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159 lines
7.4 KiB
Plaintext
159 lines
7.4 KiB
Plaintext
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+:-:+
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It's true what they say about not being able to escape from your past. It
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will follow you no matter where you run. No matter where you hide. Somehow..
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somewhere.. it will smack right back into you. It will kill you all over
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again.
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I was such a fool. To think that I could run away from everything. To think
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that I could start over.. making a whole new life for myself. I was wrong.
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Let me explain. This happened several months ago.
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Her name was Anne. To say I "deeply admired" her would be an
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understatement. I loved her. Yes, I can say now that I loved her. I'm still
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trying to make up my mind regarding my feelings for her as of this moment.
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I've been through a great deal.
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Through no fault of my own, she learned of my "admirations". Well, she
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didn't love me. And she told me that. But - just like a girl trying to spare
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some poor fool's emotions - she said she "liked me as a friend".. the worst
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expression you can ever tell anybody who has feelings for you, believe me. So
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I was crushed.
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You have to know me to fully understand how I react to things. I've grown
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up in a world with hardly any love -- if any at all. To me, (in a boy-girl
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relationship -- and we all know how scary THOSE can be), you can either love
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someone.. or hate them. There "are no shades of grey".
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And since she didn't love me.. I assumed she hated me.
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I'm already an emotionally weak person. I don't need things like this to
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"guide me through my adolescent years", like all the books say.
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Little by little, I felt myself slipping away. To where? I don't know.
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It's a very dark place, hidden in a remote, isolated corner of the universe
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where all depressed people go. There are thousands of folding bridge-table
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chairs, lined up in long rows, backed up for miles on end. One, single
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light bulb burns, hanging delicately from an infinitely long wire which
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stretches up endlessly into the darkened sky. There doesn't appear to be any
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ceiling. There are no walls, no windows, no doors. Only sheets of soft black
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curtain. A slight echoing can be heard each time someone fidgets in their
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chair to cross their legs or look down at their feet or blow their nose.
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There is plenty of Kleenex, if you can stumble your way around to find a full
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box. Usually, the people just sit there and cry. Sometimes they open up last
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year's high school yearbook and stare for hours on end.. at someone very
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special.
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Only a very lucky few ever leave this place. Those who can summon up enough
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courage to try their luck with someone else. Their folding chair
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disintegrates and they find themselves falling straight through the floor,
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far enough until they fade back into the real world, with a real, solid
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existance over a period of time.
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But others.. like myself.. are still trapped. And as the hours float past,
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the depression grows. And grows. And branches off into other psychological
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disasters, like paranoia and schizophrenia, and all those other big words
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that all mean the same thing: "There's something wrong with you".
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I've been stuck there for quite some time. In the real world, I can't speak
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with anyone anymore.. without assuming they're making fun of me in some way.
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I can't look at anyone in the halls without thinking, "That person really
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doesn't want me looking at them". And I can't really blame them. Would YOU
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want me looking your direction? Probably not. Of course not. Good lord, I
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can't even carry on a conversation with a -girl- anymore.
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And then the paranoia increased. Not only couldn't I look at Anne, but I
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couldn't look at any of her friends, for fear that THEY KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON
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WITH ME. THEY KNOW ALL ABOUT ME.
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THEY HATE ME, TOO.
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Hiding from one person at school is hard enough. Hiding from a group of
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friends.. and -their- friends, and -THEIR- friends is impossible. There are
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only so many places you can run in a small, private school.
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So. I decided things needed to change.
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I transferred schools.
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Yes, it was a drastic move. But it got me away from "certain individuals".
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A Brand New World, now filled with people who had never seen me before,
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filled with people who didn't know me. And best of all, a place where I
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didn't have to love anyone. A place where I could get "lost in the crowd". I
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have fully conditioned myself. I will never let this happen again. Never in
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my life will I ever become involved with another girl again.
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That's an incredible thing to say. But it's something I have to learn to
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live with. I can't - I CAN'T - ever let myself get trapped again. It was
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terrible the first time. It will be even worse the second time. There's no
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possible way in the world that I can find the strength to set myself up for
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more rejection, more disappointment. I was (and sometimes still am) very,
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very close to suicide. Should this difficult (if not impossible) situation
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again, I promise you - I shall go through with it.
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"Better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all."
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Whoever said that has probably been happily married for over 20 years, has
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four beautiful children, (two boys/two girls), and lives in a spacious,
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twenty-bedroom, twelve-bathroom penthouse in the middle of New York City. He
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makes an average income of twelve billion dollars a week and is infinitely
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happy and contented.
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I've "loved and lost". Isn't that always the way?
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I have a theory about life. There are two kinds of people. If you're one,
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you cannot be the other.
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The first type (Type A), experiences life to the fullest, taking immediate
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advantage of every situation that arises throughout the course of his or her
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lifetime to insure their own happiness and success.
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Then there are Type B's, where the rest of us go. They make life an
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experience for others (namely, Type A's), whether it be joyous or sad. Type
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B's are social chameleons, shaping their personality to fit the situation.
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What they say and do has more of a result on Type A's then on themselves.
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Never mind. It doesn't matter. I'm not sure I can fully describe it the way
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I want, anyway. Forget it.
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Anyway. So I switched schools and refused to ever let (you-know-what)
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happen again.
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I thought I had lost the memories of Anne forever. I thought I had left all
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of Anne and her friends behind me. I could start fresh.
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No.
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The less I see her, the more I think of her. She knows I've left, and she
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knows why I've left. All I can do is worry. And hope that everything on
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her side of town is fine.
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Does she feel guilty? I pray to the dear lord God she doesn't. It's not her
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fault I can't deal with rejection. It's not her fault I'm the way I am.
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It's MY fault. I'M the one who slobbered all over her. I'M the one who would
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have gone to the ends of the earth for her. I'M the one who didn't recognize
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her confusion at my intensity. And I'm sorry. I wish there some way I could
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tell her.. talk to her.. ANYTHING.
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She doesn't know her own strength.
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It's a little bit past 8:00am. School's already in session.
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This is the second day in a row I've stayed home. I thought going to a new
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school would help. It hasn't. I don't want to go to school.. a place filled
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with people who'd rather do without me.
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If you'll excuse me, I'm late for an appointment at a very dark corner of
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the universe.
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I'd better bring along my yearbook.
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God, I hope things get better. I never wanted any of this.
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+:-:+
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"I didn't hate him! Nobody did!" -- J. Underwood
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