The Loss of Innocence

I remember back in the day when I first started to write, my mind would wander and go to the same grotesque and predictable story line so would often just go to a random word generator and use these words to create a story. With the lack of inspiration but need to write lead me to try this once more. The words were as follows:

  1. achieve
  2. proper
  3. glimpse
  4. swarm
  5. retired
  6. temptation

The golden years that I once lived were now dead and buried. The words echoed in my youthful ears: untapped potential. Layabout. Nothing to achieve. No reason for being.

I remember being young. I remember the colours and the hope. Everything was once so vibrant, so new. With plenty of experiences to look forward to. Even the most mundane people were interesting. The teacher the kids would run up to and hug. The family friends who used to come bearing gifts. Even a simple passerby. There was no past, nor a future. It was the now. I lived in the now. I lived.

Those were the times of innocence. The times of purity. When no one could fault me. Even as I grew and learned to be proper with age, I knew that innocence had not left me. Not yet. The feelings were still wrapped in purity, in the form of stolen glimpses and passed notes.

The end of the innocence came too soon, in that moment I finally realised nothing would be the same again. It involved a car, carrying my loved ones but before they could leave it,  it began to fill with screams and fear instead. I remember the blood and the smell of a smokey metal. The men in the neon uniforms which now looked grey, they found me clutching the corpse of the people who protected my innocence for so long, who prayed that I never grow up without them. Those people were never to be seen again by a freak accident or God, or any higher force beyond any comprehension.

Therefore a child of only eleven stands with a suitcase of the few belongings and the weight of the world on their shoulders. I stood at that doorway expecting a swarm of people who used to greet me in my old life but instead an empty room with strangers filled with empty promises. Those people who once bore gifts, only offer hollow apologies. They remind me that I am alone.

Finally at the door is another chance of a place to call home. A promise for the future. A newfound innocence. A family that promised a home after so many declined.

There was the moving from the life I knew to become the new person they want. The abandonment of the past, of the possessions, of myself. Assuming a new identity as a thinly veiled attempt at a new start.

When finally I settle in. The parties start. The memories gap. Those weeks that just become a blur. And these strangers are the ones I call my family. Even though I don’t remember them without a cloud of smoke. The visits with the man with clipboard stop because they don’t seem to care. He has retired or most likely died but like many things I guess I will never know.

As the number of cigarette burns increase, the number of empty bottles scattered around the mattress on the floor. The number of places I have called home has diminished but the places I’ve slept have increased exponentially.

Finally not long after those teen years end in the fast lane, I am used up and broken from the life I now live. The amount of intoxication couldn’t blind me from the hurt or the inevitable self destruction. As I look over at the last bottle of pills on the 23rd floor of a strangers apartment complex and the temptation for the end just intensifies.

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Being a Middle Child Sucks

I’m not sure if it’s like this in all families but TV and my own personal experience back this up. I have a weird family situation but essentially my mum has just me and my brother. So not the middle child here. However my dad has 4 kids and I happen to be the third. 

I’ve always been insecure that I’m the least favourite. One time my dad read my diary and I said he liked them more than me (as well as reading who I was crushing on, which for a 10 year old was absolutely devastating). All he said was that he liked us all the same. 

He could say that a thousand times but I wouldn’t believe him. That’s not the point either way. I just want to know why the eldest are the most liked because they’re the oldest. If you’re doing it because you’ve known them the longest then why are the youngest not the least favourite. Is it because you feel the need to baby them even though they are adults. 

This was stupid. I’m just trying to do this as way to make myself feel better. But who else needs to read a blog post of complete self pity? 

I Believed In Unicorns

“Fairy tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”
― G.K. Chesterton

I was speaking to my friends and they said that they didn’t believe in myths when they were little. “Scientifically impossible”, they claimed. Apparently they didn’t even believe in Santa Claus nor the tooth fairy. Bullshit. Either they are lying or they had a really boring childhood. One thing I know is that my childhood wouldn’t have been the same without these. I won’t be the same.

Yes, the title is true. I believes in unicorns when I was younger. No, actually I believed in unicorns, fairies, and mermaids. My childhood was the time where I could push boundaries. As a child you can go around and ask for a unicorn and no one would look at you weird. Childhood is like the what ifs of life and gives you a chance to explore this. It’s like a whole different person with a different perspective.

I also believed in dragons, vampires, werewolves and witches. The one thing that it also taught me was they could be defeated. There is a world so much bigger than we know.

It even told me things weren’t what they seemed. Beauty and the Beast is one of my favourite movies because in this the monster isn’t really a monster and the supposedly handsome guy is the real beast. Belle sees this and from that moment on the Beast is no longer considered a beast.

What I’m trying to say is that in life we would face these “monsters” and they won’t even be the problem we think it is. Ultimately we can overcome these obstacles, we may not get the fairy tale but we might be far better off from where we started. I may not believe on fairytales anymore but whose to say they don’t exist. They exist in the imagination of those millions of dreaming kids.

Hoped you enjoyed it. Now if you could choose one mythical creature to exist…