Hello, My Name Is..
October 20, 2009: Senior Year of High School
Please tell me where I went wrong.
Somebody.
Here I stand at a crossroads,
not knowing which path to take.
Here I stand…
alone.
Don’t tell me I’m not alone.
No friends.
No family.
It seems that even God has left my side.
They say one kid can’t cause a divorce…
but they sure can make their parents want one.
Numbness has enveloped me,
yet I can still feel the shatter of my heart-
once whole but now broken in my chest.
Slowly slowly slowly I trickle away
until there is nothing left of me
but a memory.
A memory.
Like the memories that have for so long kept me alive;
revived me when I was at my lowest point.
A sieve of memories that give me hope
-or, gave-
that maybe, just maybe, things could go back
to the way they were before.
But before when?
Before my mother thought to birth
this demon-like person called Scottie?
Before that fateful day-
March 8th, 1992-
when the devil’s daughter was birthed
into this unkind world?
Yes, that’s it.
The world would be a lot better
had I not been born into it.
I really wanted them to like him…
“them” being my parents.
I wanted so badly for them to like him.
I know I do.
But it’s even greater than that;
the poem doesn’t lie:
I really AM in love with my best friend.
Why?
Why not?
You can’t answer a question with a question,
Scottie.
Why not?
Because I said so and you just can’t. Now
go do your homework.
Random, yes I now.
Kinda like me.
I like spontaneity…but even if I didn’t,
I’d still be just as I am now.
The words my parents use hurt me.
They yell and cuss and scream…
don’t they know I can’t function like that?
Oh yeah, they know it.
They just don’t give a crap.
They don’t care about me (anymore).
It’s all about Stanzi…
AND SHE’S NOT EVEN HOME!!
No, it’s about Igo and Frances, too.
But never me.
Because I’m just so darn “independent.”
Independent, yet they treat me like a baby.
But they won’t let me ACT like a baby.
Who says I don’t want to watch Transformers?
How do THEY know I don’t want to lick the bowl?
Why WOULDN’T I want to cuddle on the couch
with Mommy
or dance in the kitchen
with Daddy?
I was here first.
Well, second, if you count Stanzi.
Stanzi.
I fucking hate her.
Jeez Louise…why did I say that?
The deadly words I never thought I’d
utter have materialized on paper.
When I cry now, it’s not her that I
long for anymore.
No.
Ha-Mommy and Daddy sure do think
she’s the best thing since sliced bread.
They sat there for four freakin hours,
telling Krystle Parker’s parents how GREAT
Stanzi is.
Really? Then why don’t you just
kill me, have another girl, and name her Stanzi?
What did she do better than me?
Besides be pretty, I mean.
Ungrateful, selfish, cold, difficult to please…
but isn’t that everybody?
Difficult to please, I mean.
I’m not perfect. Not by a long shot.
I screw up more than anybody I know.
Seriously-no sarcasm here.
But I still try to please everybody.
Could that be one of my problems?
After all, I’m NOT Wonder Woman.
Stanzi, Stanzi, Stanzi…
I love her.
But I hate her.
And now when I cry, what do I
think of in lieu of my older sister?
Death.
Depressing much?
No, not really.
It’s actually quite calming.
A black sheet of darkness that
shuts out the blinding light.
The light of everybody else.
Have you ever imagined what it would be like
to take a metal baseball bat and
make it collide with the bridge
of someone’s nose?
Hearing the sickening crack of bone-
no, not sickening, satisfying-
watching the blood spurt…
That’s what I feel sometimes when
Mommy and Daddy bitch at me.
What I feel when stupid Rico from four houses down provokes me.
What I feel when people try to persuade my college decisions.
What I felt when dumb Arielle asked Kenneth to prom, even though I was
RIGHT THERE.
Invisible.
Apparently, that’s what I am.
Gabbie’s right:
I need to learn how to stick up for myself.
I need to learn how to talk.
But I don’t want to.
Nobody understands anyway.
