Amazing isn't it. How blind we are as children. Innocence is all it is. So why the f**k do most of us end up here? What caused our innocence to be ripped from our bodies?
Pardon me, perhaps I should start with who I am. Tell the world my story. Maybe you will listen. Maybe your perspective just might be altered. Or maybe not. Maybe you'll continue forth with that blind ignorance (of those who can't seem to get a grip of understanding pain that is).
*sigh* Isabelle is that name that was given to me on that frosty, bitter month of December. Heh, ironic isn't it, how I was born on December 25, the same day as the almighty saviour Jesus Christ yet I am experiencing hell in the most vicious way possible.
No, I am not a schizophrenic. I don't hear voices telling me to bathe in the blood of my enemies, or else I wouldn't be here now telling you of how I got to where I am today; although I'm not entirely sure myself. There are many things I can tell you right now.
What I will tell you is that I do what is expected of me; like, colouring inside of the lines (metaphorically of course), sitting up straight, only speaking when spoken to, etc etc.
What I won't tell you is how my parents died when I was only at the age of six. Tragic honestly. Innocence. That's all it was, an accident. Mr. and Mrs. Leinen killed in a car accident. It frightens me to an extent of the way it happened, though. Something about the road being too icy or whatever. My father, Luis Leinen, lost control of the vehicle and swerved into a lake trying to avoid colliding with oncoming traffic. But what frightens me is how the "accident" happened approximately twenty-six minutes after dropping me off at my grandparents'.
Like, what if they decided to take me with them? Then perhaps they'd still be here today. I wouldn't have to quietly cry myself to sleep every night. I wouldn't have to dread Mother's Day nor Father's Day. I wouldn't have to clench my teeth whenever I saw a father push his little girl on the swing set. I would NOT be where I am today, writing this story.
What I won't do is let the tiny bit of information of how I dread of being alone for the rest of my eternity slip from my mouth. But I suppose that it's a bit too late for that.
I know, I know, you're probably thinking that I'm some attention seeking w***e or whatever but that's not my intended outcome. I don't have many people that I could consider a friend. Three at most. And I'm lucky. Though I never go to them with my problems nor let them see the red, parallel marks underneath my jacket. It's always cold here, so there's no need to wear short sleeves anyway.
I'm not severely bullied just so you know. Yeah I get called names. Yeah I get s**t thrown at me sometimes. Yeah I get pushed. But none of the pain that is given to me will ever be equivalent to the pain I deserve. Loneliness.
No I don't mean like a boyfriend or whatever. I'm talking about people in general. Like acceptance, yanno? I don't receive any of that. And I'm not quite sure what I've done to make people hate me.
I try not to be bitter about it, honestly. But enough about my "oh so depressing" backstory as this is just a bit of extra information I have come to believe you should know (not like you had the choice anyways). My past effects my life is various ways. And yes, I mean even in a good way as well. Although very rarely does that happen.... well,
It does, and I'm still not one hundred percent sure why.