Here it comes

Well, it’s been said time and again that the first step to getting over a problem is getting it out there. I just want to take everything and put it out in the open for everyone to see. Maybe then I’ll start to get over, well, everything. Because none of it is doing me any good couped up inside.

Hi. My name is Arwen. I’m 20 years old. I come off to everyone as charismatic, quirky, and fun. Whether this is just a cover I create for myself, the way I want to be, or the way I should be, I don’t know. I am insecure and childish, but I try not to let it show.

I never had many friends when I was young. I was very shy and didn’t make friends very well. Moving twice during the course of elementary school didn’t help, either. My parents never bought me much. New toys were a rare occurance, usually something that was only recieved on a birthday. I was four years old when my sister was born, and I resented her. I used to make myself think that she was the reason I never had a lot of things like all the other girls I knew. Other girls had Barbies, a plethera of stuffed animals, and toy vanities. I had a couple dolls (Barbie was considered “expensive,” hence my only having one or two. And no accessories), blocks, and free toys my mom would bring home from when she used to work for Discovery Toys.

My parents were not, nor were they ever, poor.

I was nine years old when my other sister was born. It was around this time that I started faking minor injuries to gain attention from my parents. This lasted up until the death of my father. I used to steal candy from the checkout lanes at supermarkets, because my parents never, ever, on any occasion, bought it. Not even on Halloween.

Come fifth grade, I became very stressed and didn’t know any other way of dealing with it, than to start a nervous (and detrimental) habit of picking at my eyebrows and eyelashes. This, in addition with the fact that I didn’t really know how to dress or groom myself, led to incessant torment in middle school. Once I hit highschool, I was allowed to wear makeup, and did so religiously. My appearance became less of a laughing stock, and I became less of a social outcast, but I was not being given a confidence boost that I could’ve used.

My best friend of five years in middle and highschool had tremendous self issues. She was anorexic, bulemic, suicidal, and probably suffered from personality disorders as well. Highschool saw my first (and only) three boyfriends. The longest relationship out of them all, was 3 months. In all three, I was the dumpee. It’s been almost two and a half years since the last relationship ended, and I’ve been single since. I’m still a virgin, too.

It’s not that I dislike being a virgin — it’s satisfying to know that I have a shred of moral decency, compared to most girls these days, who will give it up to just about anyone the day they start bleeding from their vaginas. My virginity is not completely by choice. I cover it up by saying that it’s not my thing, it doesn’t interest me, and that I don’t understand what the big hype about it is. Truth being, I want it. Not just with anyone, or the next asshole I happen to fall for. But I want sex. I want intimacy. I want something more than what I have now. And what I have now is a make-out buddy who ignores me online.

The thing is, I’ve totally fallen for him — he’s cute, he’s funny, and we like a lot of the same things — but I’m so afraid that he doesn’t like me back. At all. Things went amazingly at first… he couldn’t keep himself off of me, and we chatted online every day. Suddenly something changed… since Monday, I’m lucky if I even get a conversation out of him. I don’t know what it is. By default I’m afraid it’s me. I’m clingy and insecure.. why should he like me? He probably knows a million other girls who are prettier than me and would shag him without any questions asked. And then there’s me.

I don’t know where I’m going with this entry, honestly. I’m just trying to get everything out.. everything that I believe has caused my insecurities. I want to be confident, but I don’t want to be an asshole. I’m so afraid that if I exert confidence in myself, I will turn into a cocky bastard.
In highschool, I wore makeup and trendy clothes. My father made a habit out of calling me a slut and a whore, and often refused to give me a lift to school. This all stemmed from an instance where I told my guidance counselor on a minor physical action he took against me, and she called child protective services. My father was an alcohol abuser, and loved to hold grudges.

He shot and killed himself the day after father’s day, after telling me that he hated me, and wanted me to go away. I ran away from home, and that was the last I ever saw of him.

That’s all. Kudos to you if you read through that entire thing.

May 20th, 2005 | Bitching, Blah | Leave a response