I don't know why I'm writing this post, but I am and I feel that it is long overdue. Sometimes, there are days that I don't feel like that I have the courage to make it through and when they happen, I feel the urge to leave behind some essence of my story or who I was. That being said, this post will have very little to do with the Bastille song and will instead be focused on the most prevalent subject in my life that isn't Dan Smith: myself.
Let it be known that I was born and raised in New Jersey on February 20th in 1998 at 10:48 AM. I was born with a name that comes from a flower that was believed to cure madness and perhaps I was seeing the family that I was born into. There are blurs of my childhood that I don't often remember (nor do I want to), but I know that I once lived in a trailer park, that my best friend at the time loved Godzilla, that I thought my bike was a unicorn, and that my dog once had puppies. I remember being chased by a woman with a rake while playing Manhunt, I remember playing in construction sites until a police officer caught me one day, and I remember when I would beat the first level of Halo
before Kindergarten. I discovered the internet when I was shy of twelve years old and began on a Pokemon website where I would find real friends and a passion for writing. For all the good and bad, there was also the ugly and I had a very messy childhood
I am nineteen years old at the time of writing this post. I am still haunted by my childhood.
I ran away from home when I was seventeen and I'm not ashamed to admit it. The truth is that I was born to a convicted pedophile and a thief. The pedophile was convicted when I was four years old after I apparently spoke up about his abuse towards my sister and I. There were confessions of assaulting at least three other children in the family and he only received fifteen years in prison. He was bailed out by my grandparents and released into the world in the spring of 2014. My grandparents are delusional and believe that he deserves forgiveness by whatever God they pray to while they despise my mother. My mother has sticky fingers, but she can't help it, she just has impulses. I've seen my mother's kleptomania first hand, but I don't let it excuse her behavior. My mother is in actuality the teenager in our familial relation between her insistence to buy/deal drugs, start petty Facebook fights, and have sexual affairs. I also remember that she once lied about having a job in order to see a man aside from my stepfather. She's currently trying to get rid of said man and went as far to throw a potted plant at me in order to prove a point that I can't really remember at the moment. At the very least, I like to think that she tries. In the end, I can't really decide if I was running from her, my biological father, my grandparents, or New Jersey as a whole.
I like to think it's the last option.
There are too many memories that I don't wish to recall such as the neighbor's cousin that was paid a dollar to drown me a lake when I was a child, the amount of my mother's friends that threatened to beat me when I turned eighteen, or the abusive roommate that kicked me out of her house for not doing her dishes at the age of fifteen. I'm no saint myself and I would like to get it off my chest that I used to be addicted to Xanax as it would help me sleep. I was about thirteen when I took it and I was diagnosed with PTSD this past September. I like to believe that I was justified by taking it due to my diagnosis, but as soon as a friend told me to stop, I completely did and never went back. I think part of me only wants someone to actually give a shit about me.
There's my older sister and I care about her more than myself, but sometimes I feel that she only keeps me around in order to not feel lonely herself. Most of my friends only message me to talk about themselves and I'm ignored in most group chats that I'm in. I live in constant fear of abandonment from my own friends and family after my mother left me when I was thirteen and my friends gave up on me when I was fifteen (there is, from what I know, an entire chat surrounded about hating me which my so-called "best friend" used to be in). Another group of friends had no hesitation of replacing me with my sister. I truly think that people only like what I pretend to be which is a cheery and upbeat individual. In reality, I suffer from anxiety, am bitter, whine, and have no boundaries when it comes to my humor. I wonder if the Guild would treat me similarly if I did not act the way that I do.
I'm also afraid of snakes, being buried alive, open ocean, and elevators. I don't like tall buildings and turkeys make me angry. I'm absent-minded and I break everything that I touch. I'm late to everything that I plan for and my health is horrendous. I'm a complete flake and I have the inability to sit still. These are only some of my flaws. I wonder if this is why so many people have given up on me.
In the words of Dan Smith regarding flaws: "we need them to be who we are".
If there is ever a day in which I can't carry on due to my constant anxiety, self-hatred, and nightmares, then I want it to be known that I was only human with human flaws. I'm not a bad person nor am I good one. I'm a pain in the ass, but I would do anything for anyone. I want it to be known that I dream of visiting Alaska, being a leader, writing a book, getting married, and joining the FBI someday. That day is not close, but if it ever comes and somebody stumbles this while feeling lonely or whatever else, then I hope you can relate to this. I hope you can see past your own failures to succeed just as I saw to finishing high school and getting accepted into eight universities despite being a former dropout. As it stands right now, I am in love with life and simply hate myself. I want this to be a record of my existence, but I also want people to know that they aren't alone and if they are feeling unloved, then I understand.
And for these people, I want it to be known that I do give a shit and I don't want them to give up.