My Way of Telling You

by RMCastle

This is a collection of stories from my life, in a fond format. I've never kept a journal in my life without tearing the pages out of it. It's time I leave something behind instead of hocking it or burning it in the fires of my future anger.

1. Introduction

So here's the thing.

I am a 16 year old girl living out my life. I haven't written a damn thing in four years without it being a really shit essay, or a really good essay. I decided most recently that I wanted to get back into the habit of writing. Something I love. I came to this horrid conclusion: what if I die and I'll never write another line in the history of this world again? (You know of course, if you believe in that whole multi-timeline theory, and how time isn't really a thing but an idea made by the mine to schedule ourselves in our daily lives.)

This really didn't come to mind, until I think, about a week ago, when I woke up with no breath in my lungs and no heart in my chest. I mean literally no breath and very truthfully, a heart that felt ripped from its strings. I guess you could say it's a novel concept, to think that your heart is being ripped out, when really it's perfectly fine beating in your chest. Maybe I'm novel. Oh well. I fear I won't live too long to know this.

In any matter, I've come to this conclusion: I am going to die, neither do I know if it is now nor years from now. I'd like to document my life in a meaningful way, and not the way you do in a journal, where you write about a crush or a then boyfriend (or girlfriend) and then promptly rip it out from the glue of your book and your mind. I mean in a way that's more permanent. Things aren't fully permanent, but I'd like the sentiment to last that I, in fact, was a thing that happened.

My life in the whole of this world feels like something, even for a girl that feels and cares about a whole lot of nothing.

So here's my story.