My story starts here..

My dad just told me he wanted to write a secret diary of being a madman. I instantly loved the idea. He said he wouldn’t be able to publish it, because he could get in trouble. I insisted he write it, because one day I could publish it so my personal accounts could be more genuine. I also think that if he started writing again, our bond would grow stronger. I think we could bounce a lot of ideas off of each other. I am excited to see what could come of that.

I am happy for him that he is picking up old hobbies. A divorce is a tricky thing.

Saying Goodbye Even Though We Haven’t Met

Dear It,

I dizzily gather what seems to be news. I do not think of your name, it it it. No cue cards prepared, so my frame freezes, and I choke on the chill. I had to wake up and dedicate a morning to you. Eggs, bacon and toast, weird, because I saw a whole lot more on my plate. It wasn’t that easy, my worries, my wants. I slammed the backdoor shut, terrified to come around. A game of trivia, THINK… what should I do with bills and success against the features of you. I slowly cooled down after days in the burning sun. Then in the night the two of us meet, once in my nightmare, then in my dreams. I sit and I drown in a down pour of change. I suddenly ease up, determined not to be afraid. Here I am, you have not yet arrived. I look at my watch, I still have some time. So until then I got some growing up to do.

Sincerely,

             Mommy

            I had to rush away like leaves from fallen branches, swirling without direction. I let the wind pass through me, feeling weightless above the ground. Below me life was living, but I didn’t want to hear a sound. A solid force field was around me, gluing me against the time. Suddenly the silence snapped into a catchy children’s rhyme. But instead of hops and giggles, all of them had sunken frowns. “One two, I needed you. Three four, I should have mattered more. Five six, you will never forget this. Seven eight, you destroyed my fate. Nine ten, I bet you will run away again.” One child looked up only for a glance, and shut her eyes into blackness.

 I woke up with no desire to see the outside world. My curtains were drawn against it, only letting a beam of light shine through. I shattered the pieces of who I was on the floor that night, holding my tummy in pain. The phone was near me, but I begged it not to ring. I wasn’t ready for that wake up call.

Ring, Ring, Ring.

Old Me-I need to talk to you.

New Me-I have nothing left to say.

Old Me- Of course you do, tell me about your day.

New Me- I took everything I had, and pushed it all away.

Old Me- Well we once told ourselves, we wouldn’t resort to this.

New Me- Sometimes we don’t know where we are heading, just maiden’s in the mist.

Old Me- I know there is no turning back, but there is no point living here.

New Me- I would rather stay in darkness, I have nowhere else to steer.

I said goodbye to the old me, because I knew we weren’t alike anymore. She would never understand the new me, so I left her that unforgettable night. Time still passes and I get reminded of what I lost. Inside I’m burning, but my life has turned to frost.

Don’t Talk to Boys

            All the other girls would talk about their crushes, but I didn’t want to. I knew there was no use in the matter. I didn’t want to be punished. Every time a boy’s name left my mouth I felt like I was in some sort of danger. I watched as my best friend I knew my entire life go through a mountain of guys while my adolescent years were under the harsh governing of my father. Rule number one in the Gyselinck household was absolutely no talking to boys until the age of sixteen. The rule was always in effect, and I had strict monitoring of my phone conversations and I had to have an air tight alibi whenever I left the house. Who was I with? Where was I going? And most importantly, there better not be any boys!

            I had to lead a double life. In today’s day and age you would be an outcast if you couldn’t talk to the opposite sex. That is what junior high is all about. Who thinks who is cute is the topic to every young mind. My friends didn’t understand what the big deal was, and sometimes I couldn’t go to certain hangout sessions because a guy from class was going to be there. I made up lie after lie to cover my tracks. There was no way of avoiding it; boys were becoming relevant in our lives. I started to build up a sort of defense mechanism against them. I knew I couldn’t have a legitimate relationship with a boy so I made it clear I just wanted to be friends.

            At age thirteen, my group of friends insisted we go to the boy’s house down the street. I felt heavy with worry. It was like a heat blowing across my forehead, I knew it wasn’t a good idea. I thought of my father driving down the road seeing me with him. I imagined the usual consequence of imprisonment. No TV, internet, or even sunlight. My friend, Marissa, assured me everything was going to be ok. To my surprise there were a few boys from the grade above us. I felt safer once I was inside. I put my worry away; I insisted to myself that my parents couldn’t see through a solid house. I let my guard down, and tried to enjoy the boys company.

