ranting
Yesterday
was supposed to be an important day.
was my fourteenth birthday.
was a soap-opera tragedy.
was when I finally admitted I could never hope for someone I believe I love to love me in return.
was when my best friend and this person left me behind…
in the dust…
trying hard not to cry…
because at fourteen, aren’t you too old
for that?
was when I finally realized that a worst-case scenario is possible even when you trust people with your heart.
was another day of cursing my hormones
was further bondage and final release at the same time.
Under the spreading chestnut tree,
I sold you and you sold me.
There lie they and here lie we;
Under the spreading chestnut tree.
Kiss me once more, and then I must leave you… forever.
Hormones. This is confusing.
Just illustrating how I feel here.
My feelings don’t vary by the day. They vary by the second. It’s a terrifying roller-coaster of emotions that I’m sent on 99.99% of the time when I think of you. One minute I’ll be skipping around, joyful beyond belief that you remember my name, and the next minute I’ll be curled up in a ball sobbing. I don’t understand it. It has something to do with being thirteen- I’m sure I’ll grow out of it soon. It’s rather annoying when I’m unprepared for an involuntary mental breakdown, so I hope it doesn’t last too much longer. Anyway, don’t blame me for the phenomenon. Blame my teenage chemical imbalances.
"You can’t stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes."
Winnie the Pooh
To all of my (imaginary) followers
So. I’m Allie. I’m a freshman at Fletcher High in Neptune Beach, Florida, and I’m about a month away from turning fourteen. People say I’m intelligent. I’m not too sure about that, though. Sure, I’m younger than everyone, I have high grades, and I understand more science than your average ninth-grader, but is that really intelligence? I don’t think so. Intelligence isn’t aptitude, but a desire for learning- which means I’m not intelligent, but just perceptive. Regardless of whether or not it’s real though, this intellect is what has singled me out from everyone I know for all of my life. It’s caused me to be sheltered beyond comprehension by parents who love me, but who don’t realize that their high expectations are completely impossible. My aptitude changed what could have been an enjoyable life into something that I want to enjoy but can’t because of the slowly constricting bands of social abandonment.
But everything isn’t gloom and doom. I have music. I’m your typical band and chorus child, which doesn’t exactly help my adaptation to the outside world. But I can honestly say that if it weren’t for the music and people I met through it, I would never have made it this far with a bit of sanity.
Oh, the camaraderie that one experiences with people of similar interests! There’s Katie, the slight social reject who befriended me when I was a wee young ten-year-old in sixth grade. There’s Aspen, the fair-weather child of both worlds (the nerds and the social butterflies) who can’t fit in to either because of her ties to both. There’s John, who I can’t stand half the time because of his smartass sense of humor, but can brighten your day with one completely true comment that illustrates exactly how you feel. There’s Peyton, the quirky child who lives for dialogue. There’s Kristina, the depressed but insightful girl who longs desperately for a Prince Charming to save her from her scarring home life. Charis M., who talks in dialect as I do, and who can chatter over guys-or one guy- but still make perfect scores on a calculus test. Madeline and Benny, the brother and sister who can describe even the most horrible situation with a touch of sarcastic humor. Hannah, who is engaging and energetic, yet whose happiness is a facade masking her torture in deciding how to handle her feelings toward others. Monica, a born leader, with extraordinary gifts for both the flute and for unifying a group of people at odds with themselves. And Austin, who is impossible to describe.
So my days are filled with political debates, mock swordfights, improv in the band room, theological discussions with those who can sit still long enough to talk, and finally a goodbye to the people who make my day beautiful. And then a walk home, and then time spent with my parents / jailers / protectors / torturers / interrogators, who I love with all my heart but who I wish could see that a seemingly perfect girl with no visible problems needs a chance at life. But I’m their princess. I’m the girl who has to make them proud, who has to make no mistakes.
They don’t know how badly I’ve failed them.
