Ten years ago, I was a hurt, lost, stupid, angry person. This was the first time that I began to write. It was on a blog site called opendiary.com. When I was that age, around 16-17 I was so angry. It was eating me up inside like a cancer. There were all those cliche’ feelings that one normally associates with being a teenager. The largest and most prominent feeling was that no one cared about or understood me. My family and I had nothing in common, and in being adopted, I discovered that in some way I felt like I didn’t belong. Still don’t. Likewise my school days were awkward for the same reasons, but in the group of misfits that hung around with they were loyal to me and they understood me, to a degree. I lost contact with a lot of people that I really got along with, time rolls on, you know. I turned to blogging because it was anonymous, I could say how I really felt to people and see what they really thought about me without the fear of being lied to or used or whatever.
The schools. My parents, my real parents. My life. How I looked. There were a lot of things that were wrong with young Chris. My adopted father left me. My mother made me live with my control freak grandparents, and this is where the story began for a lot of people. One thing that I have noticed about personal blogs is that most people speak in vague generalities about their lives, delving rarely into the specifics. It’s like how you would imagine a support group meeting would go. Everyone already knows why they are there, everyone already can infer the details based on subtext. The ones that didn’t do that were the ones I read. People who were there to infer through subtext. People I could relate to.
People like Morgan (aka Dublin Sublime aka Lachlan), who became a lesbian stripper sometime between then and now. Nothing wrong with that, she seems happy about the whole thing. Fanboy wanted to be a journalist, he said it was to ‘give the weak a voice.’ I don’t know if he was successful in that endeavor. When I first posted my story, Monolithic Horizon, the first chapter, unedited, raw, sloppy, he read it. I always assumed that because it was so awful he avoided reading me from that point on. Probably wrong about that. There was old real life friends that between then and now have faded away. There was Serenity, no seriously that was her name, whom wrote about being so lost and confused that when out with friends she ended up in car wrecks and drinking binges. Sometimes I wonder what ever happened to her and if she’s alright. Belowblackstar, Jesus Chrysler, and Wire were all roommates. Blackstar became an egotist who hurt his friends with his selfish behavior. On my last site I eventually had to rid myself of him. Jesus was a mysterious figure, he faded in and out again. I don’t remember much. Wire… Wire is a bastard. That’s all I’ll say on that matter lest I go off on a tangent. Doomed, doomed was an odd fellow from Australia, humorous and weird, but ultimately dropped off the radar.
On opendiary I met Jennifer. Jennifer was someone who I thought I loved, she crushed my heart four years after meeting her. This is where the story gets a little less morbid. You see, when I was with Jennifer is when I pictured a Circa, from the story I’m working on. My punk dystopia. I pictured it while listening to a song by David Bowie called ‘Heathen (The Rays).’ A CD I may never have picked up if it weren’t for Jennifer. The line of the song that triggered this was, as follows:
Steel on the skyline
Sky made of glass
Made for a real world
All things must pass
It left an impression on me. Standing in the back room of that old apartment with my dead Aunt’s things piled carelessly one room over. The sun was shining, and I’ll always remember this, my cat Pepper (dead a year now but never forgotten) came in and knocked over this journal I purchased that I had never used on to the floor, on her way from the night stand to the windowsill to sit. It was then I sort of realized what it was I wanted to do with my life. It was around that time that I began to realize what I was so angry at to begin with. Abandonment. I had been abandoned a lot in my life and that’s where all the hate, distrust, and resentment came from. Essentially being forgotten. Left behind. Unwanted. When Jennifer left I felt all the old feelings again, but I felt them a lot harder than ever before. It was as though it wasn’t her leaving, it was my father leaving, and my parents leaving all over again. The thought occurred to me that the reason that I keep getting left behind, and the reason I let people close who are going to do me harm, is because essentially, I was ignorant. So in the months after she left I read and read and read some more. Books on every subject, be they political, sociological, psychological, paranormal, religious, philosophical, or anything in between. There was this desperate need to learn and understand why I had let my life get to this point and how to turn it around.
I spent days with Huxley, Orwell, Hemingway, Nietzsche, Letham, Hawkings, The Dahli Lama. You get the idea. Each person and book, be it old or new, taught me something about myself. What I ultimately realized above all else is that I was not alone in thinking that something was wrong with the world. Something that no one could ever fix or cure. Some things, I learned, we just have to accept that they happened, that they were terrible, and that we should do our best to never let them happen again. Like history, or your past.
So I accepted that my parents didn’t want me. I accepted that my adopted father didn’t want me. I accepted the fact that Jennifer didn’t want me. In the end the only choice I had was to press forward where I left off with that blank paper on the floor and the fresh ideas in my head just begging to have a place to call home.
In all that time only recently did I decide to look back towards to my old writings where this all started. There came the realization if I never posed on Opendiary, I’d have never met Jennifer. While on the one hand she did end up being, to put it mildly, a poor choice for a relationship, without meeting her I might never have had that moment with Bowie and Pepper. I might never have figured out how dumb I really was. I would never have moved to Wire’s diary site when I got fed up with Opendiary politics. I would have never raised hell and kicked ass all over the site when everything went down. I would have never made The Wire Cutters. I would have never met The Warden, and you would not be sitting there right now reading any of this.
In going back I could not find anything, I used the wayback machine to see if I could find my old Opendiary stuff. I couldn’t remember the screen names of my old contacts. I couldn’t find anyone. Looking around on Google, I gave up. The thought hit my head, that… no one remembers me. All those people that used to read, and not one out of the maybe fifty people mentioned anything I said. So three days ago I was pretty bummed out, because any connection to the old days and to some of the people I felt understood a little was really gone forever.
But hey, who’d have thought that an old Sister was out there wondering where my dumb ass went off to as well? At the right time, just being remembered can mean everything, as I press on writing. So Jeen, this one’s for you.
Did I ever tell you why I called you Sis? The reason is that my real parents had a daughter, who is at least five years older than me, and I’d really like to meet her one day. Not so much my parents. So, until I can meet my long-lost sister (I know this sounds like a soap opera plot line) I’m perfectly content to pretend you are it. Out of all the old readers of my stupid little teenage fits of anger and confusion, I think you are one of the few that actually cared. Don’t fool yourself, sometimes that little bit of support can make all the difference in the world.
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