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Existential EvanescenceSep 18 '05 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line The story is not based on my life, no matter how many parallals it contains. Oh, and it is only a rough rough draft.
I lost my faith in Faith. I can not recall the exact date, but it had to be fairly recently because if one is bitter for too long, they start to send out fumes. Not that I am an athiest or an agnostic. Not at all I very much believe in a Higher Power. How can you not? The whole world is filled with wonders that can not be explained, chocolate being the best wonder I can think of. But I just do not see a Higher Power in my life. I tried so many times. Lord, I have tried; lighting candles, reading holy books, fasted, prayed, meditated, and even tried yoga. Nothing. The hole inside me still remains unfilled, and I am aware that it probably always will. You see my whole life has been a downward spiral and while I am only 26 years old, I feel like I am 62. I am just tired of trying to live the day-to-day existence of life, trying to be happy for my family, putting on a front for strangers when they ask, "How are you?" Like they really want to know. The funniest thing is, I am probably the most spiritual person you will meet, as long as you do not meet Shirley Maclaine or anyone living in Phoenix. I do very much believe in God. I believe God is Love personified. But love is not enough. I believe in angelic forces, spirit guides, reincarnation, aromatherapy, and in psychic abilities. And it is not like I refuse to pray. I always pray. I always talk to God. God is, after all, the only person (if He quantifies as being described that way) that I can talk to. I do not have any friends. None. I sit at home all day long, except for the occasional trip here and there. I went to college and got a degree in education, but I just can not muster the energy to try. Men avoid me like the plague. They say Blondes have more fun, well they never talked to this blonde. I live at home with my parents. And I will give them credit, they are the two most loving parents a child could ever have. But love is not enough. My troubles began in school. I was not talkative or gregarious. Instead I was timid, shy, meek. I couldn=t even whisper in class. I just could not speak. I don=t know why. So I was always teased and taunted severely by class-mates. The kids used to pretend to be my friend, gained my trust, and then back-stabbed in the worst way possible. I remember being in the fifth grade and the popular girls got up on their desk and announced, "Hey class, Elizabeth loves Travis. She told us all about how she wants to kiss him and be his girlfriend." Travis was the most adored fifth grader at Montgomery Elementary School, and yes, I did have a huge crush on him. I still wish to this day that I never told those girls. Anyhow, he did not even bother to look at me. I was short, chubby(but that is a polite way of saying fat), and had terrible fashion sense. Can we say 80s girl? I loved anything bright, and that means neon spandex. God, I was nicknamed the Spandex girl from fifth grade all the way to the start of seventh. And when a fat kid wears spandex, its not a pretty sight. Oh, and I had thick bifocal glasses that covered seventy-five percent of my face and I had a severe overlapping of my front teeth. Yeah I was hideous....but I had no idea. My parents loved me and told me I was beautiful. I would never take off my glasses at school. I felt like I was naked or violating some code of some sort, but I would gladly take them off the minute I got home. I remember the Winter months were brutal because it was so cold at recess and whenever I came back into the classroom, the warmth of the room would cause my glasses to fog up. So there I sat, in my desk facing the teacher with glasses that had at least a foot of fog on the lens. And did I take my glasses off to clean them? No. I did not want the other kids to see what I looked like. To this day I do not understand why I was like that, but I sat there, pretending I could see when in reality I could not. Maybe I felt it was like if I had my glasses on, they would not be able to see the real me. And my teeth....ooh I wish I fixed them sooner. I went for nearly three years with the overlapping front teeth. I remember when a girl in my sixth grade class pulled me aside at lunch and gave me the name of her dentist. She was nice enough to use tact and courtesy and she told me I really should get my teeth fixed. So I did. So the day my teeth were fixed, I decided I was going to dress a little differently (meaning no more neon pink spandex) and only wear my glasses when I was reading.....I had a crush on a new student who came in the middle of the school year. Jeff. My teacher assigned him to my group, so we worked together a lot. He used to always tell jokes and I would laugh as hard as I could.....As I recall the kind of jokes he told, I realize they were not hilarious but borderline pornographic and somehow always involving a naked woman with a squirrel. But I wanted him to think that I was just so cool, so I laughed and laughed and we got a long great.....and then the day came when he said he was moving. His dad was in the military and he was going to be stationed in San Diego. I was crushed. But I would soon become devastated. He came walking towards me and instead of talking to me, he was talking to the girl next to me, Michelle. A very nice girl who was friendly to me, but was a friend of mine. Anyhow, he goes up to her and says, "Hey Michelle. I am going to be leaving soon and I was kind of wondering if I could get your phone number and stuff because I really like you and think we should go out and keep in touch." Tears welled in my eyes. For nearly three months I thought for sure he was interested in me...after all, he was the only guy that would talk to me. Michelle nervously looks at me and says, "You don't mean me, you mean Elizabeth." She nervously laughed. He took a not-so-serious look at me and said, "Who? Oh, her? Nah. I always liked You." And then she replied "Oh, but you always talked to her, so I just thought..." And they exchanged information as tears ran down my cheeks. That was my first heart-break. He did not even know I existed. I was his partner for three months and he didnt even know my name. This became a pattern I had when it involved men. That afternoon I decided it was