I have to constantly remind myself that I have not been in high school for a few years now. It astounds me that two years have passed, and I am well into completing a little over half of my college career. Still, every day, I am reminded in some way or another of a particular moment in high school.
The park at the end of my street reminds me freshman year. The year was 2009. My heart was full of hate, for everything. My eyes were full of tears, and my head was heavy with thoughts. That year was pure agony. I held everything in, I kept all the air inside of me, all the words I fought constantly to keep inside of my head, I never popped. My stomach was in deep pain each time I looked in the mirror. Blackouts from headaches became a routine after school. Getting into fights with my sister drove me lock myself in my room, facing hot pink walls that blinded me. Now I see the park, and I think about how aside from the friends I never let give me advice, that park, with all its fresh air and its swings that soared into the sky, far away from the ground, saved me. Speedway Gas Station reminds me of sophomore year. It was the year I would get my license. I wonder if the woman who signed my approval for the driver's test has been fired yet, because she really needs to be. Well, I drive better now. I had my first boyfriend, it seemed like it was all I ever wanted. I figured out that having a boyfriend was the biggest burden I'd come to bear, even more than school. Alcohol, recreations, the works. When I wanted it, even when I didn't want it, it was there, burning a hole inside of me. Tanning beds remind me of junior year. And bobbed haircuts. My hair is longer, and I've retreated to keeping my natural curls instead of straightening my hair. Curls are different, I like being different. Tanning beds are all the same. I wanted to be like all the other girls. I wanted the tan, the body, the party life. And I had it, for a few weekends. And then I lost grip, and I thank God I lost that grip. Senior year was the year I comprehended that there was in fact a way out of hell. And I got out. Senior year I took the park, the gas station, and the tanning beds, and I put them away in my memory. And I moved out of hell.
0 Comments
Write about finding your own way:
I see chaos. Constant chaos. It fills my room up. There are post-it notes everywhere with written words that repeat itself on a planner. I have clothes that are being washed. They come out of the dryer, and they need to be folded. I have finished the reading for today's class. In two days, the next one will be due. I have just finished a paper, another one will be due in two weeks. I have not caught up with reading a book I wanted to finish for myself. I tell myself I will finish it soon. I cannot bear to look at the time. I see the clock out of my peripheral vision and swear that a half hour could not have passed yet. It is now 2 in the morning. I need to go to bed, I am so tired. There is so much work that could have been done. There is so much I have already accomplished, but there is so much left. There will continue to be more chaos. All the while I am wondering when I can sit down, and have a full day to do whatever I would like to do. Do those days exist anymore? Are they merely a figment of my 10 year old self's imagination? Where have those days, where have those times gone? What is this all for, if I don't know yet. I don't know what I'm doing all this for. I'm driving, I'm walking, I'm talking, I'm typing, I'm writing, I'm studying, I'm analyzing, I'm participating, I'm caring, I'm trying. I'm living, but I don't know what for. But I'm breathing. And so I choose these moments as apart of waking up each day. And so a path will have to form at some point in time. My own way will have to form at some point in time, right? The thoughts circling around in my head when I look into the mirror. Doesn't anybody? Could we rid of it, if not completely, then partially, one day at a time?
|
AuthorI like to write; point blank. This is a little piece of me that I get to share with the rest of the world, and hey, you know, maybe you'll appreciate it, maybe it'll do nothing for you. But my writing exists, and that's enough for me. © 2019 Silvia Iorio. All rights reserved.
Archives
March 2024
Categories |