So while on my crazy trip, I realized that I do enjoy writing. I’m constantly pondering outcomes and this exercise is a good way of getting things out whilst being creative. I’m currently pondering writing a short story (or longer one).
Below is a first look at my really rough draft of something. Comments welcome (DON’T STEAL MY GENIUS, haha)!
I can’t recall the last time I felt completely secure.
Maybe that’s my fault for being so dependent on others. But actually, I think it’s my parents fault. They never considered me to be an adult or allowed me to figure things out on my own. It was do this and do that. Like a robot, I complied without putting up a fight. Why though? Was it because it was and is my personality? But wasn’t my personality shaped by the people who raised me? So the answer is, my parents are to blame.
I see the stars in the sky and feel the sand and wind whipping past my face. Holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a stolen wallet in the other, I’ve never felt so confused and alone. I’m fighting back tears, trying to figure out where I went wrong. Why is my life such a mess and how is it possible to feel so insecure? My 30th birthday is a month away and right now, all I want to do is just make it all stop. Freeze time. But maybe I should go back to the beginning.
My parents are happily divorced. Siblings, none. Me, I’m Becky. It isn’t short for Rebecca so get that out of your mind now.
I grew up in Connecticut, in a modest home to middle class parents. My mom and dad were college sweethearts. Married a year after graduation because they were madly in love and knew they would make it till the end. About three years into their marriage, they had me. Little Becky. A curly brown haired girl with green eyes and a few freckles. I was adorable and my parents had the perfect little family.
I don’t remember much about my childhood or rather, the details of it – birthday parties, family trips, milestones and the like. There are plenty of pictures and home movies to look back on but for some reason, all of those memories don’t really stick with me. I remember random facts like the TV shows I’d watch after school or the soccer games I played from middle school straight through to high school. It’s not that anything traumatic happened then, I just push those memories out. I’m not sure why.
I do remember how I felt and how people perceived me. At every family function, I was the odd one, the quiet one, the one who wouldn’t dare look you in the eyes. Everyone would say “look at me when I’m talking to you” and I would reluctantly do so, terrified of offending anyone. I always felt awkward because of this and my dad didn’t help make things any better or help me get over this unnatural fear.
He’s not a bad guy. In fact, he’s well respected. The man everyone goes to for advice BUT I do remember how he’d always try to fill my head with…..