In Which I Realize How Much I Forget...
So I was in Creative Writing yesterday, toting my story to our first story workshop, and when my reader went through it, she was really enthusiastic about one line in particular. My character is ostensibly homeless, a squatter by her own admission, trying to get some dumb rich kid across "the border," the invisible barrier between her and the nicer part of the city. When a man with a knife starts following them, I wrote "Perhaps I lengthened my stride a little, but I wouldn't run unless there was something to run from." My reader was incredibly enthusiastic about that line, because, as she put it, she's never been in that situation but that's exactly what a person would do.
I had to bite my tongue, because I nearly said, "Yeah, it does tend to help. I did it when I had my stalker in tenth grade..."
Of course, I don't think about things like that. They're just my past, my life, but there's a lot there.
I've lost four friends now to car accidents. Hawa in middle school, Jess and Garret in my Junior year of high school, and Dustin this year. Also, Patrick from my confirmation group, who might have been murdered (it's under investigation) just two weeks after Dustin died.
I've been stalked. My stalker is now out of prison again, so far as I know, where he was for raping his sister. He openly did drugs and carried a knife. He muttered to himself in the halls.
I've been sexually assaulted.
I've been what I would have to consider depressed, and perhaps suicidal (though the logic center of my brain makes sure that such a statement is only "perhaps").
I've been a self-injurer. Nobody ever found out that I didn't tell.
I've been bullied.
I've experienced what it is to have my parents hold a distinctive double standard, me on the bottom, and have known for a long while what must be done to keep the standard I was held to from turning to emotional abuse.
I've had panic attacks.
I've been followed by very large stray dogs, dogs that sought to bite me.
I've learned what it is to be in danger, to feel like I am in danger, and I've learned, too, what must be done to retain the illusion of calm to keep oneself safe.
I've had a lot of shit happen in my life, just to list it out. It all is, without proper context, more than a "sweet" little thing like me should have experienced, yet there it is. I forget how much life I have lived. I forget how much others lack in experience. And I forget that telling them what I have lived, what I have done, shocks them.
It's weird to say the least to think of my life as the sum of its parts rather than as a whole.
Much love,
~E
I had to bite my tongue, because I nearly said, "Yeah, it does tend to help. I did it when I had my stalker in tenth grade..."
Of course, I don't think about things like that. They're just my past, my life, but there's a lot there.
I've lost four friends now to car accidents. Hawa in middle school, Jess and Garret in my Junior year of high school, and Dustin this year. Also, Patrick from my confirmation group, who might have been murdered (it's under investigation) just two weeks after Dustin died.
I've been stalked. My stalker is now out of prison again, so far as I know, where he was for raping his sister. He openly did drugs and carried a knife. He muttered to himself in the halls.
I've been sexually assaulted.
I've been what I would have to consider depressed, and perhaps suicidal (though the logic center of my brain makes sure that such a statement is only "perhaps").
I've been a self-injurer. Nobody ever found out that I didn't tell.
I've been bullied.
I've experienced what it is to have my parents hold a distinctive double standard, me on the bottom, and have known for a long while what must be done to keep the standard I was held to from turning to emotional abuse.
I've had panic attacks.
I've been followed by very large stray dogs, dogs that sought to bite me.
I've learned what it is to be in danger, to feel like I am in danger, and I've learned, too, what must be done to retain the illusion of calm to keep oneself safe.
I've had a lot of shit happen in my life, just to list it out. It all is, without proper context, more than a "sweet" little thing like me should have experienced, yet there it is. I forget how much life I have lived. I forget how much others lack in experience. And I forget that telling them what I have lived, what I have done, shocks them.
It's weird to say the least to think of my life as the sum of its parts rather than as a whole.
Much love,
~E