I’m just a person who has had to live in reality all her life.
Society makes twenty-one year olds out to be party people, people who speed, people who drive crazy, people who drink ’til they’re drunk, etc. There are all of these stereotypes displaying how things should go, what I should do, what I should think, what I should see, etc. I don’t want to be one of those people who live in that scenario. To be honest, I don’t want to be one of those people who live that lifestyle. I’ve been one of those people living that lifestyle my entire life, and I don’t see a problem with me wanting to get away from said lifestyle. I don’t have a specific “plan” to follow and to have. I don’t have zero fears or just a few fears. I’ve been terrified of reality my entire life. I’ve never been able to live in my dreams or escape a scene when I wished I could.
I’ve realized I read a few blogs on rare occasions that reminisce their childhood, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot put myself in that scene no matter how hard I want to feel what it was maybe like for them, pleasant or embarrassing. If I comment on it, saying something along the lines of, “That seems like it was a cool experience,” they accuse me of not reading their blog and/or being insane and/or making fun of them. They don’t understand just how lucky they are. Then there are some people who will blog about how they got grounded for sneaking out of the house – and they think it’s seriously the worst thing in the world. First of all, you’re only sixteen. Second of all, when I was your age1, I could barely afford to have/keep friends because I always had to babysit my sibling(s) so my mom and lard could go elsewhere, wherever that was – and I was bribed each and every time. And I always fell for it. At least they had enough of a social life to be able to sneak out of the house to go out with a bunch of their friends. Not everyone has that.
I once came across a blog written by a twelve year old who talked about her eleven year old popular self who tried to be nice to a shy classmate by asking her to hang out. I’d read that blog for about two or so years, and the ‘popular self’ of a girl was really mean and cruel. She was writing about that time as if she had truly tried to do something right, but the year before was an entry about said shy girl whom she bullied. Little did she know I was shy girl who went to school with her – who had been reading her blog all along, commenting back and forth with her and chatting on AIM. She seemed much nicer online than offline, and “much nicer” doesn’t really do her justice, as it’s more like “less mean”. She and her friends would always laugh at me. I had a lot of tics back then, and it was frustrating. I tried so hard to suppress them, but it never worked. My teachers grew tired of my requests to use the restroom (because in the restroom I could go into a stall and let my tics have their way), so I no longer had an escape. It was really embarrassing.
In school I was the “Scottish” girl because I loved wearing plaid skorts. In school I was the retarded girl because I couldn’t control my tics, caused by Tourette’s. In school I was the teacher’s pet because I was quiet when they were hushing the class, so I never had to do book work or write sentences. In school I was the bus driver’s pet because I always greeted said bus driver and was always so nice. In school I was the girl who received special treatment because she had asthma. In school I was the weird girl because I couldn’t understand sarcasm. In school I was the girl who lived in a cave because I wasn’t ‘in the know’ – because I was so sheltered, I didn’t know about various new movies, TV shows, etc.
Since my junior year in high school I’ve wanted to go to London – or somewhere similar. It was after I watched a video in psychology class that I saw this. Since I was nine I knew the people around me were so different. My mom once said something about Canadians calling themselves Americans, and I said, “Well, technically they are.” She and lard both looked at me sternly and replied with, “How?” “Well, Canada is a country located in North America. So is Mexico. Technically both are Americans. The United States of America are simply united states in America. They do not define North America because they are not the only territories in North America. Therefore, technically Canadians and Mexicans could also consider themselves Americans – and they wouldn’t be wrong.” My mom and lard scoffed, and I was sent to my room. In eighth grade I brought this up to my World History teacher, and everyone thought I was crazy. It was then that I realized how snobby Americans tend to be, or the majority at least.
I don’t think I’m the problem anymore. I think I know my problem, but I don’t know how to fix it. I was born in a country that focuses on money and politics, but I have no interest for money and politics – not as much as I have for love and happiness, anyway. Would it be the worst thing in the world if I wanted to live in a country where I could dedicate my life to animal rescue2 – in a country that didn’t focus so much on politics and money?
But the biggest problem in me not knowing how to make that happen is that I don’t even know what the major would/is supposed to be.
I’m just a person who has had to live in reality all her life who now wants to live in her dream for the rest of her life.