Argh, this book makes me angry/happy. I began it when I finished high school and since I keep going back to it. I found an edited version of the beginning that I wrote, God knows when, so that’s below.
Isolated. Run-down. Shit.
The characteristics of the crap place I live: London. Sure, some people love it. I’m sure I would love it too, if I didn’t have the most annoying parents and wasn’t stuck in the house like some fugitive and when I did leave get questioned when I’m back about where I went, who I went with and why I went there.
I don’t even have any friends who are remotely like me; I don’t mean personality wise, I mean with their relationship with their parents. We don’t get on, ever. We are opposites, and I often find myself wishing to run away.
To top it all off: I’m fat. You know why I’m fat? Because of them! I eat because I’m sad, and I’m sad because I eat (okay – stole that from Austin Powers but it is so, so, so true). Another reason why I hate London: I cannot walk down Oxford Street without seeing a million model wanna-bees; it makes me uber paranoid and results in my going home, getting into my pyjamas and eating cake, or ice-cream.
But, I won’t complain about pointless things like weight. My point is, I don’t fit in. I don’t fit in with the cool people at college because my parents are strict about me not drinking alcohol and never, in a million years, would they even let me talk to a boy. I don’t fit in with the religious kids, who never drink alcohol or have a boyfriend because I don’t even believe in it – well, I don’t really know what I believe in. I have limited friends – the ones I have are great. Trouble is, they don’t go to my college.
You see, when I was sixteen, I decided I wouldn’t go to my high school’s sixth form. I thought it would be best to go to a college instead, full of people who wanted to get on with education and not mess around. By doing so, I made myself a loner, and people at the college didn’t even take education seriously. Thus, I screwed myself royally over.
My lovely, witch, of a mother told me I had to pick my cousin up from Heathrow Airport, whilst my lazy ass dad stays at home wallowing in self pity as he was made redundant from work. My lack of sympathy seems heartless, I know. However, he has been wallowing in his self pity for two years now – bit excessive, no? Nevertheless, my mum does everything for him now, practically mothers him. But, I don’t feel too much sympathy for her either, she is just as cold as him.