On the most basic of levels, I am a human girl with emotions and feelings. And sometimes, I have a strange urge to express those feelings.
So this is your warning. Right here. If you don’t want to hear about how I feel and am only here for the short stories and other less heavy content, I can respect that. But I felt like sometimes it’s good to actually know what’s going on behind the cover story. If you want to know, then go on reading; I don’t mind.
I grew up poor. Like when I was a in between the ages of 3 and 5 I lived in my grandfather’s basement with my mom poor. Like my mom has been on section 8 for my entire life poor. Like I’ve lived in a homeless shelter twice in my life poor. Like I stayed with various family members and in my mom’s car for a collective of about 3 or 4 years poor. Get the picture?
Even now that I live in an apartment with my other 4 siblings, mom and stepdad, the state pays half of our rent and we still need food stamps to have enough food in the house for everyone to eat, so as maybe you could imagine, I had to grow up very fast. And although I don’t officially regret any part of my life, there is a part of me that wishes I had grown up normally.
A dad who was there for me, a mom who wasn’t constantly struggling to find a way for me and my brothers. It would’ve been nice I imagine.
But alas: I didn’t not have the luxury. Instead I tried to choke myself in my classroom. Ah yes, I remember the good ole days of 3rd grade was I first realized that I was probably living the shittiest life out of every one of my classmates. At the time I was living in the shelter, my dad left me, my brother and my mom for the military and my prospective step dad beat my mom. This is point in my life I where I develop my killer attitude and suicidal feelings. We start with me, about half way through the year, sitting in my classroom realizing that if all humans need to breathe to live and that I knew how to make myself stop doing that. So here I am, sitting almost directly adjacent to my 3rd grade teacher with both thumbs pressed into my neck trying to choke myself to death on the spot.
As you can imagine, the scene did not play out very well and I had to have the vice principal talk to me and force my hands off my own neck. The next most memorable part of my elementary life was when I was int the 5th grade. I had skipped lunch and chorus (as I’d been doing for several weeks) and several teachers came searching for me- I had been hiding in the very last stall in the girl’s bathroom. At the time I was really obsessed with the anime Soul Eater and had been looking into the back stories of two of my favorite characters (Death the Kid and Dr. Stein just in case you were wondering.) In the articles, there were quite a few words I didn’t understand, so I highlighted them. Words like “narcissism” and “sadism” . Upon the discovery of my interest in these words, I had a very very long one-sided discussion with the school’s psychiatrist, and since I am a very tough nut to crack, I was subjected to 2 months of in school sessions with a real psychiatrist and subsequent check-ins after a 3 month period.
Not my best time in life. When middle school started I learned how to ignore. Ignore the voice in the back of my mind saying that I’m hopeless, ignore my feelings, ignore my emotions. I basically lived by the saying Ignorance is bliss. And so I got a bit “better.” I no longer made visible attempts to off myself and instead patented my now signature move: self sabotage.
Ah yes, self sabotage. I do this quite often actually- make obviously stupid decisions just to see how miserable I can make myself. I stay awake for days at a time, constantly push everyone’s buttons, tiptoe on lines that are really quite visible. All for the sake of hurting myself on the inside. After all, physical wounds heal; the most lasting damage is done on the inside. Not a single doctor in the world can make that part of me any better than what I want it to be.
Now here comes the question, what exactly prompted this self psycho-analysis?
Allow me to inform you dear reader.
13 days ago, probably the most influential and inspirational part of my life took his own.
Of course I am talking about the one and only Kim “Bling Bling” Jonghyun.
Which ever side you prefer.
And now I am once again very sad. Like really sad.
My chin, lip and left eyebrow have each developed a twitch, I have 5 or 6 pages filled with just me writing letters to him, I have cried for a collective of AT LEAST 7 hours, and every night am in between the hope that I don’t wake up in the morning, and the hope that’ll wake up in the morning and this will have all been an elaborate prank pulled on me by the god I already don’t like.
But during the day I try to remember the real good ol days. Like SHINee’s Dream Girl era.
Filled with gems like these, where, yes. That IS in fact 4 different types of plaid.
Or my personal favorite
Anyhow, I would like to wrap up this almost 1000 word self analysis by saying: 2018 has just started and I really don’t want to be alive, but I will continue to soldier through until I maybe just so happen to reach a the point in my life I am secretly hopeful for. That point being me actually being fucking happy, and all things considered I’ll most likely only find that in the grave but whatever.
But on the bright side: I’m alive
You’re reading this
and Trump only has 2 more years in office.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!