College Revisited – Beginnings of a Writer

Recently I went through a bunch of old folders, notebooks and journals.

It’s nice to go back and see that you’re moving forward with life and pursuing your dreams. I ran across a paper I wrote for one of my Creative Writing classes.

This assignment was to write an introduction to your memoir. I can remember going at this assignment with great enthusiasm and determination. 

I decided to share this today because it is a reminder of who I was and who I still want to become. I might not have a college degree in writing, or in anything for that matter, but I am thankful I never let that stop me from pursuing my passion.

I am especially thankful for all the teachers and professors over the years who encouraged me to follow my passion for the written word and all things creative.

I did not alter or edit this piece, just because I can see how far I’ve come as a writer.

I hope that these words inspire you to tell your own tale.

 


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Spiraling into Oblivion (1997)

 

The downfall of my innocence began when I was the tender age of five years old. 

I was out shopping with my parents when I saw the most beautiful sight: a leather clad couple.  The woman was wearing very tight and revealing black leather pants, a red bustier, with a studded dog collar around her tender neck, a cropped biker jacket and knee-high spiked boots, with chains around the ankle. The man wore leather pants as well, a Sex Pistols shirt, and a biker leather, with a chain collar around his neck, secured with a lock. 

My mother was appalled, and picked up her pace dragging me reluctantly behind her. I stared and waved at them as we sped by. The couple laughed and waved back, and the guy blew me a kiss. His image to this day is painted in my memory. 

I was hooked. I wanted to be like them. They looked so free and happy; I couldn’t understand why my mother was so disgusted.  Later that day when we went grocery shopping, instead of asking for my free cookie at the bakery, I asked for a dog collar.

My mother freaked, and so it began.

All through my childhood days, I knew I was different, and I suffered considerably for it. I was always in trouble for my mouth, and my evil little ways, yet my teachers loved me.

I was the little girl who loved to play with and chase the boys all around the playground. I loved being the one to get caught and tied up in “make-believe” superhero games. I was the one who secretly desired to be sent to the principal’s office and paddled. 

I had to be the center of attention, even if it was bad attention. 

There were very different ideas going on in my head even as a child, and when I would voice them to my friends, they would call me weird. I soon became the one that no one wanted to be around. 

My friends slowly diminished, and the ones who remained faithful, learned to tune me out when I would spout these thoughts. 

I was way ahead of my time, and my imagination and fantasies lead the way. My perversions slowly started forming in my mind.

My parents, in one last-ditch attempt to make a proper little girl out of me, pulled me from the few friends I still had and sent me to private school in the sixth grade. Little did they know that was the worst thing they could have ever done. 

I had to watch myself carefully; my deviant thoughts would not be a good thing to divulge to anyone in this school setting. I was very intelligent, and soon learned to put the ideas running through my head, back inside my head, in a nice little corner.  

I tried my hardest to fit in with my peers, but they knew who I was without me saying a word. 

No one liked me, I was new, and they had their groups established. I vegetated in my own little world. My silence was slowly corrupting me. 

I went to private school for three years. During these three years, my corruption grew roots deep inside of me. I had to find an outlet for theses pent-up feelings before they drove me crazy. I didn’t know where to turn, so I dove into reading and found a new escape.

The ideas in my head were starting to find their way out again through my reading. I was a very well read child; I was always ahead of my class in that area. I read everything I could put my depraved little hands on; everything from the classics to Science Fiction. 

While all the proper girls were out reading their “Sweet Valley High” books, I was reading Piers Anthony, Isaac Asimov, and Ray Bradbury. I got drawn into science fiction and fantasy books. 

I got my first introduction to BDSM through literature. 

It was a vampire novel; I would tell you the name of it if I could remember. All I can remember is the vampire owning and possessing these women, and they begged for the abuse; they thrived on it, and would die without it. I was drawn in completely. 

Like I said before, I was ahead of my time, and my imagination started to ignite. I needed more.  I started to write.

My writings, as all things I did as a young girl, started out innocent. 

First it started as little diary thoughts, and then some feelings started coming out. I got scared that my mother would find my journal and read it, and then she would know what a little deviant I was becoming. I couldn’t risk that. 

I started writing two separate journals. One I kept in an easily accessible place she would most likely look. The other I carried with me and guarded it with my life.  

I was writing so much, I had to start hiding my notebooks because I couldn’t carry them all with me. Every time my father and I went to the store, I begged for a new spiral notebook. My little spiral notebooks became a fetish for me. 

To this day I crave the freshness of a new notebook: the scent, the crisp, untainted pages, the thrill of touching it with an ink or felt tipped pen for the first time.

By the time I was ready to return to public school for my freshman year, I was noticeably different from my peers. Everything about me was different; my body, my personality, the way I dressed and mostly, my thoughts. 

My high school years went by so fast, now that I look back. It all seems a blur. I returned to the friends I had left all of three years ago, and I was an outcast. 

Everyone knew me, yet they didn’t. I played the part of a freak all too well, but the thoughts and emotions remained intact. Every school has the cliques, my school wasn’t any different. There were the Preps, the Brains, the Jocks and the Stoners; I was a group unto myself. 

I mixed and mingled well with everyone. I had enemies; don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a social butterfly. I liked variety, and I still do. My social interactions with the different groups gave my deviant fuel more fire. I was popular, but not for the usual reasons.

I was The Freak. If you were to ask anyone I went to school with the most memorable person they can think of, I am usually in the top five. 

I had very few close friends, none of which to this day, know the real Me. They all know what I choose to let them know, but no one seems to be able to see past that. I like it that way. Never divulge too much information to the “vanilla” people.

If there were something to be done that was shocking or strange – I was usually the one to do it, and I always did it with style. This was one of the ways I made my deviance known and it fed the ever-growing fire inside me.

I was shunned for my ways, but there were a few that were drawn to me – privately of course. That’s when my secret life began…