Friday, September 16, 2005

   Forever

- You’re on the outside, looking in. -

There she is; the girl you envy. The girl you love to hate. The girl you mock when she isn’t around to defend herself. And what for? Why all the hatred? Why the resentment? Because she’s popular? Because all the teachers adore her? Or is it her good grades that bother you? Maybe it’s her sense of humor? Or how about her appearance? She gets all the attention, and why shouldn’t she? That long blonde hair, those bright green eyes, a perfectly petite figure, all topped off with a smile that could light up a room. She’s practically perfect in every way. Is that it? Is it because she’s everything you’re not? Because she’s everything your parents wish you were? She is the girl you wish you could be...isn’t she?

- Wishing you could be as happy as her. -

Then again, why shouldn’t you want to be her? Little Miss Prissy, always dressed in the best of the best. Her mother won’t have it any other way when it comes to her precious little Princess. You presume that’s why she’s got so many friends. Everyone seems to love her...except you, of course. Then there’s the boyfriend. Every Princess has her Prince Charming, right? Well, she has the best one there is. With his tall, lean build, his dark hair and piercing blue eyes, he is the perfect match for this Princess. They may as well be attached at the hip, always together, always cuddling or hugging. You look at them in disgust as they steal kisses in the hallways. They’re in love...right?

- But little do you know, she´s not happy at all. -

You think she’s so lucky? Well, think again. She’s not as strong as you think; she’s weak and she’s breaking. She has been molded into what this society calls `perfect.´ She is her mother’s little puppet to push and prod until she does as she is told. She is her father’s "perfect" little princess, who would never disappoint him no matter what the cost. And now, she is also Mr. Popular’s pretty accessory, hanging on to his arm every time he enters a room. She has been pulled and pushed in every direction possible. She has been forced into a life she did not choose. Do you truly think she is happy? Of course you do.

- She wears a giant smile across her face all day. -

Sure, she’s always smiling.... when she knows someone is watching. Why, of course she is dressed in the newest and hottest designer clothing.... when she is in the open. Indeed, she is always hugging and kissing Mr. Class President.... when he tells her to. Certainly, she pushes for high marks.... Her mother needs to have something to brag about. It’s no surprise she is always willing to help out or simply listen to anyone who needs her to.... that way, the spotlight isn’t on her. Still think she’s happy? Sure you do. After all, this is what’s expected of her, isn’t it?

- But as soon as she’s alone, that smile quickly fades. -

In the privacy of her dorm, the laughter disappears, replaced with tears; the happiness replaced with pain and sorrow. She wipes off the makeup, lets down her hair and throws her designer clothing on the cold floor. She forgets about the teachers and the grades as her schoolbooks are tossed on the floor along with her clothing. She no longer has anyone to listen to or help... the only sound heard is that of her heart shattering into many diminutive pieces, reminding her of the anguish she must face. And then she lets go and cries. Cries like a small child who has lost her doll. Cries like a young girl who has lost faith in her father’s word; like an adolescent who is finally able to see her mother for what she really is. Cries like a young woman who has had her free will taken from her and forced into a life she did not choose. And finally... she cries for herself.

- She rolls up the sleeve of her shirt. -

Looking down at the creamy flesh, she admires its perfection; she envies it. Much like you have been admiring and envying hers. She traces a finger along the small veins and then along the small scars. A single tear down her soft cheek reveals all the emotions she tries to hide. Can you see the pain she lives with? She’s almost ready to fall apart. Did you ever notice the scars? No, why should you? You never bothered to look any closer than your jealousy allowed you to. You never saw the pain, the tears, the sorrow... the scars. Why would you want to? You still believe her to be perfect.... But do you still think she is happy? Do you still wish to be her?

- As she picks up a pair of scissors. -

She runs the blade across her skin, watching it with awe. Finally, the pain is real; the blood is real. She watches a single drop of blood make its way down her wrist onto her ring finger. Mesmerized, she make another cut, and then another. The blood flows freely down her fingers and onto the floor. She’s making quite a mess, but nobody will ever know. She always cleans up after herself. Always. Cut after cut, she makes another intricate pattern on the delicate flesh.... But no one ever notices. No one sees the art she creates on her arms. Do you? No, because to you, she is still the picture of perfection.... even when all she’s wearing is a bloodstained school shirt. Isn’t that right?

-The cuts on her arms would tell you. -

The various patterns of scars, the dried blood, the bloodstains.... it should all tell her story. But not to you...right? In your eyes, she is still perfect. Still the girl you envy; the girl you want to be. Why can’t you see what’s really there? She isn’t perfect. She’s far from it! She is a weak little girl in more pain than anyone should have to handle. She’s the girl who’s lost her sanity at the hands of those around her. She is the butterfly whose wings have been tampered with. At first glance, she’s still got the perfect appearance, but look a little closer. See her scars. See her pain. See what has become of her poor, withered soul. Sure, she still looks like the perfect little butterfly.... but she has lost her ability to fly. She has lost her freedom.