            A few days after my encounter with boys in a casual setting my longtime friend, Danielle, insisted we go bowling with a few guys she knew. She told me to relax, but the other boy thinks it was a blind date. My stomach dropped to my feet. It felt like a wave of hot air was tickling me inside out. I never had been on a date, and I never really thought about it. As soon as she announced the special occasion I jogged to the bathroom to take a look at my reflection. I grabbed pieces of my hair that was hanging in my eyes. I was staring into my own eyes while Danielle stepped beside me and said, “Don’t worry he saw your MySpace and he thinks you’re pretty hot.”

            Like that didn’t create more pressure. I never intentionally tried to impress the opposite sex, because there was no use. The only reason why I agreed to this disaster was because my dad was five hours away at the family farm house in Michigan for the holidays. He would call my mom and ask for a play by play of my evening activities, but I had pulled one over on my mom. I told her I was going to work on some picture collages with the girls. She was never much for investigation so I knew I would be safe.

            I didn’t have deep thought about what would be the proper attire for bowling with a couple of boys. I was dressed in a short khaki skirt with one of those t-shirts that had a witty saying on the front. Danielle had a more risky outfit on, but that was usually the case. I had covered my eyes with thick blue mascara. I felt silly and awkward. She told me they were already there when we got dropped off by her mom. When I stepped into the bowling alley my ears were surrounded by dull, familiar sounds. The smacking against the pins echoed through the acoustic. I hadn’t had my glasses on because I thought they made me look nerdy so I couldn’t see the details of my surroundings. My mother couldn’t afford contacts, so I often went about my day in a constant blur to impress others. This time was no different.

            I saw two boys walking towards us. I looked over at Danielle as if I wasn’t paying attention. I was trying to be nonchalant, but I probably looked like a shy, awkward mess. Danielle ran towards them with a loud shrieky voice. “Oh my gosh! This is my friend Christine. Christine this is Zack,” she winks with a giggle. “And this is Duron.” I made a weird smile and then looked to my feet. Zack had to be the cutest boy I had ever seen. I looked back up and caught his insanely green eyes peering back to me. He smiled, and I smiled back. We went to the front desk to get our shoes. Our casual conversation felt natural, and I didn’t know what I was so worried about before. We were both instantly attracted; the first time I ever noticed that feeling. I always looked at the boys as if we were equals. A friendship was as far as my imagination got, but there was something beautiful about my first date. I let my guard down, and I forgot all about the treacherous rules of my father.

            Danielle and Duron were praising themselves for being such good matchmakers because we were instantly having our own body language. I felt like the typical girl when I told them the fact that my left-handed curse confused my bowling techniques. Zack was quick to give me lessons. We stayed after our bowling session to get to know each other better. Danielle and Duron had run to the back of the bowling alley to get a few smooches in. Zack and I made a camp on a giant rock just beside the bowling place. It was funny, yet comforting because he was already letting me know personal things about himself. I had a purse on my shoulder when he asked if I could hold on to his insulin pack for his diabetes. I was happy he told me about it so soon. I felt like I was misleading him by keeping my father’s rules a secret. I knew we were getting along, and I didn’t want to ruin it.

            The first moments I realized I was in a romantic scene had me speechless. The silent feeling between a guy and girl was a distant idea for me. I saw the idea portrayed in sappy love movies, but I never put myself in that situation. But when I looked at Zack I knew I wasn’t afraid. Everything felt right. My first kiss still breezes through my heart from time to time. The smell of his cologne is still familiar to my senses. But as every good moment in my life, it is always broken with some comic relief from my partner in crime. When Zack and I walked towards the front to meet with our friends, Danielle burst out laughing. She remarked, “What were you guys doing?”

            “Nothing.” In unison. It felt good to have a secret.

            “Oh really, then why is there saliva on your lip, Zack?” She burst out in a loud chackle.

            When everything was coming to an end, I started to snap back into my personal reality. My dad was going to be home in a few days, and I couldn’t keep the charade up for too much longer. I always thought it was easier if they weren’t interested at all. I wouldn’t have to tell the boys anything because they wouldn’t ask. When we were all saying our generic goodbyes, I caught Zack smiling at me. He asked for my number, and since we were too young to have our own cell phones, this usually meant the house number. This isn’t a problem for others, but I knew if he would call my house and my dad answered the phone I would be grounded for at least a week depending on the circumstance of the call. He would investigate with uncomfortable questions like how long have we been talking, and have we ever hung out?

            I shook my head at Zack with a sad expression. I had to explain, “I can’t give it to you.” He looked confused and almost rejected. “It’s not you, I just can’t.”

            “Sure, I got it.” He began to turn away.

            “My dad won’t let me talk to boys.”

            His look quickly eased up. “What do you mean? Like never?”

