The Adventures Of John B : The Sacred Stone

Part 6 - Jolene

SIDENOTE: The song might not fit the writing.  The video above is just the source from which I got the name for this chapter.

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You ever feel that you're about to collapse, but you can't because doing so would be admitting your defeat?

Well, I've never felt that way.

I'll just keep falling until I'm strong enough to hold my ground.

Because it is essential to fall.  To fall so that you gain the strength to get up again.

When you are too strong, too prideful to admit your defeat, it will hurt even more on the way down.

I'm not saying that you should give up.

I'm just saying that you should know your limits.

Because my whole life people have told me-

You can't do this.

You can't do that.

Wow, you're incredibly stupid for someone your age.

You can't even do that?

Pathetic.

And you want to know what I said every time?

You're right.

I should just give up.

Maybe I'm not deserving enough.

Time to stop trying. 

I was a puppet, following the orders of those above me.

Like a beautiful doll that was to be played with, and tossed away once a more beautiful doll came along.

Savor your victories, because some day you'll end up losing everything.

No.  

I am determined to win.

I was determined to win.

But now I could care less.

Because as soon as I win one thing, people will expect me to win the next.

And as soon as I lose, I lose not only the award, but respect.

My mom took me to so many classes.

Made me dance, made me draw, made me write, made me...

But she didn't make me.

I played into it, I kept smiling through it all.  Like a pretty, little doll.  A doll whose face will never change.

Because, in truth, when the girl looks through the racks for a doll, will she pick a beautiful one?

Or one that has lost everything?  One that isn't smiling?

So I kept smiling, waiting to be picked.  Flaunting my strengths and beauties like a flower, desperately waiting to be plucked, only so that I could wilt once more.

The face is what matters to people.

Not the traits.

The face.

The face that says 

"I'm a good person.  I'm colorful and flamboyant."

"I'm spectacular at everything, but I won't brag about it."

"I'm the real deal."

The face on the award that says 

"Jolene."

Not the sad face in the mirror that says

"Loser."

They will only see what you want them to.

Because once I was the puppet.

And now I am the puppeteer.

Does that make me just as bad as she is?

As she pushed me into it.

Told me that I have to do this.  I have to be a good daughter.  I had to be better than the rest.

"No."

"What did you say to your dear mother?"

"I don't want to."

"You need to go in there."

"Let's go home and play with my dolls."

"I'm warning you."

The color of a bruise.

Makes you all squeamish inside.

They were markings on my body; the type of trophies that she didn't want them to see.

It stopped hurting.

Maybe the first time, but then it just became numb.

I think I stopped crying.

Because she didn't want to hurt me.

She was just pushing me to be the best.  She was motivating me.  She had good intentions.

So I'd look away from the bruises.

She'd keep pushing me forward.

And they'd keep trying to pull me back.

A shove forward.

A tug back.

1st turned to 2nd

2nd turned to 3rd

3rd turned to participating.

participating turned to hurt.

then hurt turned to 1st.

I'm not a pretty doll anymore.

I'm the trash.

The trash that will be burned.

And then used again to create more pretty dolls.

"Beauty is pain."

"Sacrifice is pain."

"Success is pain."

I'm no success.  I'm no beauty.

Sacrifice?

I've had my share.

I lost all those skills when I fell to the bottom.

The bottom of this dark hole.

Now I have no trophies.

Only my reflection.

And what does it taunt me with?

"Jolene the Loser."