Friday, July 30, 2004

Allow Me To Introduce Myself
I suppose I should tell you all a bit about myself before I start rambling on all the other posts. I'm 18 years old, 19 next month. I'm not about to tell you my real name; I go by Cat and that's all that anyone needs to know. I quit highschool in my second year, because I had to. Long story. I have a son who will be 2 in September, and possibly another child on the way. My boyfriend is a twin, so this might end up being one hell of a nightmare.I'm bisexual, and extroverted, though I do get shy at times. I have a very innocent side, though I do my best to hide that with my friends. That innocence will be the death of me someday, I swear it. That is the side of me that dreams of a better life, the side of me that wants the fairytale; a perfect husband, a perfect family, and happily ever after. I do my best not to let my friends see any of that because I'd rather they see me as tough, or even a little stupid, before they ever see that I am deep, naive, and depressed.
I generally seem pissed at the world, and a lot of that is truth, but under it all, I tend to get more angry at myself, foolishly believing that every bit of pain I've been through, is pain I've brought on myself. I suppose I should explain. A close friend of mine will read this, I know, but so be it. ~sighs~ My past; I hardly know where to begin.
I've never been a child, for starters. I say that because I went from 5 years old to 40 over night. I was more or less used as a slave at 5 years old. I guess, I always have been submissive, but what happened never should have. I was finally taken out of that situation, put up for adoption. I thought it would be the start of a new life, a happier one, but it wasn't. My adoptive mother was cold, and my adoptive father is abusive. Welcome to my cold world. My adoptive mother died when I was 12, and my best friend was taken from me at 13. Perhaps I make too much of it. "Why me?" I think, then laugh at myself for being so dramatic. But, though it is all in the past, it still hurts like hell. People tell me to get over it, but I can't.
Under the mask, the act I put on for my friends, I feel like I am dying. It's like I'm hanging from the edge of a cliff, holding myself up with only my own two hands, and I can feel myself slipping. A part of me wants to fall, and let death take me; and a part of me prays that there is someone out there that can save me. I'm melodramatic, or so I've been told, but I can't help it. With all that I have seen and felt... you would think it would have made me stronger, but I am not strong. I doubt if I ever will be...
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