Friday, 09 January 2009

• Who Am I? Who are You?

  
  

  This is a challenge from SoAnonyMiss's blog. You can find it HERE. Basically, you write the quote (found below) by John Jakes at the top of your blog. Then you tell everyone about yourself, and be honest. Tell what you'd never thought you'd tell anyone.
  

  
  

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  Be yourself. Above all, let who you are, what you are, what you believe shine through every sentence you write, every piece you finish." -John Jakes

   

  Who Am I?

  
  

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        That is the one question that has come up so many times over the years for me. It is also the question I struggle the most with. There is no correct answer to this question. It’s not yes or no, true or false. It’s who you are, not your name and not what you do. Over the years, my answer to the question has changed faster than Madonna in the 80’s.

   

   I was born Andrea E. Mueller, on December 8th. I was born to the youngest child and only daughter to “Paula” and “Arlen” Mueller. They were (and still are) devout in their faith. From when I was born to when I was about nine years old I was a happy child. I was a naïve tomboy. I lived life for God and my parents. My best friends were my brothers. We played video games, watched TV., and played games together all the time. Then, 9/11 happened. A nine year old should never watch people fall to their deaths on national TV. Even though the people experiencing this tragedy first hand were across the country, the events of that day affected me greatly. I believe it was that day I realized just how short life was. I become obsessed with time following then. Counting the years I had left remaining a child. I counted how many years before high school, college, the real world. I realized that we will all die alone one day. Like I said, so child should watch that sort of thing. Around this time I remerged myself into stories and books. My favourites at the time were Fever 1793 and Harry Potter (Which I would have started to read during the first grade, but I had convinced myself that I was not ready for a book like it yet – I’ve always been a “smart kid” like that.) I was enraptured by these fables of characters who could overcome the odds. Some could even overcome death. I would pity and sometimes favour the villains, for the great ones had seemed to realize the same things that I did. They lived for themselves and not according to the rules of others. Those villains had granted me the epiphany that knowledge was power, and I became even more studious. From the age of nine to twelve, I decided that I was going to try and retain a childlike innocence and naiveté. I eventually did, but in the process I had become completely oblivious to the thoughts, emotions, wants and feelings of others. For me it was almost too dangerous. I had become a selfish, bratty child in the process. In order to understand the next part of this tale, I must tell you something else first. I have always been afraid to tell others secrets about myself, to let them into my psyche. I abhor asking others for help. I have been like this for as long as I can remember, and at that age it was much, much worse. Even in that age I was concerned with appearances, to me, even if you asked a question to a teacher or adult for help you were an idiot who, “just didn’t get it”. Failure in private was better then indecency in public. Of course, I wasn’t completely introverted. I had realized also at a young age that people don’t ask too many questions about what you’re like if you act even a little bit extroverted. Anyways, when I went into junior high my world was shattered. At that age, people do not like bratty kids anymore. I went from being the nice and pleasant girl that people would hear out to the bratty, nerdy kid that only a few people actually liked. I struggled to fit in at that age, and eventually I decided to hell with fitting in. I wasn’t really myself though. Instead of fitting in, I decided to be different from everyone else. I can say with a grimace and a bit of pride that I was the first kid in my grade level to like anime. I was also the first to wear converse at my school. I would read “deep” books. I would wear ties; I would hate the colour pink only because the colour pink was a colour that represented females. I would watch, draw, and read anime/manga. I would get a myspace and decorate it with punk pictures. I would like the rock bands. I would wear tons of eyeliner, cut my hair short, wear ties over my excessive array of black t-shirts, wear jeans with holes and writing on them, and I would wear all of this to church. I would be different and everyone would know who I was. I guess eventually everyone had a clue that this probably wasn’t the real me. That’s when the word poseur started to appear next to my name. I struggled with this concept. I figured that nobody could hate me. After all, I was a smart, Christian girl who marched to her own beat. I guess, I refused to face the fact that even though there were inklings of whom I was in that façade, that it just wasn’t really me. Eventually, in the 8th grade I finally snapped. I became withdrawn and depressed. I faltered and failed in my schoolwork, turning the majority of It in late or not at all. I began to harm myself. I used a blade to take out all of the confusion or what was happening around me. I did this for about I year, keeping to myself. All the while I would keep up appearances of this weird but happy teen. One person figured it out. He was a complete stoner - and still is. He knew somewhat how I felt though. He was also intelligent and in the advanced classes like myself. He numbed his emotional pain through drugs; I numbed mine through physical pain. The only reasons that I would/will never take drugs or alcohol is the fact that I wasn’t raised that way, they destroy your body from the inside, and they ruin your talents. He knew why I wore black sweatbands around my wrists everyday. We each had our own addictive poisons. Ironically, through his help, I eventually decided to rant about it on another blogging site. Then out of idiocy or brilliance, I decided to post a link to that blog. This was my only “verbal’ cry for help I ever made. Somehow, my parents found it. I thank God for that, who knows what, would have happened if I kept going on like I did. I already had words etched into my skin forever. At first they didn’t know how to handle me. The façade I had up had even fooled them. My mom eventually grabbed my wrists to check if it was true, and that held me down (as I tried to writhe away) while my dad asked me questions to which I answered very vaguely. At one point I led them to believe that I heard voices, as I was trying to explain to them that I liked to hold conversations with my heroes from books, movies, and real life in my head (I still didn’t trust others). That following