Start Over…?

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start at I Was That Girl In School… then proceed chronologically by post date.

If you haven’t guessed by now, this is the point in my life when things greyed (as mentioned in my Intro). I had been repeatedly raped, blackmailed, and my boyfriend, the love of my life, had just left me after finding out. I was alone. I was depressed. I was suicidal. And all for what? Something terrible happened to ME, and as a result, the one person in this world that I cared for the most turned his back on me, and considered himself the victim. The worst part: I believed I deserved it.

The only good thing that came out of that fateful night was that The Recluse had disappeared: no texts, no calls, no random appearances. He was gone.

Prudish Love

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start at I Was That Girl In School… then proceed chronologically by post date.

It wasn’t the typical storybook love affair girls romanticize about by any means, but at the time, it was my fairytale.

We met on the school bus. I greeted him in the early hours when he first got on and asked him his name (this forwardness was, nor has it ever been, my thing, but on this particular bus, everyone was family). He was wearing ratty jeans and a tie-dye t-shirt topped off with a choker that showed off a Crush bottle cap (the orange soda…). Interesting. The next time

I Was That Girl In School…

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start here and continue.

I was that girl in school that other girls didn’t like (so I’ve been told). I blossomed earlier than most of my peers of the female variety and boys noticed. This was roughly the same time I began my life phase as a gothic chick. Not that I worshipped the devil or anything. I just wore black EVERYTHING: baggie pants with chains hanging off the back, way too much eye liner, studded everything, topped off with black shirts (usually decorated with some sort of mean or funny quip written on it). I’m sure I scared some people, but I liked the way I looked and I didn’t care what other snots my age thought. I started dating a guy