Nobody understands exactly why I
do the things I do,
say the things I say,
act the way I act,
am the way I am.
Even I don’t know.
But I do know one thing:
I’m not gonna make it one day
past graduation-
and I may not make it THAT far.
This is frustrating.
It’s frustrating how I can feel so AWFUL inside…
but for some reason, I can’t seem
to express even a fraction of what
I truly feel on this paper.
I’m so sick of this.
I’m sick of these stupid tears.
Of those words of hatred hurled at me.
Of feigning happiness.
Of unreciprocated love.
Of losing.
Of being chastised for everything.
Of living in the past.
Of hoping for a better tomorrow that never comes.
Of being told to grow up.
Of school.
Of myself.
Of people.
Of life in general
(well, mine anyways).
There was a time when I thought
that the night was my enemy.
That was when those devilish voices
inside my head
would begin their nightly ritual
of tormenting me in such a way that
sleep became nearly impossible,
and ultimately,
unthinkable.
But now, it seems as though night
has become my ally.
I find quiet comfort in the still of the night.
The placid pool of darkness that
cradles me as silent tears of
anguish and frustration escape from shut eyes
and become absorbed in my pillows.
It’s now the daylight that has become
my evil opponent.
The daylight that forces me
out of my safety zone and out into
this cold, unforgiving life
where I must always fake smiles regardless
of whatever I feel inside.
The tears always come slowly,
or at least for me they do…
for reasons I won’t explain;
reasons I CAN’T explain.
Because nobody will listen.
And even if they DID,
I doubt they’d believe me.
All they see is this beautiful
painted picture.
Peel off the paint
and then tell me what you see.
“Don’t walk away from yourself, Scottie;
you’re too good for that.”
Really?
Well then why are you the only one who sees it?
It would be so much easier
to not walk away from myself
if I actually KNEW who I was,
which, in case you haven’t noticed,
I DON’T.
Because in this house, I am not allowed to be Scottie,
only a Grimes.
I am taught that the right and only way
is Mommy and Daddy’s way.
God they can be so full of it sometimes.
But I don’t know how to break away.
I have two names.
Life must really hate me.
That complicates EVERYTHING.
And with that,
it’s time to make an extremely important decision.
This is a decision that has troubled
me for quite some time now.
And yet, the answer remains
constant.
Constant in the sense that over the years, this question
has become less of a question
and more like a declaration,
if that in itself isn’t too difficult to understand.
One might assume that this is
completely irrelevant,
and is, therefore,
being bloviated into something
that essentially means nothing.
And that’s where they would be wrong,
for by assuming, they are categorizing who I am,
which is the absolute WORST thing anyone can do to me.
Eivlend.
Scottie.
By bestowing a second name upon me,
my parents were clearly unaware
that it would soon become one of my greatest problems.
And still, here I lay, contemplating
17 years later
and I have no clue who I am.
Eivlend.
Scottie.
It’s obvious that they’re two different people.
How am I supposed to know who the
protagonist and
antagonist
are in this wild
novel that is my life?
Why are these two opposing forces living inside me?
And why do they have NAMES??
Did I do that unknowingly?
Or am I simply looking too deeply into something
that means nothing?
Overanalyzing again?
It’s possible…
but not probable.
The question of identity is so much more
than just a name.
Really, WHO AM I?
No clue at all, and that’s a big, big problem.
I’ve tried to speak my mind,
but I get shut down every time.
So down is where I’ll stay.
What’s the use?
I feel like the world is turning
but I’m standing still.
I never say what’s on my mind;
I might hurt someone.
Or I might get hurt myself.
Makes me more vulnerable.
Let nobody in and nothing out:
that’s what I learned.
Let nobody in and nothing out-
it’s better that way,
really it is.
Because you know what?
I’ll be 18 before you know it.
5 months.
And then, 3 months later, graduation.
And then it will all be over. It will be okay.
I will be okay.
Just counting down the days till the beginning of my life.
Let nobody in and nothing out:
that’s what I learned.
