Prologue: Analyze THIS
There are so many nights that I dreamed a cryin' on your lap. Y'know, just collapsin' on ya legs an' wailin' at the top a my lungs, all while spillin' out bits an' pieces of an excuse for the wild behavior. Of course, this is just another wonderful fantasy a mine, a beautiful bubble that is sure to be popped along with my other hopes and wishes. It'll never happen. Not in a thousand years or more will I ever get such a request. Why? 'Cuz it clashes with my identity, my personality, the works that makes me who I am. Other than that, the root a my copin' strategies center around one lil' word, a five-letter term so easy to spell and say, yet it still resembled a hardened criminal that was hard to take down.
Pride.
That awful part of speech wore on me every minute of my teenage life, forcin' would-be friends to stay at a three feet distance from me at all times. I could swear that I was cursed since I started to grow up, not even able to handle a conversation without getting' a funny look or havin' someone snicker at me from behind my back. Rumors followed me as much as flies on a fresh carcass, buzzin' around my head in a cloud a deception and lies. That's my peers for ya, a bunch of low-class losers spreadin' gossip as fast as their eager tongues could form a sentence. I saw them in the halls, outside in the open, in bathrooms and in the cafeteria chatterin' away to their back-stabbin' amigos, comin' up with crap that would make a fiction author rich. Preps in their lil' cliques that had guys who acted no better than their girlfriends, flashin' me a snide smile when they caught my attention, twirlin' a lock of their sweetheart's hair while passin' it under their noses. I know what they were gettin' at. Don't think for a second that I couldn't read what their pretty boy faces were tellin' me. Ha-ha! they seemed to say, lookin' all cool and pleased with themselves, Look what we got that you can't have! Yeah, well go ahead and jump in the sack with the bitches. If ya catch AIDS or some other stupid disease, don't go whinin' to the school nurse about how you were soooo careful 'bout who ya laid down with. Ya had it comin'. One way or another, ya got everythin' like that comin' to ya. Just ya wait an' see, baby.
Now these were the same people who claimed that I was either A.) a nympho, B.) some reject who was asexual, or C.) flat out crazy. Let 'em think whatever the hell they wanna when it comes ta me. It's not like the really know me or that any of it's true-well, that's not completely right. I mean, maybe the last story's got some merit to it. Damn, I hate admittin' when any a those stuck-up snobs might be on ta somethin'! Anyhoo, I guess I'm not a total lunatic, but I'm not all that sane, either. I've had my run-ins with principals, parents (not just mine, others' old folks, too), students, sibs, just about everyone under the wild blue yonder. Then the psychologists were called, and man, oh man, what a mess the whole thing turned out ta be. Before I knew it, my ass was in a hardback chair, shiftin' uncomfortably while a crisis counselor attempted to work through my "situations" with me. Shit, I hated them! Why the hell couldn't people leave me the hell alone?! One a the happiest days of my life was shootin' my group therapy leader the finger. Honest ta God, that's what I did, right there in front of the other insane members of Fucked Up Anonymous wearin' the biggest happiest smile on my face. Teeth and all. There. Analyze THAT, ya pretentious drop-outs of med scool.
Okay, alright, so that wasn't the smartest thing ta do at the time, but I don't regret it. Not one bit. Matter a fact, I don't think I ever will. Write it all down in my permanent records, talk about it with other nurses or whoever gives a care, choke on it, then come back ta me when you've got more ta say than "What is your feeling towards this issue?" Hey I've got an answer for ya now! Here-oh, well, never mind. You've already seen me do that, so just commit it ta memory and stop botherin' me with your professional bullshit. 'Nuff said.
I might never tell some arrogant asshole my life's story, but I'll write it down here, just for kicks. That way, I don't gotta hear about how I'm a dysfunctional this or have a disorder of that, some medical lingo that is supposed ta be one word, but is as long as the fricken' U.S. Constitution. This is it, where it all started, my sophomore year a high school. That's when I skipped class on a whim, drank my share of hard booze, hung out more than studied, y'know, what the typical going nowhere teen does with their useless existence. There I was, rollin' with kids angry at the world, people who were born in the ghetto (or at least acted like they were), the colorless trash of society who drugged up when they felt like it, smoked to feel good, dressed to impress vampires of the nineteenth century. You've probably seen 'em around your town. The gothic dressers with fishnets and black make-up, thinkin' they're just so hip to split with their deep-cut clothes, body piercings, pagan worship, the whole nine yards of wide-scale rebellion. And where was I when the bad shit was goin' down? Why, right there with my punk rockin' Hot Topic pack, showin' the district we were a part of the internationally known company known as Pissed Off an' Proud of It. It's a growin' association. Soon it'll be in an overcrowded school near you, the whole she-bang with darkly colored posters sportin' creepy anime productions on them.
