Today I was thinking about things of the past that never seem to go away. Sitting at the library I was reading Artists and Enemies as I wait for the computer to come free. Then everyone left, but long behold my reservation for the thing made it so I had to wait 5 minutes to log on finally.
Well anyway, earlier I posted something about a Monique Dirkson on the Internet. I feel I should say something more. Though things have been hard for me personally I find it hard to just let it go.
We didn’t know eachother very long or very well. She had many problems in school and I wonder if she graduated. After an incident similar to my own, she would constantly run away from home. I always wondered why, then one day she told me. Her Older Brother had taken her to a party where she had gotten in trouble. I could see the trust barriers went up after that. She didn’t feel safe anywhere why not live on the street.
Often her parents would even go so far as accusing her of being a hooker. It was rude. They buy her nice stuff when she got back and when she got back she call me up again. It was an odd thing. I could kind-of relate to why she always ran away, but I always felt more protected at home.
She was very beautiful. She had long blond hair. We even did our hair kind-of alike. Long with curled bangs in front. She always curled her hair more and wore make-up. I guess I was more plain. One day I explained it to her and she relaxed some too. I just didn’t like getting hit on all the time and I wasn’t even blond. I like more comfortable clothes too.
Well things had always been indifferent. We were friends, but I would wften hide things and lie. Even when she was nice it was hard to respect her. She couldn’t protect me, she couldn’t protect herself. I looked down on her a lot.
Even when she told me a guy she lived with when she ran away from home had hit her, I thought she was pathetic. I had talked to other run aways before. They people that so-called loved them would beat them and yell at them daily. My friends just put up with it for a cell phone and a car. It was low, but I was a little clouded.
After I first stopped talking to her I would bitch about her but only in public when someone I knew, knew her was there. It sparked the hatred in me. I learned to control it and not say anything at all at any time. Lately I have seen her here and there. Once on the side of the road. It looked like her car stalled and once when in the library. She was just sitting there. It was in Austin. Actually, it was twice. Once in a black wig and once looking like normal.
Anyway, after reading my book my rant became more of a getting stuff off my chest. It still pisses me off more than anything when she told me to start calling her a virgin after I got rapped and guys at the club were approaching me like they thought I was a protitute. Guess there is no winning.