            “Until I turn sixteen, but yeah he’s really strict about it. I hate it.” I looked towards my nails. I usually picked at them during nervous situations, but I held back. He was still making eye contact.

            “I think if we really want to talk to each other, then we can make it work. Nobody should be able to stop us.” He had an embarrassing smile on his face, “Because I really like you, Christine.”

            It was hard to say no to his romantic persistence. So Zack and I began to sneak phone calls whenever my dad left the house. Of course he would have to wait for my call, but he would never hesitate to answer. We found ways to make it possible to see each other. I was practicing the art of lying, and making up an entire parallel life in which I only play board games and braid hair. I still had to cover my tracks consistently. He would often check my Myspace page for evidence, but I always was being sure to let people know not to post anything incriminating. If they did I quickly wiped it off the map. I had to be sneaky, but it was worth it. When I got to hang out with Zack I felt normal.

            For years I had to cover my tracks, even if the situation was seemingly harmless. After Zack, more boys came into the picture. I started new and better ways to keep my secret life on the down low. I got a cell phone that was in my hands at all times. I started to join after school activities just so I could ditch them to have unsupervised time with boys. Sometimes I look back wondering how my father’s strict laws affected me. Since the case was always deceit, I realized he should have been more open to me talking to the opposite sex. The more you tell somebody no, the more they feel they want to do it. It’s a common law of nature.

My future: Starring Me

I remember driving home with tears in my eyes. My windshield wipers were broken and rainwater was hitting my windows at 70 miles per hour. Frost was collecting just above the dashboard because my dad just bought me a car without defrost. I knew it would be safer to stay home for just one more night, but I had to get in the car and drive. It was time to face the truth; there was nothing left for me in that town. I was trying to stay focused on the blurry road ahead of me. I had left without my glasses that night. There was a three hour stretch of highway separating me from my hometown and my house on campus. I imagined my Thanksgiving break to be romantic, but instead I got dumped. If you don’t know the feeling, it’s basically like he is smashing down your self-esteem with a toy mallet.

I wanted to numb my mind and forget about the situation, but it was haunting me. Every thought I had was attached with his face. I was in two consecutive relationships for a five year period. The last time I was single I was 15 years old. I felt like my personality was melting like ice cream on a hot summer sidewalk. I was lying in bed for days trying to pick up the pieces of my conscious mind, but everything was sliding off of me. My legs left weak because I knew standing alone wasn’t going to be easy. I watched the sun rise two times in that bed before I could step up with a little bit of dignity.

Saying my roommate was happy about the break up is an understatement. Danielle experienced every moment in my life since I was seven years old. She could smell the deception coming from my ex’s pores. Danielle despised my ex-boyfriend, and she had every right to. He acted like a belligerent asshole, but I couldn’t see these things because of the relationship vale. Infatuation shades the flaws of your partner. So I can guarantee I had no idea he was incapable of having common courtesy towards me. Word around the family tree was that he was sleeping around, so I also got to add humiliation to my list of emotions. I studied the outcome of a typical breakup. It’s kind of like a fork in the road, and there are only two ways to go. You can choose to stand staring at the decision for as long as you would like, that part can vary. But one day you can wake up and feel forever sorry for yourself because the one you loved wants nothing to do with you, and walk around with your head watching the pavement in a long period of depression. Or you can get up and appreciate the gift they just gave you. I finally wanted to be single so I put on my party clothes and covered the traces of tears.

I let my roommate know I was ready to see the world from the single perspective and she pulled in a few favors. We planned on having a few distant college friends come perform a couple of songs they work on together. I had no idea what to expect, I liked the excitement of surprise. Little did I know we were going to connect like fate had something to do with it. Before I was in a committed relationship, Danielle and I would meet all sorts of people and fly from group to group like social butterflies. I have always been enthusiastic about music since I was a seventh grader scenster, but I was always caught up in the drab idea of love and soul mates. But these kids passion was radiant and it was hard not to get a little blinded by their glow.

            A crowd full of loyal followers began to form in my basement. I wasn’t familiar with any of their faces, but I was determined to let them know I was present. I had nobody to hide behind anymore. It was like my censors were ripped away, and I could be myself. The music began to play, and I felt mesmerized. When I heard a few bands were going to play I thought of a guitarist with a drummer, but instead they were regular white kids rapping about partying and having a great time. My rhythm began to connect with the music, and I watched the others around me feeling the same bond. We danced for hours, yet it was like we were stuck in time.

            At our second concert party I felt eager to see all of the band members and their friends. I sat on the couch for many hours preparing myself mentally for the party about to tornado through my house. This time I was starting to get to know each character in the scene, and every part of my conscious was coming up with questions to know more. The situation with the music and the friendly environment was starting to bring out a part of me that I thought had died long ago.

