I'm not sure why I even have this blog. I put all my Rose feels on the other one anyway, no one reads this but me. I guess it's a comfort to know that when there are mornings like this, words keep me grounded. Words stop me from screaming at the River until I go hoarse, tearing out the silver locks of hair I have left.
Fuck this.
I broke up with Finley. I did. Me. Told him everything and I was so angry I actually lost my American Accent. Again.
I could go on about it, I could give you the exact words if I wanted to, make it pretty. I don't want to make it pretty, though, because it wasn't--it just hurt. Necessary, and it hurt.
I'm not a Rose anymore. Yes, that's the second thing on my list of Fuck-my-life right now. I gave up a world that has supported, loved, nourished, taught me since I was little more than a child. Yes, okay, they put me through some really hard, painful shit. Physical, emotional, mind-washing? Undoubtedly. Do I regret it? No. I miss it like hell. That's how good a job they did and I want--no, I need--to wrap my fucking head around that. I don't have a lot of self worth, and that made me think that--what they--that that was okay.
Yeah, it wasn't. It'll leave a scar on me.
But I miss it. I'm lonely, because I'm not surrounded by people. I'm sad, because those people did need me to guide them and they don't have me anymore. They have my replacement, who doesn't want to be my replacement. Really, it's none of my concern. They won't allow me back in. Brontus--my warrior--will not allow me to even consider walking back until my Human life is stable, until I could again attempt balance and take up the throne.
In his heart, he believes I will return to rule.
I'm not going to. I'm glad I can't get back in (hypothetically, I haven't actually tried) to that world, because it isn't what I need.
The people who I knew in high school, especially the Theater people (with the exception of Katie Gundlach and Hannah Nathan and possibly, if she plays her cards right, Morgan Gorman apparently), are never going to get over the stigma that is attached to my name. Ever. Hannah's grad party proved it to me once and for all; no matter how bright-eyed and bushy tailed and normal I am around them, they'll find a way to make what I'm saying perverse. It hurts me, it hurt me then, it hurts me now, and I've cried a lot over it, but there's nothing I can do. I can't make them understand I'm a living, breathing person, not even to Schulz.
That said, if the summer play comes along, I'll still do it. I'll still try out and get picked over again, because I love it. I love plays, and acting. The people involved might be assholes, but that's what I love, and that's what I'll do. If I got my Poems published, if I turned down a real show for my paintings, I can act if I love it. Angela told the group of people at that play that I shouldn't act, and she can fuck off. I'm not in it for money, I don't think I'll be a movie star, I'm not auditioning for commercials. I'm there because I love it and you can't make me stop.
Moving on.
The city of Fort Atkinson is creeping into my blood like a poison. When I moved here I was really pretty sure of myself and solid, life petitioned to fuck me up, and it worked. Okay, yeah, I let it happen. I let people think I was quiet because I was shy and nobody here bothered to correct it. When I walk down the street in a crushed velvet dress and a bow-tie around my neck and white streaks in my hair, people stare here. They're angry. They're racist. They're about as intolerant as the Nazi party. They have a beautiful River walk, which I will miss immensely.
They're poisoning me.
I. Am. A. Good. Person. I'm not different from other people my age. Yes, things have happened to me that haven't happened to them, but I am just like other teenagers. I want to dance and sing and be fucking crazy. I was at Revels, and they never saw it. I was--will be, too, come fall--at Schuster's, where I have, from the get-go, been accepted for exactly who I am and how talented I am at learning things.
Pause. You are now subject to a mini-rant.
Schuster's. I got interviewed there, they accepted me. There was never an assumption that I was odd, but I acted THE EXACT SAME FUCKING WAY I do the rest of the time. The other Spooks who were new? They called me Mama because I was so good at it they didn't believe I was new there. I did make up and costuming for other people; I googled how to do new patterns of Clown faces or lion masks or Dog wrinkles on somebody. Gore. It came naturally, not because I'd seen it (Roses) but because my heart knew what to do. I am the Golden child there. With Schultz and the people around her, even if they're mostly good people and whatever, they automatically assume I'm weird.
They cling to each other's arms. They turn and walk away from me when I talk to them.
At Schuster's, it was never like that. My second year there I had some trouble, because I was stupid and brought Taylor and she ranted about me. Well, she isn't coming back this year, because Kelly isn't. Finley is. Katie is. My Kingdom, returned. I belong in that forest. I belong with the screaming people who howl at the moon who signal.
I remember at Haunted Hallway when I howled, to tell them (the other people there) that yeah, it was over, no more groups. Mostly for Finley (who was at one end of the hallway) and Katie (who was, by cowinkydink, at the other). Schultz was like, "WHAT are you howling for?" Wearily. Like I were some kid she were babysitting. I know that mostly she didn't even want to hear the answer. It isn't even her fault, it's just an idea. She's trying to do better now, but that's not the point of this:
Schuster's never did that, and so, I belong there.
