-A Series of Unfortunate Events

Half the fun of eating meat is hacking it up

                                                  -James St.James

I am not addicted to drugs, i am addicted to glamour

                                                   -James St.James

Beauty is a curse on the world, it hides all the real monsters

                                                   - heard it off of niptuck

People shoudln't be afriad of their government, the governments should be afraid of their people

                                                                                                  -V for Vendetta

but i am lovin it!

I went through my room, checked all my usual hiding spots. It wasn’t there.

It was the Devil’s work.

“Macy, can you go down to grandma’s and get me a Sprite?” my mother called.

“Yeah,” I called back. I wanted to ask where my belt was, but fear held my tongue.

I walked out of my room and got the keys to my great grandmother’s apartment.

Nice one Amy, your grandmother is in the hospital and you decide to send me down to raid her fridge.

But out of fear I did as I was told. I didn’t want to invoke the wrath of the beast in a nightgown.

I looked around my great grandma’s apartment. It was still a mess. When I lived with my mother, I would visit my great grandma a lot since she only lived downstairs. But I didn’t go down one day, and the next day I spent with a friend. But when I had gotten home that day, my mother told me that my great grandmother had had a stroke and was on the floor for a day. It wasn’t until the next day that someone had heard her crying for help…

My mother also told me that she went through my room and read through my journal.

She told me she didn’t appreciate what I said about her.

Psycho.

Crazy.

It’s all true. I don’t know why she was so offended.

But out of fear, I kept my mouth shut.

So I went downstairs with my mother’s keys and get into my grandma’s apartment. Everything was still a mess. I looked at the spot where my mom had said she had fallen. I wanted to cry, to go find my grandma and apologize for not coming to see her that day. But I went into her kitchen, looked through the fridge and found the little Sprite cans. I took about three of them and a thought had struck me. My belt isn’t in my mom’s closet, because I already looked, but could it be in her car? I have the keys... and it would be a quick search. Without another thought, I went downstairs to the door of the building, and carefully opened and closed the door, it squeaked a lot and I didn’t want my mother knowing what I was up to. I ran up to the green Honda civic and opened the door. It wasn’t in there. I quickly checked the trunk. Wasn’t there either. Damn it, I thought to myself.

“GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!”

Caught.

My heart dropped as I turned around to see my mother slamming the kitchen window shut. I walked slowly up the stairs to see my mother standing at the door. I was halfway in when she grabbed the back of my neck and pushed me in.

(I can’t remember a lot of this but here is what I think happened).

“WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING IN MY CAR?!”

“I was looking for the belt you stole from me, you moron,” I said, a bit stunned but I felt liberated.

“DON’T YOU DARE TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, I AM YOUR MOTHER!”

“You aren’t a very good one…”

I stormed to my room, yelling insults to my mother and her responding with the usual. Ugly, weak minded, freak.

I was done.

But apparently, so was she.

I sat down on my bed and she busted through the door. She started to tear down all my posters. That was the last straw. I am still not sure if I was yelling at her, or just the situation in general or just out of pure anger, but I said it.

“BITCH!”

“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!”

I told her what I called her. Then I said it again, this time with fat in front of it. I don’t know where I got this courage from, but it was nice. It was fourteen years of anger and unsaid words and it was as if boulders were being lifted from my shoulders.

It was nice.

The arguing lasted another thirty minutes or so until she had finally given up.

“That’s it, I am calling your father. Maybe spending a week there will let you see how good you have it here.” And she called my father. I packed my things and told her that she wouldn’t be able to last without me. She told me she begged to differ.  

Good? Living here with you is the same as having it good?

Thirty minutes later my dad finally showed up. I walked out the door and told her that I would see her in hell.

And she called my father. I packed my things and told her that she wouldn’t be able to last without me. She told me she begged to differ.   

I spent about a week there until she called at last. Apparently she had cooled off but I knew that was bullshit. I also knew that I loved my dad way more than my mother. He accepted me, loved me, he was like a good friend to me. I told her all those things. And I added that he was an actual parent. She asked if I was ready to come home.

I said no.

That ‘no’ rang off in my head. Was I sure of this? It was like a bomb, destroying my old life. But when there is destruction, there is the chance to rebuild. The ‘no’ set off an eight month custody battle.

We won!

I have been living with my dad for over a year now and everything is going great. I don’t get to see my mom’s side of the family as much as I would like but that is a small price to pay. Maybe there was a better way to deal with her, but I got my message across to her. I won’t change. And I surely won’t tolerate someone forcing me to change. I have become happier since I left. More social I guess I could say. More expressive. Yeah there is stuff I do my dad does not like, but he knows what its like to be young. He just goes along with it.

The devil doesn’t have horns, she has a bob. And the Devil doesn’t wear dark armor or a birthday suit. The Devil wears Lane Bryant.

Now that you know about my physical birth, I should start talking about my  rebirth. It all started with a music video. I was getting ready for school one morning and the video for I’m Not Okay(I promise) came on. It amazed me. The anger, the way they looked. It all just clicked. And I wanted more. I started to dress differently, how I wanted to. Not hom my mother wanted. I started listening to music more. I began writing and drawing. I felt more like myself everyday. Its like being reborn, being baptized in ink and fire. It felt great. Not that I wasn’t always different. I was the nerdy kid. Femenine, skinny and I always had my nose burried in some book. I didn’t have a whole lot of friends. Just a little group of mine, none of which I still talk to. It wasn’t until my coming out that people started talking to me. I remember when it hit me. I never really liked girls. Never had any physical or emotional desire to be with a girl. But I liked boys. I was gay, and that was that. I told the few friends I had, and naturally one of them spilled the beans to everyone else. That’s how the school found out. I was a wreck, I kept thinking that everyone would hate me. I would lose the friends I had.

But quite the opposite happened. People started talking to me more. They had questions. And the more we all talked the more friends I got. It felt great no longer being the nerd without friends. It was the same year I started caring about my looks. I got contacts, started taking better care of my skin. Thought about what I wanted to wear, all that stuff. It was also the same year I got my first boyfriend. I was so in love with him. But I was only good for one thing, taking off my clothes. So you could say that that is where a lot of my anger comes from. Most comes from my mom and dad, and the rest comes from the people that have fucked me over.

So 8^th grade comes along. Nothing of interest happened, except for meeting with my father. In between my parents’ divorce and the eighth grade, I didn’t get to see much of my dad. My mother fed me bull shit about him, and I rarely saw him. But one day my mother approaches me with some news. My dad would be going to Iraq for a year. She asked if I would like to see him, and I said yes. I couldn’t take the chance of losing my father. I wanted to hear his side of what happened. The meeting went well enough, he came home safely and I started spending more time with him. I realized that we have a lot in common. We have the same tastes and sense of humour. I also realized that I wanted to live with my dad and step mom. Ever since I had come out of the closet, my mom was a BITCH. But my dad and step mom only saw me. Not my sexuality. Not the fact that I wasn’t like everyother boy. But they saw me, and they love me. A lot of drama surrounded my decision to leave. Well technically I was kicked out. But that’s another story.

I spent my freshman year of high school caught in a custody battle. It had been a trying time, but we made it through just fine. Things with my dad are so much better. However it makes me sad that he couldn’t be around to see me change and evolve. But things are still good. I am surrounded with people that love me. I have an amazing boyfriend. I am happy.

I am happy.