Episode 5…Change.

Oddly enough, the day after I wrote about Hell, it got changed once again. Now, Hell is Tartarus.

This time, the change is more physical than… mental, I guess. The chat room server they’re using has changed. Now, one must sign in to enter a chat room. I have not bothered checking out the new service, but given the look of things, it’ll ruin any fun I was having.

I will probably no longer be an Important Person, which gives me no reason to stick around for their sake. I’m sure that only about 10 people there total actually like me, because sometimes they treat me the same way they treat the Newlings that are eventually banned from the premises. I don’t know why they dislike me so, though it probably has to do with the fact that everyone loved me way back when or how I was an Important Person when no one else thought I “did anything to deserve it,” or maybe because I no longer have any interest in anything they do – but that’s all their fault, because they totally ruined everything for me.

Whatever the reason, I don’t know. I do, however, know that Hell was not deleted. Perhaps, in a month or so, I’ll check in there to see if anyone still uses that room. It’s secret, but some of the smarter people still have the link. The odd thing is, they didn’t believe it last night when it was revealed that I dislike all of them (and there’s truth to that, there’s about 5 or so members I actually do approve of nowadays.)

I’m not used to being so homeless, but this time, I don’t think I have a choice. I need a new resting place. Any suggestions?

Episode 4…Times.

Another large aspect of my life is the internet, one chat room in particular.

I stumbled into Haven a few months over a year ago, when Judgment grew to be boring. Forums were “nice” (and Judgment was full of ‘em) but a chat room was faster paced and therefore “better.” Only the Forum Games on Judgment were fast enough for me, but even then I was the only player at times, so Haven was perfect for me.

When I logged on for the very first time, there were only four people on – which is nowadays very unusual, but then was the norm. All four of those people would play huge roles at different times in my life later on, as luck would have it. After a bit of slow moving typing, I decided I was going to win the hearts of every single person on there by being the sweetest girl I could be, become greatly popular, then mirror that personality into my school life. Things didn’t exactly turn out that way. At least, not following the plan.

As my life progressed, I ended up walking out a few times. Each time was for a little bit of attention, I guess, though more so for my own good – that stupid chat room was stressing me out and I could not control it much. Not to mention, come High School I started to wake up and realize how pathetic all of those people are. I stopped listening to their radio show, stopped going on their site, and once I got over the addiction I found myself to be much happier. Twice, by pure fate, I found myself to be back for another round.

Between my most recent leave and my most recent return, two new Important People were crowned. I myself was an Important Person, knowing right from the start that I might be but acting like I didn’t. When I returned from that vacation, Haven turned to Hell. I had thought this change was made several months ago, back in November, but no, it was at its all time low now. The people were totally appalling and grotesque. the Important People were overtaking the Regulars and the Newlings totally, and I found myself embarrassed to be an Important Person and expected to contribute to such barbaric mania. I wished both to lose my power so no one could fear or blame me, but I also wished to keep it so I could keep whatever hope of fixing the place I had. In the end, I’m content with staying an Important Person but acting like a Regular.

Yesterday, and Old Friend came on. Old Friends are Regulars of the chat that have been there for a particularly long time, coming before or shortly after I did. Jack had been denied Regular privlages back last April or so, and demoted to being a Newling. I can’t totally remember why, but I believe it was because he hacked in a video game, cursed at an Important Person, and not many people liked him. He was the second of countless cases in which everyone in Hell gains up on one person who made the mistake of getting on one person’s nerves.

Delighted, I named Jack a Regular, well aware that this action wouldn’t be well recieved with the other Old Friends. Many of the New Friends were glad I did, and I knew I might get in trouble, but honestly didn’t care. Sure enough, another Important Person/Old Friend, Kevin, came on and demoted Jack back to being a Regular. He then told me that I was wrong, as if I care more about how I upset a very few people than how those few people were being crazy mean to an immense ammount of other people. Which, I don’t.

I’ve watched this happen in my school. One of the greatest lessons I’ve learned from Hell: isolation sets the genuinly cool people apart from the scum that think they’re cool. In other words, I never want to feel “Nerd Pride” again. Nerd boys are the lowest forms of life in the world, just as Keke Palmer states in “The Game Song”.

**”Haven” and “Jugement” as well as all other Proper Nouns are just substitutes to aid in avoiding angry mobs. “Haven” and “Hell” are one in the same – but “Hell” is “Haven” post-November 2008.

Episode 3…Imperfect.

