Do you ever feel trapped? Do you ever feel like your body is but a prison your mind wishes to escape? Or maybe your body isn't the prison, but your life itself is? Do you consider the people in your life blessings or curses? Are you the curse? Do you even know who you are? Why are you here? What's your purpose? Who cares about you?
I'm Jenna Hamilton, and I want to escape. I want to run so far away that not even I can remember where I came from. I want to be able to fly; I want to race with the birds. I want to run through green fields full of wildflowers and play chase with a small flighty fawn. I want to climb the tallest mountain and have the clouds envy me. I want to lie down in a river and be washed away to sea. There, I want to swim and explore the ocean floor with dolphins. I can play Peek-a-boo with the crabs, Truth-or-dare with the sharks, and Hide-and-seek with a mermaid. To rest, I wish to hitch a ride on a whale's back and hear the wise stories of a century-old sea turtle.
As the day finishes, I want to wash up on a deserted isle. My limp body can dry on the warm, baked sand as the last rays of sun shine down on me. I want to refill my lungs with air saturated with tantalizing scents only tropical forests can offer. When I breathe deeply, I want to taste the sweet perfume of pineapple in my mouth. During sunset, I want to reach out my hand and have a large butterfly of the same deep oranges, pinks, and blues that mimic the sky land there. I want to be able to throw my head back; I want to laugh at nothing, but everything. My laugh would be real, from the gut, and body shaking.
The stars and the moon would finally come out to greet me. I'd lie back down on my spot in the sand. These magnificent celestial bodies and I would exchange smiles. Mother Moon would tell me jokes, and the stars would twinkle along in their laughter. The night would also bring the blissful breezes that roll off the dark waves. I'd stare a bit into the abyss that would stretch out before me, but, eventually, I would seek shelter within the forest. Getting deeper into this other, vine-strewn and tree branch scattered, world, the air would get heavier and dense with the dew that never dries. I would soon realize I wasn't alone on this island. A troop of orangutans would take me as their own; we would cuddle up to one another. Their heat would soothe me, making sleep inevitable. A profound relaxation would overcome my body, and my eyelids would cease to flutter.
Welcome to just one of my many day dreams. They get quite vivid out of necessity. I use my immense imagination to keep myself occupied and to distract from reality, because, well, my reality just isn't that great. I recently turned seventeen, but in my heart, I feel much older. I attend the hall of hells, otherwise known as high school. I spend my days sitting around and staring at all the worthless air breathers that you can call my classmates. Of course, I do have two confidantes.
Tamara is the closest thing I have to a true friend. She can be extremely spacey and random, but she means well. I know I can go to her for anything. If you can keep her attention long enough, she can be truly sincere and offer some of the best genuine advice. I've known Tamara practically all my life. I call her my number one because she is. I walk into school, and she is there to greet me with a huge smile and a bear hug. Nevertheless, she does have her short comings; the same as anyone else. I'll be blunt. Tamara is an attention whore. She strives for the approval of others; even going to ridiculous lengths to get noticed even the slightest bit. She sometimes sloughs me off when I'm not "entertaining" enough for her. I know she doesn't mean any harm or is intentionally trying to be rude, but it hurts when you're mid-conversation with her, then someone popular comes by, and she just walks away. However, over the years, I've learned to deal with Tamara's flightiness. In recent years, I have even sought refuge in another girl.
That girl is Sadie Saxton. I needed company when Tamara would just run off, and somehow Sadie and I became close. While Tamara was away trying to befriend every living soul in the school, Sadie stuck to just me. We're two peas in a pod; our similarities are endless. We laugh when we remember how we used to despise one another. It is almost like fate made us become friends; one event changing "that weekend" could've changed our whole becoming friends and all.
"That weekend" refers to the slight period of time when Sadie Saxton, my enemy, became Sadie Saxton, my best friend. Sadie was supposed to go over to Lissa's house after a Friday night football game, but Lissa had gotten in an argument with her parents about her boyfriend the night before. Lissa and Sadie were cheerleaders and pretty good friends. Anyways, so there Sadie was with no place to go, and I, being the kind-hearted person I am, offered for her to come to my house. She hesitated; we were in fact mortal enemies, but she eventually agreed. That night we stayed up talking as if we had known each other for forever. Similarity after similarity arose. Then, the next morning, her parents called to let her know they had decided to take a spontaneous trip to Florida for the weekend; she ended up staying with me for the whole weekend. My family accepted her as one of their own almost immediately. She and I made a great team; we were inseparable that weekend.
Continuing, those two are really the only people I have in my corner. So you can imagine why high school can be so hard, when you spend the majority if it alone. It isn't even just school either… Home life is hard enough when you have to babysit your mom and have a part-time father. My mom acts younger than me; she doesn't understand the meaning of responsibility in the least. Also, my father is no better; he is so distant and engulfed in video games that I doubt he knows what day it is. I guess…I should say who can blame them? They were teenagers when I was born. So, it must be hard on them. I know they're trying, or at least I think they're trying to be parents. It gets pretty stressful being the only mature one in the household, though.
Anyways, I think I've rambled enough for one night. I mentioned earlier that I like to escape. Well, my counselor, Valerie, recommended I try writing to clear my thoughts. Thus, we have the jumbled mess of words and ideas that I call MTAJCICTOMO. If you're wondering that stands for "More than just a journal, cause I call this one My Own."