See You Soon

Pointless

In my Advanced Composition class we had to write a memoir. Unfortunately for me, I live a sad isolated life outside of a sad drunken town. A town nobody leaves, a town where we're known for the drunks rather than the people themselves. The people, they are truly saints if I've ever seen any. But my family lives outside that town, far beyond the farms. Isolated by trees, bears, and more. Trapped. I always say I'm going to go to college and get out of this town that holds me hostage; let's be real, it's not happening.
I'm a seventeen year old, Asexual, Genderfluid, Queer still trying to find themselves in a home where they feel trapped. I'm not out to my parents,or a large majority of my family actually. My sister is truly one I can trust. A while ago I came out to her as gay, but now I feel that's not who I am.
But I always feel different at home than anywhere else. Like I've never been protected. Or given validation. Heck, even praise for my attempts at trying.
Probably explains the fear I have when I come home, knowing I have a bad grade in ONE class because the teacher did not help ME.
For you readers, I live in the Midwest, and go to public school where mental health is made fun of, rape is funny, racist jokes are not frowned upon, and mocking the LGBT+ community is okay.
God I hate this school.
Now, my father agrees that the school is stupid. Because they give us IPads which we have to do our homework on 95% of the time. The power goes out here when a storm comes through. I can't do my work.
Anxiety kicks in.
I panic because my teachers won't believe the power went out.
They won't believe me.
But my father, being the guy he is will find a way for me to get my work done. He's an okay guy I guess. He just doesn't understand boundaries in my opinion, and doesn't know that the things he says about (in a joking way, though hard to tell if he is or not) to friends and family hurts me.
I know I don't have a job.
I know I don't have my license.
I know I'll never be who you want me to be.
I know I'm a failure.
Stop saying that so everyone can hear it.
Just stop..
Stop it..
Stop!
I tried to get a job application to stock at a local market. My mom was the only person who knew. She said I couldn't get one. It'd interfere with her and my father's schedule's. Doesn't make sense. But I didn't get the job because if an inconvenient situation. Everytime I went to get an application no one was at the customer service desk where the applications are.
I want my driver's license, believe me I do.
There's only one problem:
Everytime I drive, I get so anxious my heart begins to beat faster and faster until my left arm begins to hurt.
No one knows that though.
I've gotten better at hiding pain.
I've gotten better at hiding a lot of things. Like the truth.
I'm not lying here, not in this story that's made up of many different times in my life.
Think of it as a diary that you're allowed to read.
No lies here.
Just the truth.
My Advanced Composition teacher doesn't seem to grasp the concept that someone who hides a lot of secrets, has the most dull life(That would be me).
Nonetheless, memoirs seem to be entirely pointless.
An Introduction + Hook.
Thesis.
Three to Four body paragraphs.
Reflection.
Conclusion.
Absolute. Waste. Of. My. Time.
I'd rather stab my eyes out than have to recall a time in my life that changed me forever.
Mainly because I have terrible memory. Thinking about the past only brings me great pain. Not because I didn't have a happy one, but because I only see the bad times. Sure there were good times, but nothing qualified for a memoir. What do I have to write about?
How I don't know about sex?
The school hardly has much of a sex Ed class.
Oh! How about the time my first boyfriend wanted nudes, and only liked me for my body?
Nah.
Or how about how emotionally damaged I am that I can't process the feeling of grief, true happiness, or keep a real smile on my face for more than twelve seconds?
...Too personal. Wouldn't have anything to reflect on.
I honestly hate memoirs. I usually make things up anyways, the teachers are none the wiser. They just want a paper written to their standards.
This year was different though, I still hate memoirs, but I wrote about someone special to me this year.
Someone did change my life.
I met them in 2016 when I owned a Cissnei account on Instagram.
If there's anything my friends know about me, it's that I love Final Fantasy. And one specific character from a VII spin-off game. Even so, we're as close as siblings. In fact, they let me call them my "big brother". They call me their "little sister." We've called each other something else, more recently.
Sadly my memory fails me, but I believe they said something about sunshine and lillies for me.
Of course I said something about angels for them. Because they're an angel to me.
Oh, shoot 0-0"
They don't know I wrote a memoir about how they changed my life.
hECK.
Well, the topic was the easiest one I could write about, and my stupid memoir actually got a good grade.
I don't actually need anymore English credits though.
I just need something to do.
I guess I could be working during school when I didn't have classes, but I have a ysy and I need those community service credits. Also stupid, but hey, graduating highschool this year is also a thing.
I've rambled on too long, my word count is in the thousands now.
As narcissistic as I am, I actually hate talking about myself.
I really like attention.
It's the one thing I never had.