The Inhibitionists

Carissa's pov- chapter one

Monday, October 2nd, 2023

I'm awake, but I pull the blankets over me. Nope, not today. I'm not getting up today. It's still dark out, it's probably only four or five. If I get up right now, I won't be able to go back to sleep.

The reality was four or five was a few hours ago. I don't know the time, but I've been awake for a few hours. There were a lot of things, stomach cramps, stress about this test I'm gonna fail but I don't wanna get up and study.

I put the pillow on top of my head and pressed down on my ears so I can't hear my brain, but it's still going on and on.

Last week I bought a black dress that I really liked from goodwill. It was about knee length with spaghetti straps and glittery. Mom said I wouldn't be invited to anything that would need me to wear a dress so I should buy some more school clothes, but I bought it anyway because I wanted it so bad. When I woke up, I realized that I already had a dress to go to the party I wasn't being invited to and I really, really wish I hadn't bought that dress.

I also turned my English paper late. I completely forgot about it. While the other kids were turning it in, I started it. It was supposed to be fanfiction for The Lord of the Flies. I didn't have any ideas anyway. I still don't.

I shut my eyes tighter. Sleep was supposed to be the time your mind shuts up. Mine isn't.

Suddenly, my bed sheets were pulled off me the way you'd shoo away a bug that landed on you.

"It's 7:15! The bus leaves at 7:30 and I'm not driving you!" Mom shouts.

I have a hard time doing things when people are watching. I wanted to wait until she got out, laid in bed for ten more seconds and then get up, but Mom was not leaving.

I groan and go to the bathroom. I went to bed before taking my eyeliner off so it's running down my face.

I need to take off my sweater so I can put something else on, but's it's going to be cold, so I procrastinate. I sit on the bathroom floor and think about the dream last night. I was trying to rizz up this old lady to steal her oranges. Did that mean I'm lesbian? I mean, I probably am lesbian because I've had crushes on girls before and only one on a guy (in preschool so I'm not sure that it counts), but, like, I haven't really figured that out yet. My friend Olive explained a bunch of LGTBQ terms to me, but I wasn't paying attention (my second biggest regret. My first is buying that stupid dress). But does that also mean I'm into old ladies? It's okay to be lesbian because the only person who doesn't like lesbians is God and God sucks so it's fine, but old ladies make me want to throw up. There'd be so much cat hair and old lady smells and dentures, that's just gross.

Eventually I take off my sweater and put a bra on. A black one because that makes me feel badass. Then I look in my closet. Ever since sixth grade, I've been buying more and more clothes. I thought a new clothing style and a new haircut would make me a different person. The way I talked to people, thought, looked at the world changed, but I still can't do anything right.

Life is a long series of coincidences and impulses. Your feelings are based off your hormones which are based off your period cycle. In the end, nothing you do is based off of who you are as a person. There is no person. There is a big squishy pink thing that connects neurons together and makes you think something, your thoughts were never your choice, your choices were never your choices. So, whatever happens next my neuron's decision to wear the black dress was not my choice because I am not a person.

I wet my hair. I don't really comb it anymore because I got it cut into bowl cut thing with long AF bangs and there isn't enough hair to comb. That also means if it sticks up that's all people see, and it never goes down. I don't want to put gel on it otherwise I'm gonna look like Elvis, but I don't think I have a choice.

I decided to just leave it looking frizzy and started doing my makeup. I start with mascara because teen girls should not wear foundation. I don't care if it covers your acne there is no reason to make your face look like a sandcastle that can be kicked and turned into a big pile of sand to be swept away by the time to become wet sand in the bottom of the lake no one ever touches unless they drown.

All my makeup is black. That's another reason I don't wear foundation because that would be racist. I like my eyes because my black eyeshadow goes well with the dark blue bags under my eyes. It looks like two different night skies.

As I'm going downstairs, I check the time. 7:31. I missed the bus. Again.

"I made you coffee," Mom sighed, "just get in the car."

"Sorry," I mutter as I grab my coffee.

"Not you're not!" Mom snaps, "If you were sorry, you would actually try to change!"

"I tried," I reply, moving past her to get to the mud room.

"Sure, doesn't look like it," she retorts.

Don't cry don't cry don't cry, I roll my eyes. That always stopped me from crying. I rolled my eyes at Dad's funeral. I didn't cry. If I didn't cry, then I wouldn't cry now.

The coffee's vaguely vanilla flavored, but bitter. I guess mom decided that I would put sugar in myself knowing I wouldn't have the time. Whatever. This is warm. I'm cold. I don't care. I'm tired.

Mom puts on this Christian radio. They're having another fundraiser. They always have fundraisers because no one likes God anymore. They think if God wanted me to donate, He wouldn't raise the gas prices so high, and console themselves thinking that is a legit excuse. I don't plan on donating, but I also don't believe in God so everything works out.

I change the channel to the classic rock station. "Free Fallin" by Tom Petty is playing. I love this song. It makes all your failures seem aesthetic.