Status: Baby I'm back! I've been gone for nearly 10 years, so please take the early chapters with a pinch of salt.
To tell, or not to tell.
Getting Ready
I stood in front of my wardrobe for a very long time before deciding, that quite frankly, it was a useless activity and deciding to dance around the room to whatever song happens to be in my CD player. It turns out to be a good one that suits the day perfectly.
The sun is shining through the half opened blinds, highlighting the dust motes which seem to swoop out of the way when they are in danger of colliding with my twirling limbs. The music is light and happy and makes me feel the same way. I love music, I really do. It is just amazing. I couldn't put into words how the emotion of a good song can sweep me off my feet and plunge me into a sea of bliss, or sadness, or whatever other emotion comes behind the music. Sure, the lyrics hold a good part, but to me, it's the tune and the melody that creates the mood, not the words.
And so, dancing around the room to happy music with the sun shining though my window, I feel happy. And this makes me question why I think I could have depression. Because I don't! If I was depressed I'd be sad all of the time. I wouldn't have these moments of happiness to make it all better.
With this train of thought in mind, I fall back onto my bed, face flushed. I think about how I've blown everything out of proportion. How I've made things seem far worse for myself than they actually are. When in moments of doubt, I've actually thought my life was just that bad when it truly isn't. These thoughts depre- make me sad, and kill my short lived zest for life. I close my eyes and press the balls of my hands to them. The music is quite irritating now so I turn it off and resume eyeing my wardrobe with spite. I have no idea what to wear. As stereo typically teenager like that sounds, I am obsessing over what to wear. I like clothes and I like to be original with my clothes, as my tastes differ from the main stream in some cases, just not around other people. Blending in is good. It makes a good first impression. Well, sort of. It means people don't take too much notice of you and that you can skim through your day with ease. I literally poke through my clothes, prodding them with my fingers. I pout slightly. Why are clothes such a big deal? I pull out a couple of outfits and lay them on my bed. None of them seem right.
"'Lo"
I jump and quickly turn round to see Ashley standing in the door way.
"Oh, hey. How'd you get in here?" She's over half an hour early.
She rolls her eyes. "Your mum."
"Right." I look back to the clothes and wave her over. She eyes every out fit I've laid out critically. I fold my arms and nod down at them as if to say, " Pick one. "
She scoffs and walks over to my wardrobe and pulls out a completely different outfit. It consists of a black band top, which had been ripped, a short skirt black skirt with red ruffles and fish net tights.
"I am not wearing that." I say, lifting my chin up slightly in an arrogant way.
Ashley tilts her head in question.
"Well, it's way to revealing. The top is to small and would show my stomach," I pat my tummy for emphasis, "The skirt is only acceptable with leggings, and even then still questionable, and the tights are merely a Halloween joke. My mother would never allow it."
Ashley rolls her eyes. Put it on and we'll find out, won't we?
I narrow my eyes. "I don't have shoes to match." I try, hoping she'll give up on it and let me wear some of my normal clothes. I don't want to stand out...
"Look." She retorts.
Fuck. I know fine well that I actually do have shoes that go with that outfit. I like the outfit and all, I constantly wear it around the house but I'm not even thinking about wearing it out. I wear loads of weird clothes around the house because no one will see me, therefore no one will judge me. Ashley just stares and waits for me to go get the shoes. I think I wore them to school once, maybe she remembers. Of course, she might not, in which case I can pretend they don't exist. I slowly walk over to the shoe drawer (yes, I have a drawer for shoes. My mother demands my room be clean at all times. I have no idea why though, it's my room. She's even worse when there's family coming over. Jeez, I didn't know that everyone would be gathering in my room!) and open it. Ashley is standing behind me and instantly sees the shoes. She raises one eyebrow and leaves the room so I can get changed. Bitch. It's not like it matters, my mother will veto the outfit anyway.
Once I'm changed I let Ashley back in and do my make-up. Just eye liner and lippy but I don't like wearing too much. I either wear little make up or I end up going over the top and putting on way to much. She smirks.
We head down the stairs and I call to tell mum we're going.
