Blog Posts, Memoir, Personal Post

The Story of Me : Part One

Slight girl bold of the realm around her. Discoveries of meaning in the minor things. In the way leaves will went, mended and twisted in the gale. Her hands followed the breeze, her feet crossed the knees. As a youth Joy was full of life, but often thought ‘odd.’ It didn’t matter much to Joy, she’d shrug and carry on.

Preschool wasn’t kind, nor were the girls that made fun. Not so much because she looked different, but because Joy would make contacts with the physically handicapped children, and ‘normal’ children as well if they didn’t mind the company of her other friends.

Elementary school was much the same, smashed in a ‘pod like’ classroom conceived in the mind of some person who thought it’d be a ‘good idea.’

(Now Joy thinks the person was on some sort of LSD or was just an air head academic, all book sense but no life sense.)

She’d been chastised for not ‘changing stations’ as a kindergartener, and in Transitional 1st grade she’d figured out a nap time how to masturbate, though all Joy knew was it made her feel less stressed out.

First through fourth grade were struggles of not just memorizing words, but also reading then excelling. The other administrators took credit for the ‘progress they made’ when it was Joy’s hours of tears, trials, fluid, and effort that had made the difference.

Joy’s mother had a huge role to play in her success, Joy looked up to her mom because she would be the continuing role model of ‘advising.’

Middle school was when Joy learned that something was socially ‘off’ with her. She accepted the fact that she was different, and when told she was weird would respond with: ‘so what else is new?’

High school was a major turning point. Here, Joy would express her voice more than she ever had. I forgot to mention, Joy was an avid singer. Music was (and still is) the one thing that gave her solace.

Ninth grade she was told she was ‘fat’ by way of a note binged off her head. Joy joined weight watchers for all the wrong reasons. She stopped counting points, and started counting calories. Turning against who she was stealing diet pills from her father.

In the darkness, in the early 2000’s, in the early hours on the weekend, Joy found an online world that fed her sickness. She spoke an inaction to conger up the ‘goddess of anorexia’ not thinking twice about the fallout but desperately wanting to be accepted by her peers at any cost.

Falling into a deep depression in her later high school years, the memories of choir events and classes bled out of a need to be hugged. Too many apples, very little of anything. Plain oatmeal, ketchup and pretzels, air popped popcorn, pickles and little else.

Mornings before school were spent working out either by video in the morning, or by a 4 am jog.

Lunch time was spent in the bathroom eating just 4 crackers and one tuna fish packet. She’d hide away from people during lunch, their eyes, and their judgments.

She was by the end ‘popular’ of sorts, but it never worked out. All of two months during her twelfth grade year with horrible dances and bones protruding at prom.

Diet pills became common, speeding legally along with hardly any food equaled disaster.

Porn also became common, she thought she was the only 17 year old girl that loved to see raw sex.

Eyes violated on a frequent basis; be it with the web community encouraging one another to become sicker, or tapping her shoulder frame again.

Away to college-and away with all reason.

Freshman year dove into studies, maintained a high C average and still was self-abusing in all the ways before.

Something broke around thanksgiving time. She had received a D on a term paper, while trying to work out the logistics of ‘proper form’ of a collage paper.

Joy was at her desk, her roommate was out at the time; across from her were scissors.

The thought struck her as something so vulgar, and yet so brilliant.

Sinful spirit spoken word that leaked onto the floor.

Euphoria in the recipe of plasma, transported ahead of term paper; watercolor an attractive shade of ruby.

Self-mutilation no longer excusable but rather the poison of choice; and what a lilac it was!

Such a disfiguring amusement.

Such a hypnotizing impulse.

Such a wonderful dependence.

Joy figured others had their ‘habits’ and at the time she didn’t know of any other girls of guys who cut their arms and body to hell.

Others had PTSD, or were addicted to pills, drugs, drank etc.

For a long ten years Joy would fall into the abyss of cutting.

She was forced to leave collage, upset and hurt. Joy attempted to take her life in 2005 on the driveway of her grandmothers.

‘God help!’

It would be years and years of pain inflicted not only upon herself, but on her loved ones.

Feeding the pain with depressing music, art, or anything that could validate.

Soon she forgot what the agony was for, and beyond routine she carried on.

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