{the avant-garde of mediocrity}
When I was about 7 or 8 years of age, my sister had come home from school with one of her friends. Well her friend’s mom was pissed to say the least and wanted her home immediately. My mom was at work so my sister got the bright idea for us to bike her friend home. That wouldn’t have been such a bad idea if her friend didn’t live at least a half-hour car ride away from our house. I of course didn’t want to go and my sister couldn’t leave me behind, apparently that kind of thing is against the law.
The ride there wasn’t bad — at least I don’t remember it so it couldn’t have been — but coming home was a different story. My sister got us lost and it was getting dark. All I can remember really is being so tired of peddling and so scared that I was walking my bike and crying hysterically behind my sister who kept telling me to shut up. We finally ended up in a neighborhood she knew and we knocked on the door of some lady’s house who drove us home with our bikes in tow and promised she wouldn’t say anything to our mom.
I didn’t keep my promise. I had been so terrified that I told my mom that night and my sister got in trouble.
I used to cut. I have 3 well-placed scars on my left wrist — for all who meet and know me to see. I have thought about it lately because of a post I read a while back where the blogger mentions you are never an ex-cutter just as you are never an ex-addict.
I don’t know if I agree with that.
The last time I cut was at least 12 years ago. I have no desires to do so now. I was just a kid then. A very angst-filled spoiled little girl with some major issues. I think because I was cutting at a young age, now the idea of it seems ridiculous to me.
I can believe in the theory once and addict always an addict, but it’s hard for me to believe in once a cutter always a cutter.
Last night in bed I lied there wondering if there is a God. It really got me for some reason because in my mind, if there were, he’d be able to communicate with us in some fashion. Unless in the game of life that is considered cheating. I don’t know.
Religion has always been odd for me. I feel awkward in churches and especially when trying to read the Bible. I get the strangest sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. My parents never did the church or any kind of religious thing with my sister and I growing up. I’d go to Sunday school with a friend, but we were young enough for the coloring class with the lemonade and sugar cookies. I went a couple of times with older friends, but I don’t really remember the experience.
I would just find it interesting if there wasn’t a God. If this world was total happenstance. That would be almost as weird as sitting in church. I guess it boils down to me not knowing what I believe in. I cross my fingers instead of praying. I do on occasion say “Thank God”, but I think that’s more out of habit. I also will say “God Dammit” if you must know. I know, I know I am a terrible person.
Ooo watch out, folks. I am attempting a daily prompt today. The Daily Prompt asks,
Honestly, that question has always kind of irritated me. Why? I don’t like it’s connotations. If you are to think the glass is half-full then that must obviously mean you’re optimistic and pessimistic if you feel it is half-empty. I don’t believe that way, but I also believe it’s just a glass and it can be both depending on how you want to look at it. And the way you look at it doesn’t deem a character flaw or strength or depression or otherwise.
I am also a little more literal in the sense that if you pour out or drink some of the liquid, then it would automatically mean half-empty, but if you just filled it then it would be half-full. So it can be based on technicalities.
In my little world, it can be both based on how you look at it, but how you look at it doesn’t determine your optimism or pessimism.
