Okay, so I posted this on a different site's forum and got some pretty good feedback. I wrote this probably last year and I think I want to continue with this story. Give me some feedback, positive or negative. Help me out :]
Analyze Me: Lovely
I guess you can call me pretty. I'm not really sure. I've had boyfriends. I've had sex. I've never been in love. Maybe since we weren't in love, they used me; maybe, they didn't like me at all; maybe, I'm just a practice girl. I'm not sure what I am, they called me beautiful, but my name's Lovely.
I guess you can call me pretty. I'm not really sure. I've had boyfriends. I've had sex. I've never been in love. Maybe since we weren't in love, they used me; maybe, they didn't like me at all; maybe, I'm just a practice girl. I'm not sure what I am, they called me beautiful, but my name's Lovely.
Yes, my name is Lovely, no it's not a joke. It's original, my dad picked it. I love my daddy, yes, I still call him daddy from time to time. He's amazing, we are exactly the same, except he likes mushrooms on his pizza. Susanne, I will never call that woman mother, she's another story all together. Nothing, swear to God, swear to Buddha, Confucious, Allah, whatever god you prefer, I swear to them all, we have nothing in common. In fact, we hate eachother, yet I live with her.
My parents divorced six months ago, near the begining of May. The court asked me which parent I wanted to live with, I said my dad. They said no. Why? Their excuse was that I was seventeen and in my senior year, Susanne didn't want me to switch schools, and my daddy lived out of the district. Bull****. My dad told me that Susanne told the court he was a drunk, so they deemed him incapable of raising a child.
My father was never a drunk. Sure, he drank quite a bit after he found Susanne cheating on him, but he was never a drunk. For the next month, he drank steadily, then he asked for a divorce. Once she agreed, he swore never to drink again and, well, we'll get to that story later. So, Susanne was horrible to him and my dad was perfect towards her. I don't know what he saw in her.
Despite his taste in women, I love my daddy indeed. When I was little, we always had Daddy-Daughter days. On those days, we were like peas and carrots, peanutbutter and jelly, spaghetti and sauce; we were inseperable. I eventually outgrew those days, but after the divorce I became his Little Princess all over again. Every weekend, you could find the two of us watching comedies, gossiping, eating bowl after bowl of icecream, and falling asleep on the couch.
This is me, Lovely Hammon, and that's my life, or was my life. Daddy's girl, mother hater, and all around freak.
Not freak as in necropheliac, lesbian pedophile, nymphomanic, or anything extreme of that sort. But yes, I am a freak. I am sitting here, in this sterile white bed, in my white ward clothes, writing for my new overpriced psychotherapist to analyze.
Terry, that was his name, my first therapist. Sound like a nice guy, right? That's his whole image, all around nice guy. Twenty-three years old, straight from Med School, messy chestnut brown hair, beautiful distracting green eyes, band shirts, jeans, and Converse. Yes, Converse; Size thirteen and a half black hightops with checkered laces. Sounds amazing, right? That's why I fell in love with him. He was my anchor, my person whom I could share my entire mind, and life, with, even though I've only known him for these last ten months.
All these troubles of mine, this freak in me, all started back, just barely over eleven months ago, a few weeks before Christmas.