So I was a hell raiser. Big deal. At least I had fun doin' what I. Lots ta tell grandkids when I get older-if I get that far in life. Huh, I pulled my ass off a the brink of destruction more times than I can count, so I guess I got a few more decades in me for livin'. Yippee.
Actually, I didn't do it all by myself, although I sometimes wish I could take the credit for gettin' through the crap I got myself into. Throughout my high school career (which consisted of little less than readin' comic books, chowin' Pocky, suckin' back Japanese soda, makin' random fan fics, drawin' anime hotties, and hookin' up with troublemakers), I came into contact with some real bitches, but there were also some high points along the way. What I mean ta say is that not everyone was an asshole-just the vast majority of the student body. I admit that I did some stupid stuff, namely fucking up my body and head for starters, but there was some good that came out of it all. 'Cuz if I wasn't hangin' off the edge of a cliff, they wouldn't have been there to catch me 'fore I fell, to snap me back into reality when my brain wires were short-circuiting. 'Cuz if I stayed all prim and proper with perfect grades and perfect everythin' else, I wouldn't have ever come across them. I took the risk, grasped the chance, joined the dance-and fell in. And so begins the love, hate, confusion, romance, an' every emotion possible sprung from a common spring of us three, a trio of people with surface wounds and problems, all of us a reflection of each other, yet still a mirror that will only be put back together again once we can bring ourselves to forgive and forget what went on. It's a tale that shall be told by yours truly here, a story that'll hold no punches, tell no lies, keep any secrets, or anythin' like that. I've kept the truth inside so long that I began wishin' that my mind could be conveniently erased, but I knew that couldn't be. Everythin's gotta come out. It ends tonight. All the manipulation hurt pain, angst, you name it, the shit's goin' on display, for anyone that gives a damn enough to come across this. Sure, I'm aware that there are two sides to every story (in this case three), but I'm the only one out of the band bold enough ta put it down on paper to have the world look at it. Who knows, maybe someone might actually take this writing ta heart an' learn from the mistakes of me an' my pals. Whoever does listen ta me ramble gets a shiny gold star for their time and patience, while overconfident critics can just kiss my rump roast. Hey, it's all here for the takin'. What ya do with this experience is up ta you.
There are so many nights that I dreamed a cryin' on your lap. Y'know, just collapsin' on ya legs an' wailin' at the top a my lungs, all while spillin' out bits an' pieces of an excuse for the wild behavior. Of course, this is just another wonderful fantasy a mine, a beautiful bubble that is sure to be popped along with my other hopes and wishes. It'll never happen. Not in a thousand years or more will I ever get such a request. Why? 'Cuz it clashes with my identity, my personality, the works that makes me who I am. Other than that, the root a my copin' strategies center around one lil' word, a five-letter term so easy to spell and say, yet it still resembled a hardened criminal that was hard to take down.
Pride.
That awful part of speech wore on me every minute of my teenage life, forcin' would-be friends to stay at a three feet distance from me at all times. I could swear that I was cursed since I started to grow up, not even able to handle a conversation without getting' a funny look or havin' someone snicker at me from behind my back. Rumors followed me as much as flies on a fresh carcass, buzzin' around my head in a cloud a deception and lies. That's my peers for ya, a bunch of low-class losers spreadin' gossip as fast as their eager tongues could form a sentence. I saw them in the halls, outside in the open, in bathrooms and in the cafeteria chatterin' away to their back-stabbin' amigos, comin' up with crap that would make a fiction author rich. Preps in their lil' cliques that had guys who acted no better than their girlfriends, flashin' me a snide smile when they caught my attention, twirlin' a lock of their sweetheart's hair while passin' it under their noses. I know what they were gettin' at. Don't think for a second that I couldn't read what their pretty boy faces were tellin' me. Ha-ha! they seemed to say, lookin' all cool and pleased with themselves, Look what we got that you can't have! Yeah, well go ahead and jump in the sack with the bitches. If ya catch AIDS or some other stupid disease, don't go whinin' to the school nurse about how you were soooo careful 'bout who ya laid down with. Ya had it comin'. One way or another, ya got everythin' like that comin' to ya. Just ya wait an' see, baby.