I belong there. I'm happy there. People who haven't learned my stigma like me, For me. Period. I also learned that it wasn't in my head; I am talented when I'm not afraid to speak because everyone will judge my ass for it.
With me so far? Because that sentence was really, really hard for me to come to terms with....
I am a completely different person than I was in High School. I have gone through tremendous and complete changes. If I treat you with contempt now, Schultz-Theater-awesome, it isn't because I think I'm better than you, more talented or devoted than you, it's because you treated me like I was nothing in a place where everybody should be explored and tolerated, like at My Schuster's. Period. Yes, that might be unfair, but I'm tired of being fair. You can change my mind. I won't be a Fort-Atkinson native and pass judgment that's eternal and unchanging, that's wrong and I was NOT raised here. That's not how my heart, my mind, works.
I'm tired of hiding how awesome I am.
I'm not arrogant for thinking that. Christ, look at me.
I have ruled a Kingdom.
I have survived torture.
If not Torture, High School. All the fucking awards for surviving High School.
I have a lighter covered in Gallifreyan that I use to light Incense when I write my poetry and paint pictures of mermaids and read from e.e. Cummings and my dear Sappho and Holly Black and Melissa Marr and Anne Rice--the people who make me understand my own heart better than anyone has here. Ever. At all.
I'm a diabetic. I live it every day and it's hard, but I do it.
I lived through heartbreak, every day. When times were good, I laughed off being ostracized, I made it okay and funny and people shifted awkwardly. When times were bad, it cut me to the core, it made me afraid to get out of bed every morning because I knew that the city mostly hates me and is full of rude, judgmental people who don't actually know a single, fucking thing about me. When times were bad I made my own eyes green, because I was just too afraid to show anyone here who I am. I deserve all the medals for living through that, for pushing myself through it, for as long as I have. Why? Because I shouldn't have had to. I shouldn't have to now, either.
I could go on about myself (you know it, I'm a rambler bitches), but this isn't the point.
Now, what I'm going to do.
I'm not cutting my hair. I'm growing it out, still. I'm braiding seaweed
into it and shells and crystals and I'm going to be a wild savage girl.
The kind I can't be here. Because this city would likely burn me at the
stake, anyway, legalities be damned (gasp, the language of Satan). Doubly so since I didn't vote for Scott Walker.
I'm, like, the first on the burninator list (and you know they have
one).
I'm also getting green streaks in it. Not punk ones, seaweed colored ones. I want to be a muted beauty. I want to be a beauty, that isn't pretty, and knows it, accepts it. A woman of layers, like in The Second Mrs. Giocanda.
I'm moving out of my Parent's house by the end of next summer, and I'm moving to Madison. Seriously. I'm finding a roommate, I'm finding a good job there after I get one here, and I'm going there. I'm going to spend my time finding a new--family--and live my life. Live it. Hard. I'm not going to be well-behaved and quiet, I haven't been for ages but none of you have noticed so hey, what the fuck, why not write it out.
I'm leaving most of my books, too. Just the ones I really love, are coming, because I can't hide behind them anymore. I can't. I had to here, I had to build up armor, but I can't spend my time living in them anymore. It's the real world that's mine now.
I'm....staying single for awhile. I want, not need, a White Knight--yes, I still believe that, and yes, I will consider searching for mine--but when I find someone, I want her to understand me and I want to understand her, too. Or Him, if I can get my hands to not tremble whenever I'm alone with a guy, if I can stop remembering---
You know, spectrum. Whatever. I want and deserve to be happy with my love life, and I haven't been. Love shouldn't make me feel like I'm being punished for it, and every love I've had has done just that. Still Love. Still mine.
But I can't live like that. I think you have to, while you're a Fort Resident, but I'm.... I'm not like these people. If I get galled by being called weird and different here, I have to remember that I am weird and different--but only here. A person who likes Ben Criss because he sounds like the Iron-Willed King and talks like he's from the 1800's is bound to seem weird to people who only give a shit about the Kardashians and think Stephanie Meyer is the greatest Literary Genius ever, right?
Part of it is....Balance. Another firm, unshakable belief of mine. If I want them to look and accept me for who I am, I should probably value them for who they are, too. I thought I'd been doing that all along, and I probably have been, but it isn't likely fair I'm frustrated. There's probably a reason they treat me this way..... even if I disagree with it, it's a reason, to them.
So. That's my life. If anybody reads this and in a year from now will have their shit ready to run, too, call me.
Payton. Not Eliac, The Moon, Victoria Winters, Josette DePrie, The Mermaid Queen, Pete, Mama, Just Payton....
Out.
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