because I was fat that Jeff didnt want me. After all, who likes fat chicks? So that began the start of my dieting craze that still plagues me to this day. I lost my fat in high school, but I was still treated the same. Boys didnt want anything to do with my, except when it came time for help with a term paper. College was not much better. The guy that hurt me the most was Charles. We had met in my English 101 class. He was a very nice, charming and seemingly unassuming guy. He seemed to be interested in me, as we would quasi-flirt. He would touch my shoulder, I would tilt my head. You know how the story goes. But he was inconsistent. One day he would be all into me.....and the next time he would act as if we were strangers. We never got to know each other. Never exchanged digits or anything like that, but there was a feeling there.....or so I thought of a connection that seemed to go back. Each time I would see him, it was like I was in a former life. I was enraptured by his presence. But at the end of the year, our professor decided to throw a dinner party at his house. I decided this was the night. I was going to take the relationship of friendship-acquaintance to the next level. I was going to ask Charlie out. At the dinner, I was wearing a very sexy black cocktail dress that accentuated my hourglass figure. I was feeling as sexy as a Scorpio could feel.....and I am a Gemini. I remember seeing Charlie walk through the door, looking very handsome with an almost Clark Gable likeness to him. And on his left arm, his fiancee. It seemed he never mentioned the fact that he was practically married to this haughty woman he was with. Not to be rude, but she was not all that. But she was rich and so was Charlie. He did not even speak to me that evening. Acted like he never knew who I was. Two peas in one very thick financial pod. Again, the feeling of tears rolling down my face became evident. A warm hand touched my shoulder from behind and a rich voice said, "Are you alright?" I turn around, my black eyeliner smudged from the wet tears and notice it is my English professor. All 65 years of him trying to comfort me. How sweet, I thought to myself. Until I noticed he had a wandering hand. It went from the top of my shoulder to the bottom of my...well, bottom. I could not believe the fact that I was in a room full of very attractive, eligible men in their 20s and 30s and I was being felt up by a senior citizen. Yeah, that was the day that sealed my fate that I was Anna Nicole Smith, minus the annoying voice, lack of intelligence, and the capacity to sleep with anything that wore cowboy boots; and that I would forever be sought after by old men. Really really, old old men. Men old enough to know when dirt was invented. Men who went by the name of Moses or Jebediah. Not that I am anti-old people. I am not. Really. In fact, I think it is fine to be old. I just do not think its appropriate or necessary for someone who gets a discount whenever they shop to be hitting on young women. Come on now, it is a bit creepy. Especially if you ever picture one naked. Eew, Need I go on? After Charles and the English professor with the roaming hands, I decided to swear off men forever. But that proved to be a big problem. For one thing, I am not a lesbian. I do not like women. I can not even stand to hear a gaggle of them in a trendy coffee house gossiping about the latest celebrity break-up of the month. Ben and Jen, Brad and Jen, Jen and Jen. Whatever. After so many centuries of being oppressed by a patriarchal society, women have now decided to be their own oppressors. So the whole switching to the other team is out of the question. So the next option was to accept my penchant for solitude and become a nun. Again, problem time. In order to be a nun you have to be able to handle certain criterion. One, the Catholic Church. I have a big problem with any organized institution telling me that my ovum are their property, and that taking a certain amount of progesterone and estrogen on a daily basis is sinning against God. I think once the Pope grows a set of ovaries, a fallopian tube, and an uterus, then he and his group can dictate what a woman can and can not do in the eyes of the Lord. Yet I strangely like the fact that the Catholic Church, for all their antiquated views of women, treat Mary, the mother of Jesus. I think it is nice that they honor her and give her the respect she deserved. Lets be totally honest, it can not be apple pie and a chocolate milkshake to raise a son that you know will killed for his beliefs. Second reason I can not become a nun; the clothes. Maybe if I was a taller, like around 5 feet 9, the long black robe would not look so bad. But since I amm 5 foot 2 on a good day, the long black robe will only accentuate how short and gnomish I appear. In fact, I could be walking down one of the long halls in the nunnery in my long black robe and perhaps scare a child in the orphanage thinking I was a ghost of a nun. And the outfit itself is a bit dated. I would not mind if the collar could come off and the cut would be at least a bias or sweet-heart cut. But I can not handle the Victorian era style of no ankles, no wrists, no neck. No me. At least make the Nun appear in a suited uniform, showing that they do have a body underneath that robe and are not just a gigantic blob of flubber. The final reason, and perhaps the most important. I can not be a nun because nuns are supposed to be the epitome of trusting God and having faith in Him. That just isnt me. I wish it was, it would make my life a lot easier. But as much as I believe in God, I dont have much faith in Him. I feel a lot of vengeance toward the Creator and I just do not think that would mesh well in a place where one is supposed to worship and revere Him. So where does that leave me? Living at home with my parents. Basically a spinster. Since I am 26, I figure by the time I reach 40 I will be one of those ladies you always hear about but never see because she is too crowded in her cat-filled apartment to be able to walk out the door. But I like cats & I am just thinking if I ever did meet someone and I say 'Lets go back to my place' how would he react to seeing 30 cats in one room? And if he wasnt bothered by that scene, I think I would have to object to his sanity. Does that answer your question? I honestly answered you when you asked me, 'Ellizabeth, how are you?'  |
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