other questions lead them somehow to believe I might be possessed by a demon. They even asked me if I was, and what my demon name was. I laughed at them and told them that I was in no way possessed as I was a “Christian”. Eventually they came to the conclusion that I was only feeling this was because I wasn’t sleeping as often as I should. As you can tell, insomnia was only a side effect of the real problem. I just couldn’t sleep, and they thought I was just not going to bed on time. Ironically, this whole ordeal happened a year before the word emo was first applied to me and to this day I still find that whole conversation a tad bit humourous. From then on, they watched me like a hawk. I was myself around them, but I was not open to them. They didn’t like the new me though. My mom didn’t especially like me. We don’t get along, now or then. If I was being defiant in her eyes she would hit me without any second thought about it. Yes, I would have bruises, but I would not cry. Crying usually would end with being told to stop whining and another slap, or hit. Sometimes she would tell me that I could do something and then hit me and ask me why I did it. I don’t hate my mother, and I forgive her. I really think the fact that her darling, baby daughter wanted to kill herself really took a number on her sanity. This was about when my “relationship” with Christ ultimately failed. I believe there is a God,  but a relationship with Christ has never really been my own. It was my parent’s relationship, and it was their relationship that ultimately destroyed mine. I read the story of Christ and the Bible more like classical Greek myths, I thank the Lord for what he’s done, but more like a child who has just received a cookie. For children just take the sweet and quickly thank who made it because they gave it to them, and not because they made it just for them. I became a tad bit happier, and I graduated from eighth grade with mediocre grades. Between eighth grade and freshman year I met one of my best friends. She also had a mother who wasn’t completely stable like mine. I was closer with her than anyone else I had previously been friends with. When freshman year came around, I was finally comfortable being myself around others, but I wasn’t able to be open around myself to others. I did meet a few great people I reconnected with the few people I nearly ran away from. Unknowingly, these few people really helped me get over with what I had dealt with. I also allowed myself to get involved with something I loved: theatre. I got involved heavily and those also and involved became my family. My biological family had become my second family. I love these people to death and I can truly feel open with them no matter what. However, I was struggling to keep up with the homework load because I was not used to doing work, let alone a large amount (for some reason I was taking a lot of advanced classes). I eventually failed the second semester of this really advanced English class. (Ironically, English has always been my best subject.) Although I wasn’t the greatest I could have been that year, it really was a year of healing for me. I attended school that summer and I was able to pick up some great study habits. When this year, came around I was able to keep up with my classes and get a major part in my school’s play. I also really came into my fashion style and political sense. I now act towards others openly and I don’t hide who I am just so I can please them. I also got into a few relationships I probably shouldn't have. In once case, he was into theatre, photography, the same music as me, art, literature, and some anime. He was pretty much amazing. This wasn’t a happy ending though; it was actually a bit of a melancholic one. We both mutually agree that it would be better if we broke up. I don't think I miss him quite terribly, and I don’t think I will meet anyone quite the same as him.  First semester ended, and I passed everything with flying colours. Second semester started and it was good. Then I met another guy who I shouldn't have gone out with. I used him as some form of emotional stability for I had entered another "Andi goes fucking insane" periods. I tried to make him happy, but it ended up not working. I screwed over a lot of people with that relationship doing what I do best: using others to my advantage. I guess that's the downfall of being a Slytherin. I also participated in the play again that semester but my life was just to twisted that I even screwed that up. Then my grades began to slip in all my classes because I was just too fucked up in the head to focus. I ended up failing another class, great huh? I lost a few friends too. It sucks, I know. I was a terrible friend and I didn't even realise it. I was too busy in my own little world, daydreaming about when I would get out of this hell hole called Arizona. In the end, I don't think I was created to have any serious relationships. I also don't think I'll ever really be happy with where I'm at in life. Perpetual wanderlust. I use others way too much and I'm extremely self-absorbed. I'm just one fucked up Sadomasochist living in a completely hedonistic lifestyle. This is about where this section of my story concludes, but not where it ends. For you see, the rest of my life has yet to be written.

   

              So you ask me who I am. Well, to outsiders I am a theatre, choir, art, and Harry Potter nerd with Indie styles and British tastes. To my friends I am an outgoing, spontaneous, and witty person. To my biological family I am the rehabilitating trouble child. To my teachers I am a bright young girl who is passing her classes. To my art friends I am a pretty good anime and realism artist with an interesting taste in music. To my nerd friends I am the girl who loves to play video games , knows about memes and troll twitards. To my theatre family I am a dedicated thespian and leader. To you I am what you take and what you see. I am someone who has made mistakes. I have done things I shouldn’t have. I have done things I will always remember. I have meet great people and influenced others. I have been to hell and back. I have danced with the devil and liked it. I am a human being. I am me.

  
  

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  Obviously, a person's life can not be completely told. However, it can be summarized. So I have taken the events from my life that have been the most defining for my character. 2404 words will never fully describe a person. Only by getting to know a person will be how you are able to describe them, and I can not describe myself to you. Your description of others is based on what you have experienced with them. So, I have described myself in my most defining moments that you have missed. I hope you have enjoyed this lovely piece of 91210, now get out.
  I'm seriously not serious here!
  :)
  Peace, and cheers.
  

  
  

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