My memories of my ex boyfriend were becoming almost like a bad dream. The details were getting slim, but I still had a sight of the horror. I kept those emotions on the back burner, but I could still smell it burning. I have stumbled upon groups of people before, but there was something different about these people. It was comfortable to be myself, the one I always wanted to be. We started to form a kind of alliance, a labeled team. The boys from the band were calling themselves O.G Punks since they labeled their style that way. Recently since my roommate and I were added into the group they started this whole scene about the O.G’s and the Bad Bitches. Basically the label means we are unstoppable people who love to party.

Since we all met, we have felt a certain connection you can’t ignore. I am doing new things I never thought I would have to opportunity to do. We aren’t just wasting our time like a relationship you obviously know isn’t going anywhere. We go places together as a solid unit. We can have a crowd of two hundred or twenty and it won’t affect our enthusiasm for the music. I was wrong to play the cards of love at such a young age, but I have gained experience. I know what I want and how to spend my life now. It turns out if you rely on yourself, great things will follow. I couldn’t imagine jumping back unto the boat I was so aggressively thrown off of.

If I was still in a relationship I would never get the opportunity to branch out and meet my real friends. I learned a lot when I rose from the ashes. I had to pick myself up, and create who I wanted to be. I fell into a world I can call my own. They say the ones you meet in college become your best friends for the rest of your life. I am glad I have decades to spend with these people, because we aren’t just friends we are soul mates.

Poetry nowadays has to be so fancy.

Like a kind of ballet recital where the dancers are dancy.

We never talk about the ordinary things,

The hops and skips towards our halfhearted dreams.

The who and the what and the rest of the W’s

We remember the fews and push through the other you’s

But we all have a story, whether we tell it or not.

Good things can come out of a little or a lot.

Under surveillance, one’s like another.

Except for a small difference in us were dying to discover.

Mommy accidently taught me the importance of possessions. At age five I was already a fad queen. You name it, I had it. The fun was the anticipation, the crave.

We hunted in the boxy Arrowstar at seven Chicago land locations for a beanie baby in a burger box. All to be tossed like trash in the landfill of the toys.

I sold sassy stickers from the 50 cent machine. I turned around and flipped them for 20 bucks a piece. Mommy said I was a quickster; I could talk before I’d speak.

I would announce to her the items to be spread under the bristles of the tree. The curse of being Santa’s baby is counting up your toys. Being born on Christmas is such a blessing, JOY!

Now inside my palace I have a material mountain of things. My smile had a cost, my mother had a checkbook. Plastic toys turned into plastic cards.  It took me 20 years to realize I had an obsession of any particular possession.

      I give great pleasure in introducing the most challenging month of the year. I am currently dedicating October 13 to November 13 to the first annual fitness month. I am going to resist the most tempting foods on the planet, such as quesadillas, cheeseburgers and other cheese on cheese creations. I will also dedicate this month to working out, talking walks, doing crunches and using the Shake Weight (Yeah I have one, and I like it too.)

      I have dieted, and I achieved my goal weight before. The feeling of pure satisfaction about my image couldn’t be a more resonating. Working out month after month increases my happiness. I not only think of myself as attractive and fit, but I also have more confidence, even in my personality. I have constant surges of happiness, and it keeps me light on my feet. I am more willing to go out and get creative.  I just feel better all over.

     This month I am going to do everything in my power to keep fitness on the brain. I write everything that involves my diet. I record the things I eat, how much water I drink and also what I do when I work out. This keeps me on track, and I don’t let myself down as much. If I eat too much that day, I can go hit the gym.

     I have always wanted to be the ideal me, but now I am stopping at nothing to make it happen. See you in one month!

Rip my roots

Free my toes

Let them feel the ocean.

Bottled up like an SOS

Time to pop me open.

True ambition put to test

No more little girl dreams

Written in the rear view mirror

No more looking back on old things.

I don’t think you’ll understand how much you’re ex sucks

Until the day of war words

What you had now dirty dust

More then he said, she said

I warn you.

It’s easy to fit the description

Of breaking hearts

Just reminisce what irks you

Something about love

You ought to know

That son of a bitch can destroy you.

Two circle sized buttons dangle

From the sockets you call eyes

You dance to certain music

Swaying side to side

A drink of liquor did you in

And you bite your rouged up lips

Certainly somebody in here noticed

The poling of your hips

Like a kind of magnet

They reach out for your string

Only pulling slightly

In need of servicing

You smile kind of blankly

Nothing to be said

He whispers “you’re a puppet”

I am a dolly in your bed.