Bitchcraft

She wore a lot of black, listened to screamo music and talked about how much she hated her mom. So, I started to wear black, listen to screamo music, and talk about how much I hated my mom. Sometimes she ignored me for days and other times I could feel her eyes following me. I couldn’t tell which turned me on more.

I don’t romanticize my heartbreak or fixate on my teenage angst anymore, or at least I try not to. These days I do a good enough job of scaring myself on my own without any edgy catholic school girls, vampires or ghosts. Becoming an adult is actually the scariest thing I’ve encountered so far.

The adrenaline rush I’d felt in high school doesn’t feel as good as it used to. On one handthis is a good thing my desire for darkness was often self destructive. On the other hand, I now panic at the first sign of discomfort. I no longer feel invincible. A good scare is nice every once in a while, but I try to remind myself that everything doesn’t need to be so dark. I tell myself that I deserve some light.