Ever get that feeling that life couldn't possibly get any worse? Of course you have – we all have. I can't help but ask myself that question at least thirty times a day. Granted, every time I do life decides to thrust another platter of chaos into my hands… so maybe that's my own fault.
I've never been lucky – in fact, I'm pretty sure I'm one of the most unlucky people on the planet. Don't believe me?
When I was 4 – I passed out from a heat stroke while eating an ice cream by the pool. I ended up knocking my head on a garden gnome and then toppling over into the pool unconscious. I almost drowned. At 10, I was decorating the Christmas tree and somehow managed to get the Christmas lights wrapped around my neck and then fell off the latter. I almost choked to death. At 14, I spilled fruit punch on Molly Henderson's homecoming dress – sure, she wasn't the most popular girl in school but she was the one most likely to kick the shit out of anyone who got in her way. I ended up in the hospital with a broken leg. As for Molly, well her parents were exceptionally wealthy and blew it off as self-defense.
The last two years have been especially tragic. My parents were in the middle of a gruesome divorce – though that anyone could have seen coming. My mother was your typical shrill-voiced nagging "stay at home" Mom. You know those women who hold those parties where some guy comes to your house and sells you stainless steel pots and pans? She's one of those. A lot of friends, a lot of clothes, a lot of drama. Think of it as a less glamorous version of that reality TV show "Housewives."
Father makes enough money for us to live a pretty decent lifestyle. He works for some insurance company, we never see him because he's always away on business. I honestly don't know much about him. We do look eerily alike though. Same curly brown hair, big light brown eyes – it freaks me out a bit. I've probably seen him twice in the past three years.
My older brother, Benji, is one of those douche bag gays. Yes, and by gay I mean homosexual. We used to hang out a lot – it was surprising considering the six-year-age difference between us. But then he got into drugs and the club scene after he graduated college. He was seemingly unaffected by the divorce. He never got along with my mother – having a gay son was enough to crank her crazy Stepford meter to a thousand. She kept trying to hide him from her friends and make him seem 'less gay.' It was embarrassing to watch. Luckily for him, my father loves him – he was always his favorite. Sometimes he would take him on business trips and he'd always stop by for his birthday.
It's not surprising that they have a more profound bond. Before I was born my parents marriage was seemingly happy and carefree. Not that I'm saying I'm the catalyst to their unfortunate divorce – I just happened to be born at an unlucky time in their lives.
So, for me, neither of my parents ever cared much.
Mother tried to, but once she realized that I wasn't a mini her, she dropped me like a hot potato – excuse me, once she realized she couldn't mold me into a mini her – that's when she started ignoring me.
I suppose it was my unwillingness to 'go above and beyond' that stifled her. To most, I'm quite boring. I'm one of those quiet non shy types. I don't talk to people willingly – I go through life as a casted shadow. It sounds sad, but I'm quite content with my life. Or at least that's what I make myself believe.
It was my unlucky tendencies that caused my life to ruin even more. Mr. Gerald – my school's principal – is to blame. Or maybe Mrs. Margraph… I suppose I should explain.
I go to a private school in New York City. You know, like Gossip Girl, except everyone really is a stuck up snob and not ridiculously good-looking or nice. Mrs. Margraph, my English professor, assigned us a poetry assignment the previous day – which I did but apparently not to her standards. She randomly selected students to read theirs out loud and considering my luck, I was one of those students.
"Mr. Garfield! Why don't you stop tracing your primitive roots and show us what poetic genius your brain is capable of!" Mrs. Margraph called out, in an air of dramatic exuberance.
She was a busty older woman. Crazy gray hair, large thin rimmed round glasses, floral printed ankle dress and a shawl around her shoulders that only added more to her dramatics. The most attributing feature on her had to be her ice blue eyes – that glare was enough to shut anyone up. It was like staring into the soul of Satan… decked in a floral dress and shawl. Comedic really, but still frightening.
Larry, also known as 'Mr. Garfield', turned away from his jock friends and stood next to his desk.
With a charming smile he replied, "Why of course, Sweetheart."
I scoffed. This kid was always a snarky little git. One of the 'populars'. You know exactly what I'm talking about. He wasn't exactly attractive – just a snob and a great soccer player. The fact that his dad was disgustingly wealthy didn't hurt either.
He reached down and grabbed his paper, and after clearing his throat, he began to read.
"Butts are big. Butts are nice. Let me slap. Your butt twice."
The class erupted in laughter, sans myself. I stared on disbelieving. 'Didn't we have to pass an entrance exam to get into this school…. How this kid got in is truly a mystery.' I thought.
"MR. GARFIELD! That is inappropriate! DETENTION! NOW!" the professor screamed, icy glare erect and in place.
Larry scuffled out of the class, but not after receiving high-fives and pats on the back from his fellow meat heads.
I sighed dejectedly. '20 more minutes and then I'm out of here…' I began staring longingly at the clock.
"Ms. Romaine!"
I whipped up my head, curly hair smacking me in the face.
"Since you find watching the clock more interesting than my lecture, I assume you have something exceptional to share with the class." Mrs. Margraph stared at me expectantly.
I stared back, mouth agape.
"…Do you want me to read my poem or… tell you what I was thinking while watching the clock…?" I mumbled back.
Silent chuckles could be heard throughout the class, which only fueled the Professors temper.
"A smartass are we? READ YOUR POEM!" She shot me that bone chilling glare.
I jumped out of my chair at her outburst, enticing another wave of chuckles.
I tentatively grabbed my assignment and began to read.
"'Just get over it, they say
I wish I could find a way
Living with it day by day
Memories won't go away
Medication helps to sway
Many feelings of dismay
But they do fail to decay
The loss that one does survey"
I paused when I heard someone clearing their throat. I nervously glanced around and was shocked by the horrified expression on my Professor's face.
"Oh my…" she said, "my dear…" She stared on at me with eyes full of pity and fear.
I stared at her confused, "Uhm, am I missing something?"
"Suicide is not something to joke about, Ms. Romaine!"
I spluttered, "SUICIDE?! I'm not suicidal!"
With that, she sent me to the principal's office – where Mr. Gerald called my Mother.
Apparently she thought I planned on overdosing on medications or something. Sure, it sounds ridiculous, but you have to understand my life is like an episode of Punk'd except Ashton never comes out and the prank goes on forever.
"SUICIDAL! How UNGRATEFUL can you be! And so inconsiderate!" My mother screamed on the way home.
"First a gay and now a wrist cutter…" she muttered.
"MOM," I sighed, "I'm not suicidal, it's just a misunderstanding."
She scoffed, "A misunderstanding? I knew it all along. I knew there was something wrong with you and here you are! Wanting to off yourself, like some kind of gothic heathen! Like you're the only person with problems! You know there are kids out there who don't get the luxuries you do! They don't get nice clothes or coach bags!"
"I don't have coach bags…" I sighed.
"IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT!? A COACH BAG!? Will it end this nonsensical spiel of self-pity?!"
I stared at her incredulously. Tentatively, I placed my fingers on my forehead already feeling the beginnings of a migraine.
The next afternoon I found myself on the same couch I'm on now. Staring blankly at the ceiling and regretting my decision to not take the coach bag, because now I was with the shrink and this guy was the most annoying man I've ever come across.