Marceline
09-03-2002, 09:24 PM
This is a first chapter of sorts of a story I've been working on...I would love to get some constructive critisism, or even just nice little comments on this. Just as a forewarning, though I don't really think it's necessary, the chapters following this one might get a little risque, so use some reader discretion. I'll keep it all PG-13. :)
One More Addiction
All I ever wanted to hear was that I was pretty. Eventually, I reasoned, I would hear it enough times to believe it. Pretty later evolved into beautiful, and this later gave way to despondence. Not for a lack of compliments�those came quite on easily, and on a pretty regular basis. It was the fact that no matter how many times I was told otherwise; I still woke up in the morning feeling ugly. And so I turned to other sources. Sex was one of the few things that could keep me from hating myself. It wasn�t the actual act of sex that meant anything; rather, it was the foreplay, the prelude, if you will, all the bullshit whoever it was would go through to get me where they wanted me. Knowing I was wanted, seeing the visible signs of their lust, I could forget what I saw in the mirror, and, for a few hours, feel okay.
When the sex wasn�t enough, I always had drinking. Some of the time, the two went hand in hand- they happen to compliment each other quite nicely. But most of the time, alcohol was the shallow substitute when the sex wasn�t readily available. Sitting alone in my room with a bottle of my parent�s wine in my hand, drunk of my sorry little ass was the only way I could live with the person I had become. When your entire sense of self worth is based on other people�s perception of you, things can become slightly shitty when nobody else is around.
This all began when I was about 12, and I�d have to say by the time I reached by late teens, I was pretty fucking jaded. Before I could legally drink even in Canada, I was essentially an alcoholic, long before I could even purchase tobacco products, I was addicted to cigarettes, and I was terrified to get tested for diseases at a point in my life when most of my friends hadn�t lost their virginity. My life was in essence over before it could even begin, and I still hated myself as much as ever. Dreams of things like love had been thrown out with my Barbie dolls, and dreams of the future were something I liked to avoid, considering that it was all I could do to face tomorrow. I�d made several half-assed attempts at suicide, but as they all failed miserably, they never managed to do then complicate my life with stays at youth homes and the like. There were surefire ways, of course, but I never had the balls to pull any of that off. It wasn�t really that I wanted to be dead, or even that didn�t want to be alive anymore�I just sure as hell did not want to continue life as myself. I�d tried giving it all up�flat out quitting everything, drinking, smoking, sex, and attempting to live my life that way for a little while, but all that did was make me more miserable then ever when I couldn�t do it. There wasn�t anything in my life worth quitting for, honestly. I had no real friends, my family fucking hated me, there was nothing I was really passionate about, and I had no goals, no real aspirations.
By that point, there was really only one thing I wanted out of life. When you�re completely depressed, other emotions only come in little spurts. You laugh when someone tells a funny joke; you get pissed when somebody says something offensive or whatever, you can go out and have a pretty good time, but when that moment is over, all you have left is the misery. You can have little fleeting moments where you feel something else, but those fade away like nothing, and the sadness is always, always there. For a few days or so, I wanted to be happy, for once, really happy. I wanted the melancholy to disappear for a period and let the good emotions rule for a bit. If anything upset me, I wanted it to evaporate like anything usually did, if only for a little bit. If I could at least know what that felt like, I would be satisfied. But as there was no real way of attaining this, I continued in my misery and self-pity. And I might have continued like this forever, had fate not suddenly taken an interest in my sad excuse for a life.
One More Addiction
All I ever wanted to hear was that I was pretty. Eventually, I reasoned, I would hear it enough times to believe it. Pretty later evolved into beautiful, and this later gave way to despondence. Not for a lack of compliments�those came quite on easily, and on a pretty regular basis. It was the fact that no matter how many times I was told otherwise; I still woke up in the morning feeling ugly. And so I turned to other sources. Sex was one of the few things that could keep me from hating myself. It wasn�t the actual act of sex that meant anything; rather, it was the foreplay, the prelude, if you will, all the bullshit whoever it was would go through to get me where they wanted me. Knowing I was wanted, seeing the visible signs of their lust, I could forget what I saw in the mirror, and, for a few hours, feel okay.
When the sex wasn�t enough, I always had drinking. Some of the time, the two went hand in hand- they happen to compliment each other quite nicely. But most of the time, alcohol was the shallow substitute when the sex wasn�t readily available. Sitting alone in my room with a bottle of my parent�s wine in my hand, drunk of my sorry little ass was the only way I could live with the person I had become. When your entire sense of self worth is based on other people�s perception of you, things can become slightly shitty when nobody else is around.
This all began when I was about 12, and I�d have to say by the time I reached by late teens, I was pretty fucking jaded. Before I could legally drink even in Canada, I was essentially an alcoholic, long before I could even purchase tobacco products, I was addicted to cigarettes, and I was terrified to get tested for diseases at a point in my life when most of my friends hadn�t lost their virginity. My life was in essence over before it could even begin, and I still hated myself as much as ever. Dreams of things like love had been thrown out with my Barbie dolls, and dreams of the future were something I liked to avoid, considering that it was all I could do to face tomorrow. I�d made several half-assed attempts at suicide, but as they all failed miserably, they never managed to do then complicate my life with stays at youth homes and the like. There were surefire ways, of course, but I never had the balls to pull any of that off. It wasn�t really that I wanted to be dead, or even that didn�t want to be alive anymore�I just sure as hell did not want to continue life as myself. I�d tried giving it all up�flat out quitting everything, drinking, smoking, sex, and attempting to live my life that way for a little while, but all that did was make me more miserable then ever when I couldn�t do it. There wasn�t anything in my life worth quitting for, honestly. I had no real friends, my family fucking hated me, there was nothing I was really passionate about, and I had no goals, no real aspirations.
By that point, there was really only one thing I wanted out of life. When you�re completely depressed, other emotions only come in little spurts. You laugh when someone tells a funny joke; you get pissed when somebody says something offensive or whatever, you can go out and have a pretty good time, but when that moment is over, all you have left is the misery. You can have little fleeting moments where you feel something else, but those fade away like nothing, and the sadness is always, always there. For a few days or so, I wanted to be happy, for once, really happy. I wanted the melancholy to disappear for a period and let the good emotions rule for a bit. If anything upset me, I wanted it to evaporate like anything usually did, if only for a little bit. If I could at least know what that felt like, I would be satisfied. But as there was no real way of attaining this, I continued in my misery and self-pity. And I might have continued like this forever, had fate not suddenly taken an interest in my sad excuse for a life.