I have come to realize that my friends don’t really understand me. They don’t know who I am. Hell, I barely know who I am. I don’t even think they understand me as intimately as a friend should. I realize that any sort of friendship with me is bound to be complicated because if people really knew what I held inside of me or comprehended what I am capable of, well, they wouldn’t want anything to do with me. If I were to hold nothing back and allow myself to be honest and open with anyone be it peer, tutor, parent or therapist they would be afraid of me. This is not a hyperbole.
I’m sure you’re sitting there rolling your eyes as you’re reading these words. You’re probably thinking that I am ridiculous; that what I’ve just told you was in fact an exaggeration. How could a teenaged girl cause fear in anyone? You probably believe that I’ve watched one too many TV series like Supernatural or obsess over the Twilight novels or some shit like that, but that’s not the situation with me. I am not like any other teenager you’ll meet in person or online. I’m not in love with an imaginary vampire nor do I fantasize about being some sort of demon hunter.
I don’t think I’m Special. I know I’m different.
The online dictionary defines different as: not of the same kind: not ordinary or common. That’s me. Uncommon.
I was birthed into this world in a pool of blood, which to any of our ancestors would have been seen as an omen, but as with many of the portents bestowed upon my parents, who are children of this ‘modern society’, it was explained by my Mother’s physician, as a medical problem and shortly after I was delivered she agreed to the advised hysterectomy. Maybe if she had someone with her who understood the omen, she would have been spared the medical procedure that rendered her barren, or perhaps she wouldn’t have believed what they told her and had gone through with it anyway. I consider what those words might have been. What would they have warned my Mother?
“Be warned, Caroline, surely ‘tis rightly The Blood Omen.”
My Father claims that our family tree can be traced back to the Williams of Salem, Massachusetts, however I am skeptical. I have never seen the genealogical records I have only been witness to my Father’s boasting during past holiday parties that he and Mother hosted at our home. He’s said to me more than once that our bloodline carries clout not only within the city, but also throughout the entire state of Massachusetts, however I think he is misinformed. Our family bloodline doesn’t carry clout; it carries power, these are two entirely different things, to be used in different ways. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Father would interpret our bloodline as he has. Clout is something that served him well throughout his life and will continue to provide for him but really, what are the benefits for me? No one my age even considers what it means to be a member of the Williams of Salem. No one is impressed. And honestly, I have no real concerns about my future. I only worry about today. I have a lot to be concerned about today and clout won’t assist me with them.
Something strange has been happening and I cannot find the accurate words to describe it. My perception is obscured and my thoughts have been scattered. It feels as if each thought is a fragment of something larger but they will not connect to reveal the whole. It has been difficult to form a single cohesive idea and if I am able to finally piece one together with another; it shatters as quickly as it forms. I feel like I am going insane! But perhaps I already am. Perhaps I’ve always been. Maybe I have finally become the girl they always expected me to be. Maybe I have finally achieved the expectations placed upon me instead of always falling short and disappointing those who rely on me. Maybe I should embrace my caste in life. Embrace the fact that I have lost touch with reality. Embrace it! Surrender to it! Be who I was always meant to be: Angie, the paranoid schizophrenic. Perhaps that would make my parents and Dr. Worth happy. Perhaps this is the first step to my recovery. Maybe I should be honest with them and reveal all that I “believe” I am able to do. If I were to show them what being a daughter of the Williams of Salem bloodline really means, maybe I will begin that journey towards complete recovery that they are hoping for.