I Have Too Many Sad Experiences
I experience lots of sad things.
Sometimes, people die, people I love. It makes me believe that anything and anyone I love will die because I do.
Sometimes I experience things, like sad things, with sorrow. Hate... heartbroken... I rarely, hardly ever see light... good things? Are they real? At least I am not experiencing being beat up anymore by my father, or the psychic torture of my mother. Still I feel my sisters hate, but then again... she is a little kinder now days. Always alone. I don't dare seek a flock anymore. Those I dare turn my back to, bite my feet or tail and attack me.
This time... it's neither a good experience I shall share... It happen just yesterday.
On Friday.
I go to this art school, and so far everyone has seem like good people, gentle people. I like all of them, no one has been any weird with me or such, for all is weird there. It felt so safe and I have begun opening some.
The four last days I have been working as much as I could for four days... night and day, getting my piece together. This work made me so frustrated I was almost wishing to destroy it. I was happy when I finally finished it. It was finally finished. I wanted to destroy it still, and my frustration was not over, but I though, by the end of this day, I might seek to keep it instead of destroy it. I was probably just anxious anyways because I had been working so hard with it. I named it dream. I had worked just with pen. Four days and nights, taking only small breaks and going home only to sleep and eat some. It was going to be my main showing for the exhibition.
See...we have exhibition each third week to show of our art to all at school. My group was later than the rest, the others were finished three hours before us at least, for we got to talk about all of our art. And I finally spoke more about others art, daring to speak more for the first time since I came. Feeling safe with this environment. When I got to talk about my art, my piece, the one I had worked for in pen for four days was gone. It was found stamped on behind a door close by. I was kinda frustrated, I had finally finished, and now it was ruined? It almost brought tears to my eyes in front of others, but I managed to keep it back. So I told more of my other art which I had hung up. Though when I looked over my giant drawing later I notice it was just one foot print on my drawing, the same, smearing motions and all around 11 times..it had torn at it sometimes, the shoe. Did someone intentionally do this? Why would someone do this? It makes me sadder to think think so. I told another schoolmate, and the teacher happen to pass by and I told him. My friend said it had hung all day, even when she left around 13:00.
I had not slept for around 47 hours and this happens?
The first thing that struck me of course was frustrated sadness. I had wanted to show it.
Then when I had seen the prints of this one shoe I was more like. "the same shoe?? Why??? Would someone really stamp on my hard work?? Accident??? No... more like sabotage??? Are there really anyone cruel like that at my school??? Why would someone... is there any guy hating me??? I don't do anything bad... why would someone be mean to me??? I don't understand... why?" and then I checked the size of the snicker, around 40-42. Someone told me it was a jogging shoe, a snicker I guess. No one I know have a pair of snickers... who? Why? I still can't find it in me to believe ... really? someone from my school? Why would someone from my school be cruel? I don't know most of them... but.. even so... I had faith in them. That most were kind. Waiting to tear it down and stamp on it? Or was it a accident even how unlikely it now seem? I wanna believe somehow it was a accident... that somehow, no one would do things like that... I don't wanna tell my sister or my family... yet... I did tell the teacher of it. 11 prints of the same shoe... it can't be a accident... or maybe... I don't know what to believe.
I guess I wanna believe people are good.
But I know for a fact people are not... or at least most people are not.
I though other artist were not like other peoples though, because most... most know how it is to be alone. Most don't wanna make others feel sad.
Sometimes, people die, people I love. It makes me believe that anything and anyone I love will die because I do.
Sometimes I experience things, like sad things, with sorrow. Hate... heartbroken... I rarely, hardly ever see light... good things? Are they real? At least I am not experiencing being beat up anymore by my father, or the psychic torture of my mother. Still I feel my sisters hate, but then again... she is a little kinder now days. Always alone. I don't dare seek a flock anymore. Those I dare turn my back to, bite my feet or tail and attack me.
This time... it's neither a good experience I shall share... It happen just yesterday.
On Friday.
I go to this art school, and so far everyone has seem like good people, gentle people. I like all of them, no one has been any weird with me or such, for all is weird there. It felt so safe and I have begun opening some.
The four last days I have been working as much as I could for four days... night and day, getting my piece together. This work made me so frustrated I was almost wishing to destroy it. I was happy when I finally finished it. It was finally finished. I wanted to destroy it still, and my frustration was not over, but I though, by the end of this day, I might seek to keep it instead of destroy it. I was probably just anxious anyways because I had been working so hard with it. I named it dream. I had worked just with pen. Four days and nights, taking only small breaks and going home only to sleep and eat some. It was going to be my main showing for the exhibition.
See...we have exhibition each third week to show of our art to all at school. My group was later than the rest, the others were finished three hours before us at least, for we got to talk about all of our art. And I finally spoke more about others art, daring to speak more for the first time since I came. Feeling safe with this environment. When I got to talk about my art, my piece, the one I had worked for in pen for four days was gone. It was found stamped on behind a door close by. I was kinda frustrated, I had finally finished, and now it was ruined? It almost brought tears to my eyes in front of others, but I managed to keep it back. So I told more of my other art which I had hung up. Though when I looked over my giant drawing later I notice it was just one foot print on my drawing, the same, smearing motions and all around 11 times..it had torn at it sometimes, the shoe. Did someone intentionally do this? Why would someone do this? It makes me sadder to think think so. I told another schoolmate, and the teacher happen to pass by and I told him. My friend said it had hung all day, even when she left around 13:00.
I had not slept for around 47 hours and this happens?
The first thing that struck me of course was frustrated sadness. I had wanted to show it.
Then when I had seen the prints of this one shoe I was more like. "the same shoe?? Why??? Would someone really stamp on my hard work?? Accident??? No... more like sabotage??? Are there really anyone cruel like that at my school??? Why would someone... is there any guy hating me??? I don't do anything bad... why would someone be mean to me??? I don't understand... why?" and then I checked the size of the snicker, around 40-42. Someone told me it was a jogging shoe, a snicker I guess. No one I know have a pair of snickers... who? Why? I still can't find it in me to believe ... really? someone from my school? Why would someone from my school be cruel? I don't know most of them... but.. even so... I had faith in them. That most were kind. Waiting to tear it down and stamp on it? Or was it a accident even how unlikely it now seem? I wanna believe somehow it was a accident... that somehow, no one would do things like that... I don't wanna tell my sister or my family... yet... I did tell the teacher of it. 11 prints of the same shoe... it can't be a accident... or maybe... I don't know what to believe.
I guess I wanna believe people are good.
But I know for a fact people are not... or at least most people are not.
I though other artist were not like other peoples though, because most... most know how it is to be alone. Most don't wanna make others feel sad.
By:
Barlong
Age:
22-25
,
Female
