I stepped back, and look at that--things were clear. I am overemotional. I am contradictory. My emotions turn on a frikin' dime.

 

Kind of funny if you think about it, but I as sure as hell wish it would stop. Maybe then I could be me, and a good friend. Clear and obvious and predictable, like a stereotypical character I'm always thinking of. It'd be better than the moody person I am now.xD

 

Sorry Kaggr. Sorry Kanna. I'll try to be better. I promise. I'll never be as open as a book, but I'll try not to bottle stuff up. Easier to let it out slowly. Probably healthier, too.

 

Anyways, this one's for you. I have no idea what the heck I'm doing, but hey, that hasn't stopped me before.

 

---

 

This story starts like this.

 

Lovely beginning.

 

It ends like this.

 

Now I'm just kidding.

 

My name is Catherine Sienna Rosabelle Marie White. I am possibly the most insecure person you will meet.

 

So, here's me in a nutshell: I'm confused, I love Gerald Butlar and Leonardo DiCaprio, I hate shaving my legs, and hate my thin, bleach-blond hair.

 

Compelling story already, isn't it? In other words, I am your average, run-of-the-mill Catholic teen.

 

Except for one thing: I am a gay run-of-the-mill average Catholic teen.

 

Now, even if you don't know anything about religion, or the Catholic Church, the Vatican, the Orders, or so on and so forth, everyone knows that the Catholic Church believes a marriage should be between a man and a woman.

 

Now, if it makes you feel any better, I agree completely with that statement--marriage is between a man and a woman. A union is formed between two of the same gender.

 

Hey, it solves all the problems, right?

 

I know a lot of people who tell me that they knew they were gay when they were kids. I was not one of those lucky few. My gay-ness struck me like....

 

...well, a bus. Almost literally.

 

There is no villain in this story--'cause I am my own worst enemy. You have no idea what damage you can do to yourself or to others. There is also no romance.

 

And no worries--this story is not a graphic account of gayness. It actually has very little to do with it at all. It just gave me a reason to basically say to heck with it all.

 

My story begin in February, on a day that every teenager dreads secretly.

 

Valentine's Day.

 

I go to a Catholic School caled St. Catherine's. It's an all-girl high school, and so Valentine's Day is rather....dull. We have a Mass, we give each other friendly Valentines, and then go back to work. I had gotten there late and had missed the Mass. I had brought Valentines for everyone, but when I arrived, they had finished handing them out, and I didn't get the chance to. Also, there were none on my dull gray plastic desk.

 

Such a nice thing to come to after having by braces tightened.

 

I sat down in the uncomfortable, stiff-backed black plastic seat and listened to the teacher lecture. My mind, however, were on the girls in the next row, who were giggling over the candy they got from their friends.

 

I had done everything I could to fit in, and yet I was still treated like an outcast. I wore loads and loads of makeup, mostly around my eyes; I wore the plaid green and blue skirts instead of the more comfortable sweatpants; and I had even died my mousy-brown hair blond...and badly! To someone looking on, I would have blended in perfectly with the manicured, blitzed-blond crowd.

 

Maybe it was through foresight that they kept me away. I didn't see any other reason.

 

As the day went on, things got progressively worse. My Math test came back with a big red 'F' on the first page, and my history quiz was not much better. My English teacher put 'See me later' on the front of my essay.

 

Around lunch I gave up on trying to put a positive spin on things and kind of gave up. If I made it through the day, I would survive. If I didn't, I hoped someone would bury me next to Andrew Llyod Webber, whenever he died. I love that guy, too!

 

All of our classes at school looked the same. Each was in a gray-green brick building with simple blue doors. Inside was gray with either wooden desks or plastic ones. Textbooks could be there, or not, and there was always a whiteboard or a chalkboard.

 

Boring, boring, boring. It was a wonder anyone graduated at all, with how many people fell asleep in classes.

 

By the time the last class came around, I was staring at the clock with the desperation of a stranded woman. MOVE! I wanted to scream. Once or twice, I almost did. It didn't help that I was in Religion--the most boring class of them all. I've been a Catholic all my life. I now know more about the ceremonies than the priest does, and they're still teaching it! I already knew the Bible backwards and forwards. All they had to do now was train me to recite it for doggie treats, and my humiliation and irritation would be complete.

 

---

That was...weird. Anyways, I might continue tomorrow. Night, all.