"Bye hon!" She shouts from the other room, apologizing to the person from work on the other end of the phone. Damn! She didn't even look. Ashley yells a quick goodbye and drags me out of the house with a triumphant smirk on her face. It is at this point I resize I actually have no idea where she is taking me. Nice one.
The sun is shining through the half opened blinds, highlighting the dust motes which seem to swoop out of the way when they are in danger of colliding with my twirling limbs. The music is light and happy and makes me feel the same way. I love music, I really do. It is just amazing. I couldn't put into words how the emotion of a good song can sweep me off my feet and plunge me into a sea of bliss, or sadness, or whatever other emotion comes behind the music. Sure, the lyrics hold a good part, but to me, it's the tune and the melody that creates the mood, not the words.
And so, dancing around the room to happy music with the sun shining though my window, I feel happy. And this makes me question why I think I could have depression. Because I don't! If I was depressed I'd be sad all of the time. I wouldn't have these moments of happiness to make it all better.
With this train of thought in mind, I fall back onto my bed, face flushed. I think about how I've blown everything out of proportion. How I've made things seem far worse for myself than they actually are. When in moments of doubt, I've actually thought my life was just that bad when it truly isn't. These thoughts depre- make me sad, and kill my short lived zest for life. I close my eyes and press the balls of my hands to them. The music is quite irritating now so I turn it off and resume eyeing my wardrobe with spite. I have no idea what to wear. As stereo typically teenager like that sounds, I am obsessing over what to wear. I like clothes and I like to be original with my clothes, as my tastes differ from the main stream in some cases, just not around other people. Blending in is good. It makes a good first impression. Well, sort of. It means people don't take too much notice of you and that you can skim through your day with ease. I literally poke through my clothes, prodding them with my fingers. I pout slightly. Why are clothes such a big deal? I pull out a couple of outfits and lay them on my bed. None of them seem right.
"'Lo"
I jump and quickly turn round to see Ashley standing in the door way.
"Oh, hey. How'd you get in here?" She's over half an hour early.
She rolls her eyes. "Your mum."
"Right." I look back to the clothes and wave her over. She eyes every out fit I've laid out critically. I fold my arms and nod down at them as if to say, " Pick one. "
She scoffs and walks over to my wardrobe and pulls out a completely different outfit. It consists of a black band top, which had been ripped, a short skirt black skirt with red ruffles and fish net tights.
"I am not wearing that." I say, lifting my chin up slightly in an arrogant way.
Ashley tilts her head in question.
"Well, it's way to revealing. The top is to small and would show my stomach," I pat my tummy for emphasis, "The skirt is only acceptable with leggings, and even then still questionable, and the tights are merely a Halloween joke. My mother would never allow it."
Ashley rolls her eyes. Put it on and we'll find out, won't we?
I narrow my eyes. "I don't have shoes to match." I try, hoping she'll give up on it and let me wear some of my normal clothes. I don't want to stand out...
"Look." She retorts.
Fuck. I know fine well that I actually do have shoes that go with that outfit. I like the outfit and all, I constantly wear it around the house but I'm not even thinking about wearing it out. I wear loads of weird clothes around the house because no one will see me, therefore no one will judge me. Ashley just stares and waits for me to go get the shoes. I think I wore them to school once, maybe she remembers. Of course, she might not, in which case I can pretend they don't exist. I slowly walk over to the shoe drawer (yes, I have a drawer for shoes. My mother demands my room be clean at all times. I have no idea why though, it's my room. She's even worse when there's family coming over. Jeez, I didn't know that everyone would be gathering in my room!) and open it. Ashley is standing behind me and instantly sees the shoes. She raises one eyebrow and leaves the room so I can get changed. Bitch. It's not like it matters, my mother will veto the outfit anyway.
Once I'm changed I let Ashley back in and do my make-up. Just eye liner and lippy but I don't like wearing too much. I either wear little make up or I end up going over the top and putting on way to much. She smirks.
We head down the stairs and I call to tell mum we're going.
"Bye hon!" She shouts from the other room, apologizing to the person from work on the other end of the phone. Damn! She didn't even look. Ashley yells a quick goodbye and drags me out of the house with a triumphant smirk on her face. It is at this point I resize I actually have no idea where she is taking me. Nice one.