Journal Entry #1
January 1, the new year.
New Years resolution time, once again. I guess this would be my third actual attempt at making an actual list that I can actually try to follow. Either way, I'll miserably fail. But here's to trying.
1. Actually read a full book that isn't shoved down my throat by teachers.
2. Find friends that are supportive of who I am. (Lets go against the norm here, for a minute)
3. Here's the kicker: Lose weight. Two-hundred and seventy pounds only grants snickers when I turn my back.
4. Find a boyfriend. Senior year next year would probably be extremely lonely without one.
5. Be a better person (and less cynical).
6. Drop Pokémon cards as an obsession (I spend way too much money on them, anyway). (Probably not going to happen)
7. Visit mom more (cemeteries are too creepy for anyone to be alone in).
8. Get over my insane fear of birds.
9. And lizards.
10. Get a job to pay for the college my dad thinks I'm going to go to (because it isn't for anyone and it isn't for this chicka).
So here they are, literal and out of my brain and probably in everyone's mouth at this moment, except for the irrational fears. Here's to the cliche and the tired and overused resolutions I'm planning on spilling out, here on the paper, and my journey trying to follow them. And whatever else I come across this year. I'd call this a diary if I was ten years younger, but I'm older now. Journal is more appropriate.
Well, wish me luck. If I'm really wanting to hunker down and keep these promises, I need all the help I can get.
I shut the journal and sit back in my chair, the soft glow of my alarm clock catching my attention. One-fifteen in the morning. I should be asleep, dreaming of graduation next year, where I'm out of this God-forsaken puke-hole called high school.
Well, I failed at attempting number five. I can go ahead and cross that off the list. So I do. I take my green marker and slash that bad boy out. Nine more to go. I'm just glad it's shorter than my bucket list, which includes leaving this snobby, rich town.
I click the light on my desk off and stretch, my wide legs nearly asleep. School will start again soon, and I've got to get on a schedule. Too bad the computer is calling my name softly, pulling me to play Pokémon Online... but alas, I remember my resolution, and it isn't meant to be as I stand from my chair and dig my feet into my real fuzzy turquoise carpet that I begged my mom to get me all those years ago. Before the gravestone. Before the Cancer.
Oh, the big C-word that makes everyone tremble at its mightiness and unbeatableness... even me. But that isn't something to think about before sleeping; it'll only give me nightmares and dreams that'll make me cry uncontrollably until the orange of the sun breaks into my room and seizes my body to wake it. So I'll think of something else.
I slip under my sheets, letting the chill sink deep into my skin until sleep takes me over. New year, new me, right? Or that's how it goes, isn't it?
Good luck, Kelly, I tell myself. You're gonna need it with the impossible list you've made.
I drift off to sleep, wishing I dreamed of sugar plum fairies dancing in my head, possibly to some rave music to give the fairies some edge to their sickly-sweet personality, with strobe lights flashing and a warning sign like on the back of games, telling them to proceed with caution because of heart attacks or strokes. Instead, blackness is what what I remember, not a single inkling of a dream to keep me happy outside of the real world. So much for hoping. No matter, I will survive, and that I promise. No matter how sad I get, I know I'm still alive, and nothing else matters but God.
And school sneaking up on me like the anticipation from a tidal wave. Stupid institution-run-by-grown-ups-who-think-they-know-it-all. That place is like telling a line of different animals if they don't climb the tree, they'll fail at life. While the monkey screeches with glee, the fish sobs and feels as if what he can contribute doesn't matter. What a sad analogy.
Once I'm out of that place and graduated, I can finally be who I want to be and I won't feel the prejudice from everyone around me. The snickering will stop and the cliques will disappear and all will be well in my world. Or at least I hope it will.
My fingers are crossed and my head is bowed, and I pray the rest of high school will fly by without tainting me any more than it has.
YOU ARE READING
The Boy Who Called Me FatTeen Fiction
"I may be overweight, but that doesn't make me ugly." It started with a resolution. Ten, to be exact. And then I went back to high school, hoping those resolutions would change everything. They didn't. But he did. + + + Updated every Tuesday and T...