I gave up on myself a long time ago.
Nobody would know it. No one would understand it unless it was explained to them in extreme detail. Shaking your head? Scratching it even?
I don't blame you.
I gave up on the future when I was 3. I lost the only part of me that kept me sane, and someone decided to show tragedy by plastering a picture of me on time magazine in a fairy princess costume. That picture still haunts me, and I see it everyday when I walk into the torch office.
I've repeatedly asked for its removal, but Chloe insists that its part of the freakish heredity that is our wacked out, pot smoking community, but to me it's a constant aching reminder of every piece of shit I've been forced to face.
The day I gave up on myself, was last year today. My 17th birthday. I was opening a gift that Nell sent me. It was a bus ticket to Metropolis. I looked at her. "Is this a hint?" I asked.
She smiled nervously. "Lana, I love you, and I want you with me in Metropolis."
"Do I have a choice?"
Nell frowned. "I've tried to be free with you Lana, and I thought by now you'd realize who was more important to you. Your friends or your family."
"What about Henry?" "What about him? He's not your father by faith, only by faith." "Shouldn't that count for something?" I was yelling by this point.
"No. I raised you, clothed you and treated you as my own daughter. Don't you apprechiate all that I've done for you?" "Not if you force me to do something against my will."
Nell got up, and stormed out. I never saw her again. That's when everything went downhill for me and I lost the faith in who I was.
I found myself caring less and less, brushing of the slightest interest there was in me, and wallowing in the hatred and resentment that burrowed deep within me. I barracaided my bedroom door and stayed there for hours on end, eventually coming to one indefinate conclusion.
I had been singled out by God all of my life, perfection meets destruction and you get Lana Lang. So I decided to single myself out from society. I bought a pen and a little black note book, and everyday as I'd walk down the road I'd right a note about everyone I'd see. Their features, problems and look and taste. How I knew them.
And I walked into the drug store one day with my black book when Clark came up to me.
"Still wallowing?" he asked. "What's it to you?" I replied. He looked taken aback. "well, uh, you've kinda gone a little depressive goth bottled maniac lately, so I thought maybe you were starting to climb back over the fence."
Someone turned on a light inside my head. I walked away from Clark without replying, buying black hair dye, black lipstick and eyeshadow, and white face cream. Stopping in the mall on my way home, buying some excessive black clothes at the Salvation Army and stocking up on spikes and collars at Claires.
I had found some small outlet in this excuse for an existence, and I would show everyone, just how 'un-fairy princess' Lana Lang could be.
Nothing would crush my heart ever again, and never would my face on Time shallow my existence. To top it off I strung my kryptonite necklace around my neck where-ever I went, just to show, that this meant war and avengence against the rest of the world.
Dear Little black Book, I forge ahead, crush them all and their pathetic happiness and trash their words and heartfelt concern. The are weak and I alone am strong.
I alone will survive.
Nobody would know it. No one would understand it unless it was explained to them in extreme detail. Shaking your head? Scratching it even?
I don't blame you.
I gave up on the future when I was 3. I lost the only part of me that kept me sane, and someone decided to show tragedy by plastering a picture of me on time magazine in a fairy princess costume. That picture still haunts me, and I see it everyday when I walk into the torch office.
I've repeatedly asked for its removal, but Chloe insists that its part of the freakish heredity that is our wacked out, pot smoking community, but to me it's a constant aching reminder of every piece of shit I've been forced to face.
The day I gave up on myself, was last year today. My 17th birthday. I was opening a gift that Nell sent me. It was a bus ticket to Metropolis. I looked at her. "Is this a hint?" I asked.
She smiled nervously. "Lana, I love you, and I want you with me in Metropolis."
"Do I have a choice?"
Nell frowned. "I've tried to be free with you Lana, and I thought by now you'd realize who was more important to you. Your friends or your family."
"What about Henry?" "What about him? He's not your father by faith, only by faith." "Shouldn't that count for something?" I was yelling by this point.
"No. I raised you, clothed you and treated you as my own daughter. Don't you apprechiate all that I've done for you?" "Not if you force me to do something against my will."
Nell got up, and stormed out. I never saw her again. That's when everything went downhill for me and I lost the faith in who I was.
I found myself caring less and less, brushing of the slightest interest there was in me, and wallowing in the hatred and resentment that burrowed deep within me. I barracaided my bedroom door and stayed there for hours on end, eventually coming to one indefinate conclusion.
I had been singled out by God all of my life, perfection meets destruction and you get Lana Lang. So I decided to single myself out from society. I bought a pen and a little black note book, and everyday as I'd walk down the road I'd right a note about everyone I'd see. Their features, problems and look and taste. How I knew them.
And I walked into the drug store one day with my black book when Clark came up to me.
"Still wallowing?" he asked. "What's it to you?" I replied. He looked taken aback. "well, uh, you've kinda gone a little depressive goth bottled maniac lately, so I thought maybe you were starting to climb back over the fence."
Someone turned on a light inside my head. I walked away from Clark without replying, buying black hair dye, black lipstick and eyeshadow, and white face cream. Stopping in the mall on my way home, buying some excessive black clothes at the Salvation Army and stocking up on spikes and collars at Claires.
I had found some small outlet in this excuse for an existence, and I would show everyone, just how 'un-fairy princess' Lana Lang could be.
Nothing would crush my heart ever again, and never would my face on Time shallow my existence. To top it off I strung my kryptonite necklace around my neck where-ever I went, just to show, that this meant war and avengence against the rest of the world.
Dear Little black Book, I forge ahead, crush them all and their pathetic happiness and trash their words and heartfelt concern. The are weak and I alone am strong.
I alone will survive.