Bettie Page and Eartha Kitt can now be added to the list of those I admire who are too good for this planet. I'm going to guess it has something to do with the way people love to hate one another- myself included I suppose. Given a choice, I would leave too - maybe. I have my vices. I like to call them the 7 Dead-lies. Sadly enough, Sin, in her tight black vinyl body suit (hey Lady - do they have that in my size) keeps me here. Oh , Eve, you certainly knew how sweet the fruit was, didn't you? Or was it not the fruit, but the knowledge?
Or does it really matter? Was it boredom? Was it an, I'm here, might as well quench that empty just, nothing, feeling?
I'm off track- again. I do that. I have a rare talent for the bird walk. I was saying that given the chance to flee, I would think long and hard about it. I mean, I do have a lust for sin, which in and of itself is a deadly, so you can see how hard this decision would be for me, but let me make my case.
People these days still hate others for nothing but the color of their skill, the language they speak, and a few degrees difference in latitude and longitude. Hey man, I understand hatred- but have a real reason. Have a bold reason. Have a reason. Stereotypes exist beyond the realm of comedy. I'm not okay with that. People still don't read, reality television has killed the screenwriter, let alone the video star, and art is not forever anymore. Children work unholy hours in foreign countries so that teenagers here can be stylin'. Fuck that.
I could keep going on, but in all honesty, if I go any deeper than that, I will get very depressed. In high school I was extremely depressed about the entire world, as a whole. I made myself very sick. I really wanted to die; I couldn't handle how cruel everyone was to each other. I'd stay up late watching CNN, then go to school, when I didn't really have that many close friends, and I'd write and breeze through classes, and do what I could. I was all drugged up too, because I was pretty sick the whole second half of high school. Oh man, was that head a maze of mashed potatoes. I don't think anyone really knew how fucked up I was. I was bulimic, and a borderline alcoholic, and a cutter, but pulling mostly As. I was a walking suicide threat. I think 1 kid caught on, at a peer counseling convention (I was a student counselor too- adorable, yes?) ; he wrote the words "Suicide Hotline", and his phone number on my hand. I was shocked. I was a M&M dammit. No one breaks the shell. I built a stronger one. But I remembered him, and was thankful I knew there was someone there, though I never called to tell him about the mosh pit in my head or the cuts that I moved from my arms to my hips, where there would be less likely noticed.
I went back and read the last bit of this and realized how crazy I must sound. That's good. I am. But now it's the good crazy. I ran away to college, met some awesome people, and honed a craft. But I never let go of that pain. I just found a place to put it. When I hear of these people who pass away, that have done these huge things with their lives- first I am jealous, because they have done such things I have not. Secondly-what a relief to put the pain and fight of this rambunctious and zealous life somewhere else for awhile.
I'm not done yet.
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