When you cage an animal up, will it give up in defeat or try to break free? When I was around 15 or 16 years old I told myself my parents had put me in a cage. Of course I'm the one that put myself there. I didn't realize that the more trust I have with my parents, the more freedom I had. GO FIGURE. Funny thing is, I'm still having a hard time swallowing that concept. Which is a little embarrassing considering on my next birthday I will officially no longer be a teenager. But I'm pretty sure for the rest of my life I'll be just as eccentric, crazy, and slightly on the immature side. Because that's just how I am. Anyways, when I was younger I decided to break free of the cage that my parents had put me in. When really I was just being a little shit head and not following the rules. I didn't like who I was back then. (Still struggle with it now, obviously.) And I would wear an emotional mask, but my parents saw right past it. I'm very good at putting on a smile for other people and acting like I'm fine. Still do it today. Back then I started breaking down and eventually the mask started slipping off my face whether I wanted it to or not. I would sluff high school to go cry in the girl's bathroom by myself and try to figure out what was wrong with me. I was arrested, guilty by association, for attempted burglary. It's something I laugh about now, but when I was sixteen it freaked me the fuck out! I mean come on I'm sitting in the back of a cop car handcuffed! The only time I ever prayed to God was when I asked him to get me out of a sticky situation that I got myself into in the first place. I used people to make myself feel good about myself. I used them as an escape, I couldn't be all alone, if I was then I started thinking and if I started thinking...well that was just a bad idea! I was dating a boy younger than me at the time. I was pretty crazy about him although I'll tell you straight up that I shouldn't have been. He was good to me for about the first four months we dated until he decided smoking weed and playing world of war craft was more important than me. To me, he was my whole world. I put so much into him, my heart, my time, my love...almost everything I had to offer. It wasn't until after rehab that I realized that he didn't really care about any of it after he'd started going down a pretty shady path. Anyways. I believe it was June 1st of 2007, it was Lagoon Day at our school. I'm a huge fan of amusement parks so I'm way excited. I was going with a bunch of my friends and, my boyfriend at the time. We went, had a blast, and I stayed out later than I was supposed to. I was gone all day and then some. I didn't give a shit about if my parents were worried or not. I blamed them. It's their fault. If they wanted me home they wouldn't give me a curfew. Huh? Makes sense right? Nope. My logic back then...really fucked up. So then I come home late at night, exhausted from roller coasters and going to a movie and everything so I pretty much just go right to bed and pass out. Next morning I'm being woken up by my mom. She's giving me my daily medication as usual but there's two people in the room with her. And that's when they took me away to a rehabilitation/treatment center. Where I stayed for ten months. The story doesn't have a real ending of course, since this was just a portion of my life. I learned a lot there. I learned to accept myself and love myself, I learned how to love others no matter what, and I learned a lot about my family and we understand each other a lot better now. The only problem is...I've lost sight of a lot of the things I learned there. Even if I don't agree with the fact that I should have been sent to a rehab center necessarily, it did help me in some aspects. Even though I hated it there, I gained lots of healthy relationships with people. And now I need to practice loving and accepting myself again.
I love your hair...
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