-But you never bothered to find that out. -

Did you ever bother to look a little closer? No. Did you ever look past all her makeup to see the tearstains? Never. Did you try to look past the designer clothing to see the scars she wears as accessories? No, why would you do such a thing? Why shatter the picture of perfection you carried around in your mind? Why try and take the time to see that she isn’t perfect? Why take the time to understand her? No, you’d never do that. You’d much rather envy her. For all you know, she might actually turn out to be a sweet and kind person, and then what would you do? How could you possibly hate her then?

Or what if she wasn’t? What if she were more cruel than Lucifer himself? Then your perfect fantasy would be ruined. You couldn’t have that happen... and that’s why you kept your distance, right? You’ve waited so long, so very long; just to see her fall; to see her soul torn apart. You’ve waited to see her heart being broken in half. Why change all that now? When she’s so incredibly close to the edge? So close to shattering her perfect little world; so close to falling off her throne.... Still think she’s perfect? No doubt about that.

- Until it’s too late. -

One day, it will be too late. Don’t you worry about that. One day, her blade will make the irreversible cut. The cut she’s wanted to make for years. The cut she’s never been able to make before. One day, when things become too much to endure, she’ll do it. Maybe it’ll be because of her mother’s constant demands. Or maybe her father’s wish of perfection becomes too much. Or perhaps it’ll be because of Mr. Wonderful. Maybe his constant demands will push her to do it. Maybe she won’t want to have sex with him one of these nights. Maybe she’ll actually stand up for herself and refuse him.... No, she probably won’t. She’ll just do as he asks and suffer with the pain when she is alone. No matter what the reason, she’ll make the cut soon.... maybe even this time.

- Because she's made that final cut. -

And you walk into your dorm to find the most dreadful scene. There she is, your image of perfection, lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Her jade eyes are void of emotions; her full lips are parted slightly. Her long blond hair surrounds her like a halo; she looks like an angel, doesn’t she? A fallen angel. There are tearstains on her face. Remember them? The ones you refused to acknowledge? Are you willing to see them now? Are you willing to face the truth? Look at her! Look at her lifeless body lying before you. Drained of life, her soul torn and destroyed; see her for what she is! Take a look! Look at her bloodstained hands, still holding the blade.

Open your eyes and see what this world you love so much did to her! This poor, innocent girl’s life was ruined because of people like you! Her wings were damaged when she was just a baby. She never had a chance to fly and spread her wings. She was brought up in captivity. Can you imagine what that was like? No, you can’t. You’ll never know what it was like because even now, looking at her lifeless body, you envy the attention her death will attract. Even though she’s gone, you still envy her!

- And now she’s gone. -

Well, it’s the day you’ve waited for: her funeral. It’s an open casket; how fitting. Her whole life was an open book, controlled by others; might as well make her funeral the same. You look around and note the large amount of people. Do you know that she didn’t know half of them? Probably not. You walk up to the casket with a single red rose; how appropriate. You look at her, lying there looking as beautiful as ever in her white silk dress, and you feel the envy well up inside of you. Glancing around, you see hundreds of red roses everywhere.

Then something catches your eye: a small bouquet of lilies, placed at the foot of the casket. Walking over, you wonder who would send lilies to a funeral. Someone who actually loves her, that’s who. Someone who took the time to listen every time she told Mr. Popularity she hated red roses. Someone who saw her for what she was. Someone who never had the courage to tell her he loved her. See? Her life wasn’t perfect. Yet you stand before her casket now, still refusing to see that. So don’t. Go on and live your life believing she was too perfect to be real. It doesn’t matter now, anyway, because she is gone. So say it. You’ve wanted to say it since the day you saw her in the dorm. Say it. You’re glad that Little Miss Perfect is dead.

- Forever. -

It’s been ten years since the funeral. Ten years today. And here you are, at her grave, holding a bouquet: a bouquet of lilies. So what changed? There are tears in your eyes. Why? Rather, why now? After about fifteen minutes of staring at the ground, you finally allow your eyes to take in the gravestone.

Adrienne Blare
Beloved daughter of
Jonathan & Isabel Blare.
`You will fly and you will crawl,
God knows even angels fall.
No such thing as you lost it all,
God knows even angels fall.´
1980 - 1998

And you cry. You cry for all she could have had. All that was stolen from her. Finally, you understand what it was like for her. You understand her pain and suffering. At last, your envy is gone as you look upon the grave of a girl whose life ended abruptly at the young age of seventeen. And the shame overtakes you. How could you have been so cruel? So uncaring? How could you not see what she was going through? And you fall to your knees before her grave. And, finally, you cry the tears that you were meant to cry ten long years ago. There, on your knees, you beg for the one thing you’ve been missing for the past decade…forgiveness
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