Bryn LaTrain's Story: Chapter One

I said I would start at the beginning didn't I? I changed my mind. I'll start with a disclaimer and then I'll start telling my story from somewhere in the middle. I've never really been one to follow traditions anyway. I don't want this to sound like a long drawn out rant by some naive girl with tons of pent up teenage angst. That's not what it is at all. This is the story about why everyone hates me. This is a collection of the events that led to my downward spiral in to madness. This is not a story about me hating the world, this is a story about the world hating me.

That little white pill-- that damned white pill that's a daily reminder that you're going out of your way to take a pill to make it easier for this boy to sleep at night after he screws you. You have to pay money for the pill, money that you don't really have to begin with. Your parents aren't happy with you, they always thought that they instilled good morals, they always thought that you'd save sex for marriage, for when the man would truly cherish it. They aren't mad, they're just disappointed, and you're the type of person that can't handle disappointing people. It eats you up inside, slowly, from the inside creeping slowly outwards. It's a greedy parasite that steals the soul that you need to keep a firm grasp on sanity. The pill also screws with your body, physically and emotionally. Your hormones are ALL fucked up, so you're moody most of the time, and little things that never really bothered you before will leave you crying and gasping for breath when you can't remember to save your life why you started crying to begin with. Your body's also changing, something you're not really accustomed to anymore, puberty was a few years ago, enough time for you to forget how much it sucked. The fact that your hormones are in absolute chaos doesn't help you accept the changes any better. Plus, the changes make you feel like a fucking pig. You can tell you're gaining weight, even if no one else can tell. You don't feel sexy at all. Just thinking the word sexy makes you want to throw up. You don't even want the guy you're sleeping with to touch you, and it pisses you off when he tries to. So what's the point of taking the pill anyways? If you're not going to want to have sex, why take it?

See? All that emotion tied to one tiny little white pill. That tiny little white pill sat in the palm of my pale, shaking hand one night, around ten o'clock. That tiny little white pill sat there and acted like it wasn't doing anything wrong while I glared at it as all of these thoughts rushed through my head that Winter night, just like they had every night since I started taking the pill. So I flushed that little white motherfucker down the toilet.