Sometimes, I hear my mother complaining to my dad about how I am. Most often, it's just her fretting over how forgetful I can be, how I don't do well in school, or how I never clean my room.
Last night, I heard her say something along the lines of "You know, Art, I'm really concerned about her. I think something's wrong with the way she thinks. Like a mental block or something."
And it breaks me to hear her say that about me. Two years ago, she wanted me to see a psychiatrist, and that really hurt. It's a terrible thing to know that your own mother thinks your mechanics are all done wrong.
And the tragedy, I guess, is that I'm used to it. This is not new to me. This is something that I've had to live with for the last five years.
I really hate that I have trouble opening up to other people, but it's all that people know. Cheerful, sarcastic, ever-grinning Lauren, slightly ditsy but ready for a good time. I look sad for two seconds, I say something bluntly, and suddenly people start freaking out like it's the most unreal thing in the world. So I'm forced to convert back. There's nothing I can do.
Lan, would you still tell me your secrets if you knew how I felt about you and your countless boyfriends? How I think you're unknowingly setting yourself up for heartbreak every time, easy to lure in, easy to have, easy to let go of? Or would you feel offended and proceed to go to Kaitlyn and resolve to never tell me anything anymore?
Annie, would you still appreciate my phone calls if you knew that you were the fifth person I called after no one else picked up? Or would you stop answering your cell phone every time you see my name on the screen?
Alison, would you still value my writing if you knew that a good 60% of my pieces from freshman year took words and inspiration from somewhere else? Or would you frown in disdain and question every new work I come out with and wonder where I could have possibly plagiarized it from?
Justin, would you still remember who I am twenty years from now, when you're all grown up and have a family of your own? Or are you going to forget me come graduation and cease being my kiddopie and abandon our friendship in favor of your fangirls and possibly more popular high school friends?
John, would you still think I'm a fragile, wounded creature with a huge chip on my shoulder, succumbed to misery and in need of rescuing and money and gifts? Or would you think I'm an uptight shrew and grow tired of my games and my vocabulary and drop me for some other wanton girl who doesn't know how to tell you no?
Seth, did you, do you, will you ever love me?
Or was I just your ragdoll all along?
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Lauren, I know you've been treated like this by your mother for a long time, but that doesn't make her words true. You know a person's age or relation to you doesn't give them automatic rights, and if you keep taking to heart what she says, you will believe it like truth one day. Your mother is wrong. And it's wrong for other people to make you feel like you should constantly put up a facade... This is senior year. I think you should take this opportunity to be yourself--even if you alienate some people, that shouldn't matter: fair-weather friends are worth nothing anyhow.
ReplyDeleteAnd do I still value your writing? Of course I do. That's how you develop a style--taking the bits you love from others' established styles and incorporating them into your own unique mix. There's nothing plagiarist about taking inspiration--all my drawings are the same: imitations, twists, and new renditions of things that inspire me.
I can't speak for everyone else. But despite the fact that we only became close last yearish (and that we haven't had a good chance to talk so far this year), you are definitely one of my most treasured friends, among the ten or so who I will actually try to maintain ties with after graduation.
my dear, dear, friend.
ReplyDeletei never comment on peoples' posts.
but i have to say
that yes, i would definitely definitely still pick up.