seconds, hours, centuries passed, but she just stared into infinity. A faint creek sliced the resonant silence and alarmed the world of her surrender. Her legs swayed with the faint midnight breeze'the epitome of defeat. Eight years ago, her mother reminded her to wear protection out in the sun; eight months ago, she reminded a guy to wear protection in her bed. Five years ago, she got her first pair of Limited-Too mary-janes; five months ago, she got her first bag of 'mary j.' Three years ago, she paid $8.50 for a movie and criticized its overly tragic plot; three weeks ago, she paid $85.00 for 'Bernie's gold dust' and began to die an overly tragic life. She was 9 years old when she decided she wanted to become a vetenarian in Oregon with 3 dogs, 2 chinchillas, and a pet parrot named Butler. She was 16 years old when she ashed it all away. She was no longer the little girl who refused to eat vegetables, only consuming cheese sandwiches and chocolate. She was no longer the geeky girl who always wore sneakers and chuckled like a congested senior citizen. Sometime during that innocence she got sucked into the inevitable passage that shattered everything she knew, hoped, and loved. She sat on the red swing, motionless'grown up.

She sat on the red swing, motionless. A distressed white tunic draped over her torso, accentuating her assets. Dark skinny jeans, slouchy suede boots, and an array of mismatched bangles covered the rest of her waif-like body. When she was 10 years old, her body was an oasis of cells, organ systems, and chemical reactions. Besides supporting her life, any other use for it was foreign to her. She started transforming at the age of 11. She went from a training bra to a 32A, a size 2 to a size 0, an 8.5 shoe to a 9.5. She knew the textbook information about her blossoming, but she still didn't understand; she was still na've. She sat on the red swing, motionless. Purple rings wrapped around her arms, hiding under her jewelry. She believed him; his lies were fact, his anger was kind, his attacks were love. She was still na've. When she was in grade school, guys used her for grades. A synthesized smile or a mere wink melted her, leaving her to dream and recompose while she was doing their homework; she was easy. Guys still had the same effect on her. She satisfied their desires'she was easy. Her body development was uncontrollable; she started scrawny, plain, flat, and raw, and turned slender, gorgeous, busty, and painted'grown up.

She sat on the red swing, motionless. Words wanted to stampede out of her mouth, tears wanted to gush out of her eyes, emotions wanted to escape, but nothing happened. When she was 2 years old, she hated shots. She cried, wailed, and produced a tornado of chaos every time a nurse or doctor attempted to stick her. Her parents always felt embarrassed. Two years later, she got her first legitimate wound'a bloody cut in the center of her right palm. She saw the cut and immediately bawled for hours'she loathed feeling pain. Her parents didn't approve of her feelings, often demanding her to be more mature. She sat on the red swing, motionless. She noticed her attempts to overthrow the overthrowing numbness'she loved feeling pain. The scar on her palm was accompanied with tens of attempts to feel what she felt from the palm injury'nothing, though. Slit after slit, slap after slap, scratch after scratch, she wanted to feel something. Her parents didn't approve of her efforts, often demanding her to become more emotional. She cut all connections she had with her emotions. She wouldn't, and couldn't, be consumed by her feelings. Her boldness and sensitivity was replaced with quietness and indifference'grown up.

She sat on the red swing, motionless. Smoke soiled her hair, red tinted her eyeballs, goblets of powdered residue on her dark skinny jeans. Before the age of 14, she only took medicine when she was ill. She always read the labels and followed her mom's directions. After the age of 14, she hid pills behind the linings of her jackets, taking one every 6 hours. Before the age of 14, she hated getting shots at the doctor's office. She put up a fight, refusing to get stuck with a needle. After the age of 14, she voluntarily got shots, in and out of the doctor's office, admiring the sensation of the stabbing. Before the age of 14, she tried to snort Pixie Stix, but it stung her nose and she never tried it again. After the age of 14, she tried to snort 'nose candy' and it stung her nose, but she did it everyday. Before the age of 14, they told her to be mature, to grow up. After the age of 14, she did just that; she grew up.

She sat on the red swing, motionless. She was a different person from who she use to be, but she still shared all the same characteristics. Her eyes were still muddy brown that matched her thick, luscious locks. She was still one of the tallest and smartest in her class, and ate the same diet ever since she was 6. She lived in the same house, had the same parents, went by the same name, sat on the same swing, the only difference'she grew up.





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psycholinzmeier said...
Mar. 21, 2009 at 8:25 pm
amazing writing u can feel the pain she went through great writing lots of teens go through tht
 
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