Beautiful

l don't understand why things happen. Even after they happen. Like that sudden revelation as to why you got that extra dollar, or you missed the bus or things like that. I get that certain things are done for a reason, but others are born out of spontaneity. There's that saying, “God always has a plan for everything and everyone”. But, I don't get that. How can God plan a moment, that we believe to be spontaneous, only for it to go wrong. Horribly wrong. As if God wanted you to suffer for a long time. I guess I'd just have to rule it under as something that's all part of a process.

Man, l hate the process. Everyone raves about how the process means everything; where all the magic happens. But l don't get why it's that important. Focus on the end, the final piece that's snap or Instagram worthy, with the perfect lighting and filter; the cherry on top being the #goals in the caption. I get that you have to go through the process to get to the perfect ending. Like how it would take me an hour to bake a cake to get a bomb ass dessert, or ten minutes to bake my foundation and conceder with a good setting powder to look extra flawless. But, when it comes to life and situations and those spontaneous moments, this process is not my thing. I can't deal with this anymore, I really can't. I don't want to go to the doctors for a new bottle of pills. I don't want to go to my therapist for them to judge me on the sly and tell me that I'm being rash and mental. I don't even want to go to my pharmacist for a refill of my loony drugs.

Why am I having such deep thoughts? For one simple fact and l know I'm going to sound like the most typical first word teenager ever, but it's true. I just don't want to get out of bed and go to school. AII of us can agree that it's long and takes a lot of effort, but that's not my issue. I can't deal with school. Not a week, a day, an hour, a minute. Not even a second. I’ve done everything to avoid going in. Just so I don’t remember.

Everything is just a trigger. A memory; more like a nightmare.

I’ve been through everything. Trying to forget that spontaneous moment. Denial was a long process. One that consisted of a fake smile and pretending that my heart hadn’t been blown up by a grenade and blown away by an industrial fan. Even avoiding the situation wasn’t working. Hell, I even resolved to procrastinating the shit out of life. Spent so much time doing shit I wouldn’t normally do, it was just another way to prevent myself from thinking. I've seen all the memes, watched all the DIY, ASMR and singing videos. Even related to all the #2000 posts. I wouldn’t have done any of that if I were normal. But, that wasn’t the case. It got so bad where I ended up spending so much money on books just so l could escape my reality and experience life from the perspective of someone completely different, where I know the ending is a lot better. After two months from that time, mom and dad had me emitted to a therapist. I guess even they couldn’t deal with my process of getting back on track.

If only they knew the thing I’m avoiding sits next to me everyday. He never lets me forget with his perfect charming smile matches with a good sense of humour all the girls fall for. It's a haunting smile. Forever engrained into your memories. All I want to do is be left alone. That way I can focus on other things, like trying to rebuild myself again. I know that’s a shit thing to say about someone, especially someone you class as a friend. Your best friend's lover. Sadly, I just don't have enough fucks to give to think otherwise.

Ah, what the fuck. No one world believe me if I spoke the truth.

Everyone loves him and his girlfriend. Love the perfect power couple too much to consider what I'm saying. He’s just too perfect. My darkest fear. My very own perfect demon. He did one thing and now I have to suffer the consequences for the rest of my life, no wonder everyone hates me. I sound like the crabbiest bitch around. Don’t worry. I'm not always this pathetic and salty.

Plucking up the courage, l finally crawl out of bed and head to my en suite. Human interactions first thing in the morning is one big hell no, definitely not my thing. So, having an en suite is the biggest convenience. While brushing my teeth, l stare back at my reflection, watching it imitate my every move. The overly curly hair sits atop my head like a birds nest. I actually wouldn’t be surprised if a bird came and pecked my eyes out for stealing its home. Eyes that were once alive stare back at me, dull and hollow. Staring at the world as if everything is dead to them. I wish I could swap the characteristics of my eyes with my hair. Would make life so much easier.

Here's the thing, l don't hate how I look, but I'm not the biggest fan either. It's a mutual understanding that I'm not the hottest bitch around, nor am I ugly enough to need to wear a paper bag over my head. I'm a typical teenager struggling to look like a hot spice. Unfortunate for me, that’s more of a dream than a reality. The acne scars still resemble a page from a dot to dot book, even with all the medication and creams I've been referred to. I've also got enough curves to be able to give someone else enough of my curves and still be considered curvy. It’s a curse disguised as a “blessing”; to be honest, it’s really just a nuisance. The amount of cute tops and dresses I’ve had to pass on because my chest would simply refuse to stay in the top is pretty ridiculous. Oh, and don’t get me started on the trousers. Never find one that fits my waist and my hips. Clothes is just whole other topic altogether. No point pondering over it.

In the midst of changing my clothes, a knock echoes through my room, followed by, “Ali, you almost done?” by the half broken voice, it would seem to be my little brother, Archie.

“Give me another five minutes. Just need to brush my hair.” I love that lie. 5 minutes my ass. I still have to brush my hair. That’s going to take a minimum of 20 minutes and he knows it.

“Imma be sitting in the car.” He shouts as he thumps down the stairs. Boys and their heavy footsteps.

Regarding processes and situations, even ones out of spontaneity, Archie’s been my rock through it all. He’s been the only person I could count on to know how I really feel. For a fourteen year old guy he sure has a good understanding on emotions and how to comfort a girl. Guess he’s going to be the town’s next golden boy. He was there to open the door for me at 3am, helped me get myself up to my room and slept beside me until I stopped crying. Without him that night I don’t think I would have made it to today, four years later.