Valerie

It was when I was just drunk enough, just high enough, just fucked up enough to have the confidence, the belief that my words were even good enough to be written down. To be preserved for however long they deemed fit, after that they dreamed to remain. The thoughts that had captured my being were finally out of head and materialized. 

I always wanted to get my story out to the world.  I wondered if people would read it, or even like it. For as long as I can remember, I have been an outsider looking in. Constantly narrating my own life.  My own little version of the world around me. To me it is fascinating, but I guess I would think that.  I would replay the stories again and again hoping that this time I would get it right. I could see it clearly in my head, but only in glimpses. Insights into a world that I could only imagine.

Desperately trying to hide my awkwardness, I could tell that they knew I was fake. Something was off about me and everyone could see it, although I would constantly deny it. Lying become so second nature, I could no longer grasp what was real and what was a story in my own head.

I wanted to disconnect from society this weekend. My generation is too connected and I cant be that reliable, that’s just not in my DNA. It didn’t hurt that I have pink eye, but that is the glamorous life I lead. It has given me a chance to really look at what I need, forced to stare down a face that I have avoided for years and years. Is it sad that I’m already out of it 5 tiny beers and I’m almost gone, I wanted to write something profound, something truthful, something interesting.

 Are we to live to our own standards or to the standards of others? I curse myself and most of my works disgust me, but could it be consider popular to the masses. I could write for them, but then it would be fake. I could write for myself and be forever questioning. If I write for myself, maybe if I put myself out there and try then people will respond. I hate the way this paragraph sounds. Whenever I try to take down a thought, I can’t type as fast as I think. What I think is gold turns out to be pure s**t the next day. I am afraid of coming off pompous or uneducated.

I don’t know what do. Isn’t that it? The final question, what do we to do? If I could answer that I feel like I would have more figured out. Maybe I need more drugs.  I locked myself in my room with a case of beer and joint rolled out of rainbow skins. The Royal Tenebaums plays in the background. I question my love for this movie. Tiny Beers. All hail drunk ramblings of a college student sitting alone in her dark apartment. The lights from the outside still peeped through the already dim lit room. That’s the difference between the country and the city.

All I am are ramblings. I haven’t had a full thought is years. I picture my mind as tornados, beautifully destructive.

I was told to get through writers block then you need to write whatever you think.

 

 

She lived in a fantasy world. Constantly narrating her own life. But she liked it up there, high in the clouds. She never wanted to come down. The real world was too dreary and cruel for her to exclusively stay in this touch with this reality. Her story is a fairytale, a horror story, and a beautifully tragic tale of love and lost. It is unquestionably unique and devastatingly mundane. But it is above all else intriguing, and isn’t that the point: intriguing over satisfactory? She narrated her world to keep some sort of relevance about her. The fear of being infinitely nailed down almost drove her insane. Or maybe she already was? A wonder child held captive on a strange planet. She would never truly fit in but she enjoyed watching the interactions, connections, and complications.  An observer, picking up the traits of her subjects. She wanted to be like them, and she damn well tried. It would never happen though.

As she caught glimpses of her self she would stare a little too long, trying to connect with the image in front of her. Occasionally she would find beauty in the reflection, but more often than not it would startle her. This creature was everything she was supposed to be, but there was something about the eyes. Ice blue on a cold winters day, hazel when she felt nostalgic, and green with a smirk when she wanted to play.  Her eyes would forever give her away. Those deceiving devils would be a constant reminder of who she wasn’t; she would never be the person in the mirror.

She was Alice when the sun began to sneak out above the horizon and Lolita when the day turned black. A wild side that craved the sins of the flesh.  Valerie was human and wanted what we all want: love and happiness. Maybe her methods were crude and distasteful. She schemed and deceived her way through reality, but she never meant to hurt anyone. That wasn’t her style. Time and time again she would disappoint those who loved her, never living up to the potential she was known to have.  It wasn’t that she did not try, she could never grasp why the things of this life were so important to those around.

Valerie stood above the rest. A gentle giant among men with a tower of brunette locks that dangled just lower than her shoulders. Wild and unkempt, her hair was who she was. Untamable. Each ringlet was a different experience that shaped her and taught her. Growing, learning, and ever changing.  She loved to change the color, to become a different person. A new persona for a new day.  She cut her hair short and was one of the guys, a bombshell when she was blonde, brunette to appease the masses, and red. Red was her love, fiery and passionate with mystery and adventure lurking in every late night deceit and adolescent tomfoolery. Red stood out, red was different, but this discovery wasn’t made until later. Straight brown hair with sperries, a north face, and pearls kept every ones’ speculations at bay.

A curious innocence consumed her. She didn’t have a lust for man, but a lust for knowledge.

Sadly, the most interesting thing about her was the fact that she grew up normal. A house, a mother, a father, siblings, and anything she could want. Valerie resented her mundane life, wishing some tragedy had occurred to explain why she was different.

Reviews

[613]

This is absolutely amazing. Truthfully, it stuns me how well you write. The story itself is just brilliant. Most of this story resonates with me because I can relate in some way or another.

- Brittney

[Jen]

Whoa! That is profound and a perfect scribe of what women today, and I assure you stating "all women" in this statement is not an over stepping ...this is something all women face or will face within their thoughts. I can not express enough the multifaceted you have touched on in this writing. It is like a painting of just about every woman that has walked the journey into womanhood... including me!
Brilliant!