Now these were the same people who claimed that I was either A.) a nympho, B.) some reject who was asexual, or C.) flat out crazy. Let 'em think whatever the hell they wanna when it comes ta me. It's not like the really know me or that any of it's true-well, that's not completely right. I mean, maybe the last story's got some merit to it. Damn, I hate admittin' when any a those stuck-up snobs might be on ta somethin'! Anyhoo, I guess I'm not a total lunatic, but I'm not all that sane, either. I've had my run-ins with principals, parents (not just mine, others' old folks, too), students, sibs, just about everyone under the wild blue yonder. Then the psychologists were called, and man, oh man, what a mess the whole thing turned out ta be. Before I knew it, my ass was in a hardback chair, shiftin' uncomfortably while a crisis counselor attempted to work through my "situations" with me. Shit, I hated them! Why the hell couldn't people leave me the hell alone?! One a the happiest days of my life was shootin' my group therapy leader the finger. Honest ta God, that's what I did, right there in front of the other insane members of Fucked Up Anonymous wearin' the biggest happiest smile on my face. Teeth and all. There. Analyze THAT, ya pretentious drop-outs of med scool.
Okay, alright, so that wasn't the smartest thing ta do at the time, but I don't regret it. Not one bit. Matter a fact, I don't think I ever will. Write it all down in my permanent records, talk about it with other nurses or whoever gives a care, choke on it, then come back ta me when you've got more ta say than "What is your feeling towards this issue?" Hey I've got an answer for ya now! Here-oh, well, never mind. You've already seen me do that, so just commit it ta memory and stop botherin' me with your professional bullshit. 'Nuff said.
I might never tell some arrogant asshole my life's story, but I'll write it down here, just for kicks. That way, I don't gotta hear about how I'm a dysfunctional this or have a disorder of that, some medical lingo that is supposed ta be one word, but is as long as the fricken' U.S. Constitution. This is it, where it all started, my sophomore year a high school. That's when I skipped class on a whim, drank my share of hard booze, hung out more than studied, y'know, what the typical going nowhere teen does with their useless existence. There I was, rollin' with kids angry at the world, people who were born in the ghetto (or at least acted like they were), the colorless trash of society who drugged up when they felt like it, smoked to feel good, dressed to impress vampires of the nineteenth century. You've probably seen 'em around your town. The gothic dressers with fishnets and black make-up, thinkin' they're just so hip to split with their deep-cut clothes, body piercings, pagan worship, the whole nine yards of wide-scale rebellion. And where was I when the bad shit was goin' down? Why, right there with my punk rockin' Hot Topic pack, showin' the district we were a part of the internationally known company known as Pissed Off an' Proud of It. It's a growin' association. Soon it'll be in an overcrowded school near you, the whole she-bang with darkly colored posters sportin' creepy anime productions on them.
So I was a hell raiser. Big deal. At least I had fun doin' what I. Lots ta tell grandkids when I get older-if I get that far in life. Huh, I pulled my ass off a the brink of destruction more times than I can count, so I guess I got a few more decades in me for livin'. Yippee.
Actually, I didn't do it all by myself, although I sometimes wish I could take the credit for gettin' through the crap I got myself into. Throughout my high school career (which consisted of little less than readin' comic books, chowin' Pocky, suckin' back Japanese soda, makin' random fan fics, drawin' anime hotties, and hookin' up with troublemakers), I came into contact with some real bitches, but there were also some high points along the way. What I mean ta say is that not everyone was an asshole-just the vast majority of the student body. I admit that I did some stupid stuff, namely fucking up my body and head for starters, but there was some good that came out of it all. 'Cuz if I wasn't hangin' off the edge of a cliff, they wouldn't have been there to catch me 'fore I fell, to snap me back into reality when my brain wires were short-circuiting. 'Cuz if I stayed all prim and proper with perfect grades and perfect everythin' else, I wouldn't have ever come across them. I took the risk, grasped the chance, joined the dance-and fell in. And so begins the love, hate, confusion, romance, an' every emotion possible sprung from a common spring of us three, a trio of people with surface wounds and problems, all of us a reflection of each other, yet still a mirror that will only be put back together again once we can bring ourselves to forgive and forget what went on. It's a tale that shall be told by yours truly here, a story that'll hold no punches, tell no lies, keep any secrets, or anythin' like that. I've kept the truth inside so long that I began wishin' that my mind could be conveniently erased, but I knew that couldn't be. Everythin's gotta come out. It ends tonight. All the manipulation hurt pain, angst, you name it, the shit's goin' on display, for anyone that gives a damn enough to come across this. Sure, I'm aware that there are two sides to every story (in this case three), but I'm the only one out of the band bold enough ta put it down on paper to have the world look at it. Who knows, maybe someone might actually take this writing ta heart an' learn from the mistakes of me an' my pals. Whoever does listen ta me ramble gets a shiny gold star for their time and patience, while overconfident critics can just kiss my rump roast. Hey, it's all here for the takin'. What ya do with this experience is up ta you.