Life

I am beginning this from the middle of the year, but I fear I shall have to start writing at the beginning. So I guess you'll have to hear a prologue. Of my life.

From a very young age, I've felt that my life was perfect. I used to spend a lot of time at my Grandma's house, a five acre Elysium. I was too young to know that my family was poor. I was too young to remember my mother and father being seperated when I was three, with the exception of a couple scattered peices that weren't enough to make up the mosaic of my life so far-- a coffee table with my coloring book on it, me desperately trying to show my "Mommy" what I had done, but mommy and daddy were arguing. Beyond that, I was ignorant, but ignorance is bliss. In second grade, I was put into the fifth grade reading class, and easily read the middle schooler's books.
In third grade, everything began to unravel at the seams.
I was put into a new school, where everyone was on the same level as I was, but it wasn't school that was bad. On my mother's side, my grandma died. My mom recieved a hefty inheritance amount, and began an affair with a man named Paul, her old sweetheart. He was a great guy, and she seperated again from my dad. That lasted until the end of fifth grade.
He had gotten into a fight with my Mom (Paul was an alchoholic) and had stayed the night at a hotel. He begged me, my sister, my mother to hug him goodbye that night. We declined, hoping to teach him a lesson that nobody liked him when he was drunk. If we had only known that to be our final farewell. Paul was killed in a hit-and-run accident that night.
After her grief, Mom attempted dating. Loser after loser in the most depressing parade I've ever seen. Then disaster struck again.
My grandfather on my father's side died. He had emphysema from smoking too long and too much; even when my sister and I hid his cigarettes. When he died, he had 14% lung capacity, which means he suffocated in his sleep. As you can imagine, this is incredibly hard for me to write.
Afterwards, though, my father and mother got back together, and have been since.
In middle school, I was an outcast. I wore victorian dresses to school and spoke my mind. I had fewer friends than enemies due, especially to the latter part. And there was this one kid who used to sit next to me in science, who irritated me until I was fuming . He constantly took my glasses (I used to wear glasses) and my books and when I ignored him, he simply became more creative. I saw him as Satan, reborn, until the middle of the year. For some reason, he chose not to be so cruel, and instead of percieving the restless mischief inside of him, I saw the seraph that loomed in his features when they weren't twisted into a menacing grin. And I loved the kinder side of John.
Now, I'm in ninth grade, and I've loved him for three years.
But he was the same as every guy before him. Every guy I've ever loved has ignored me. Except for a few.
Matt was my first boyfriend, from only earlier this year. He was totally in love with me, but I found that I could never return the affection.
I reverted back to loving John until the Homecoming Dance, where I met Erik.
Erik was everything I wanted-- or so I thought. He thought I was beautiful, talented, graceful-- and he never missed a moment to tell me so. Then I recieved an e-mail from my best friend Nicki, who introduced us in the first place. He was trying to cheat on me with Nicki. I sent him a horrible e-mail and basically banished him from my life. I was truly touched when my sister sent him another e-mail that warned if he were to ever try to contact me again, she'd track him down, castrate him, and shove his genitals down his throat. And now I linger on John again.
I know now, what was so hard about losing Erik-- he made me feel cared for, and I realize; that was all I ever wanted.
To this day, I still love John.
Today, I've collected every peice of the mosaic of my life, every shattered memory and placed them here, no matter how sharp and painful they are, or no matter how beautifully colored, or far-strewn to the farthest reaches of my mind, where I choose not to think of some. Isn't it a shiny blog?