Maddie

a teenage girl trying to deal with her dreams that won't ever come true

Maddie Hale. Elizabeth Stiles. Maddy Hale. Elizabeth Styles. Maddie Stiles. Elizabeth Hale. Madison Hale. Eliza Stiles. Beth Hale. Maddi Styles. Lizzie Hale. Beth Stiles. Maddy Styles. Madison Hale. Eliza Hale. Stiles. Styles. Hale. Hayle. Hail.
I sure had spent a lot of time trying to come up with the perfect name for me for when I became famous. By messing around with my real, full name, Madison Elizabeth Hale, and my mom's maiden name, Stiles, I had come up with (probably too many) options, some of which I actually thought were pretty good. I didn't like my first name, Madison, but I liked Maddie or Maddy. I liked Elizabeth, especially some of the nicknames you cold get out of it. My last name was okay. I liked Stiles so much better, though. It definitely sounded more star-quality to me than Hale, and I had always felt closer ties to my mom's side of the family anyways. Besides all the combinations I had gotten from two first and two last names, by messing with the spelling I was able to come up with even more possibilities that way. Maddie, Maddy, Maddi. Elizabeth, Elisabeth. Hale, Hayle, Hail. Stiles, Styles. Some were definitely better than others, but it's a work in progress.
I know that it sounds incredibly arrogant and stupid to try and think of what you're going to call yourself if you get famous, especially when you're not even close to being popular at school, much less locally famous, much less nationally, much less worldwide, like I hoped to be. I know for sure if I ever heard of anyone I knew trying to think of celebrity-sounding names for themselves, I would laugh, and forever think that they were stuck up and also crazy, since no one famous came from this town, or state for that matter. Which is the reason why I kept these name ideas to myself.
I kept a lot of things to myself. Absolutely nobody had any idea how completely and utterly obsessed I was with this idea of fame. They would think I was crazy. I even thought I was crazy sometimes. What was wrong with me? Why do I feel this insane and completely consuming desire to be famous, for people to know me? I hated it. I hated the feeling, mainly because when I really thought about it and actually tried to be realistic, I knew it would never happen. I couldn't sing, I didn't dance, and even if I could act, how was I supposed to audition or get discovered in a town like this? I couldn't. It was impossible. I had always figured that my best chances for becoming known were excelling in my sports, which were cross country and track, or writing, which I had always been told I was good at. Still, those were looking like hopeless cases as well.
Despite all this, I couldn't even begin to imagine not ending up famous or well known. The thought crushed me. I wanted people to know my name, to know my face, to like me. To care about me. I wanted fame more than anything, and I didn't even know why. I often wonder if other people feel like this too. Does everybody feel it, and just nobody says anything? Or am I the only insane one? Surely there were more kids like me, in towns like mine, that ached for something better. There had to be more girls and boys like me who couldn't stand the thought of ending up like their parents. Stuck in a town you hate, with a job you can't stand but can't quit, married to someone you don't love but won't divorce. Of not having done anything with your life. Now, for them, it was too late. They had grown up, had kids, and were now just stuck passing through life, only existing instead of living. I couldn't end up like that. I wouldn't end up like that. I refused to. I'd rather die than have that be my future...
I have to stop. I've gotten too into it again. It always starts with the harmless daydreams, but then, like a snowball on a hill, just rolls until it gets bigger and bigger and eventually so big that it's out of control. Then I just want to scream and cry and go outside at 1 a.m. and run and never stop and never look back. When I get to this point I just have to stop, calm down, and try to think realistically. All I really want is to finish high school well, graduate college, have a stable career, fall in love, get married, and have kids. That's all I need for a good life. Those are good accomplishments.
But I know it's a lie. I want something more, I need something more.
Then I have to try and think about how lucky I really am. I have a house, I have a bed, I have clothes, I have a family, I have friends. I can go to school, I can read and write, I can walk, I can see. I can think. And some people can't.
Then the cycle starts over again, and I'm back to thinking of all the silly and pointless things I'll do if I'm famous. Where I'll live, the places I'll go, what I'll say in the interviews, what I'll say to my fans. All the other famous people I'll meet, the charity work I'll do, the clothes I'll wear.
And of course, what my name will be.

Author's Note

I wrote this this past summer really quickly haha, I'd love feedback!!! Any kind :)