According to a chinese zodiac placemat I had when I was 5, the dog and the dragon can not get along well. This was repetedly proven by my mother and I.

My father was the one who took care of me when I was little, and Mother was the one that worked. She worked a lot, 9 to 5 every weekday, an hour away. I can’t remember too many times that I was very happy around her, though there is a home video of me when I was two and very excited that she had just gotten home from work. I wish I could remember that, but the earliest memory I have of her is much more dark and quite disturbing, now that I’m older and know what’s right.

We used to ave an attachment for our bath tub that was like a shower, but in a hose. One night, Mother was giving me a bath. I think I wanted to use the hose myself, but she wouldn’t let me. I started to cry in protest (a loud, obnoxious, whiny cry, I’ll admit it.) and she wouldn’t have any of it. Mother grabbed the back of my head and held me in place as she sprayed the water in my face, long enough that I started breathing it in but not long enough for me to suffer any real damage. I’ve been scared of her, as well as of getting water in my face in the shower, ever since.

The worst experience I ever had with Mother, though, happened sometime between when I first grew hair and when I was 9. Mommy was always a little too rough on my hair, brushing me the way a little girl would a baby doll. I was always scared of her with a brush in her hand, and that night was no exception. The pointless pulling got to the point that I insisted my dad finish, the request backed up by some tears. My mother had some tear of her own to release.

“You knoe what? I am SO dissapointed in you. I always wanted a little girl so I could do her hair and paint her nails and dress her up in cute dresses. I was so excited when I found out I was having a girl. But what are you? You won’t let me do ANY of those things! You’re a horrible daughter, a  horrible girl!”

With that, her stream of tears took over, and my father finished my hair. I have never let her brush my hair or do my nails or buy me cute dresses unless I really, desperately needed her to since.

Of course, there have been some good times I’ve had with my mother. She’s taken me to concerts, bought me some pretty cool things… Though, I’ve always been jealous of my friends for being so close to their moms. I’m not permitted to talk to my mom like a friend – I feel trapped in some Olde English literature, each sentence teaming with undue respect.

I love Taylor Swift, but I can’t listen to “The Best Day” without crying. No other song does that to me so severly.

Episode 2…Equus.

Let me tell you about the horses.

Horses have always been a huge part of my life, for as long as I can remember. My dad forced old 1940′s westerns on me, though I never much liked them unless there were a ton of horses featured. He also used to play a lot of wild west inspired table RPGs, which left me with numerous tiny plastic equines and a number of finely crafted plastiv olympic-outfit dressage riders to go with them. There were also horse images, stuffed ponies, and horse crazy movies in my early childhood. The Last Unicorn was my facorite movie of all time then… and still is.

I started riding horses when I was 9. I still remember my very first lesson so clearly – I couldn’t stop smiling, and totally felt on top of the world. I had finally made my dream come true. I also made great friends with my riding teacher, who, even though I don’t ride with her anymore, I still adore and talk to when I can. She was like the mother I never had. My real mother, while still alive, just doesn’t understand children. She’s your classic Disney workaholic, and I have hardly any good memories of her, to be honest. But I continue to live with her, just as a much more reserved and quiet person than I’d like to be.

Back on topic, horses mean so much to me. They’re the only things I feel like I can draw well, even though I know that’s not true, and they’re the only things I ever feel like drawing. I stopped riding a few months ago altogether, just weeks after losing my ability to ride Retribution, my favorite horse, whom I took care of all of that summer on my own.  The week I found out I couldn’t ride him anymore, I cried myself to sleep every night. I was miserable in school, so much that even my friends noticed at one point. When it came time for my last lesson with him, which ended in me loading him onto the trailer to go to his new home, I totally lost it. I cried more than I ever have before in the car on the way to the new farm, and I think even my parents may have noticed. They never seem to notice when I cry. Or, if they do, they tell me I shouldn’t be crying because whatever I’m crying about is all my fault and I should take responsibility for it, rather than running away like I do.

Horses don’t judge me like that. In fact, they help me get over myself. It doesn’t take much for a horse to love you, but when they do, at least you know you matter to someone.

Episode 1…Tori

My name is Tori. This blog is my journal. The story of me.

For my first post, I’ll tell you, my readers, about myself. What I know, anyway. I can’t tell you about myself, as I don’t know much on that topic. However, I can tell you where I’ve been and why I am what I am.

My life started as everyone else’s does, when a Mommy and a Daddy and blablabla. It’s pretty average, maybe even above that. I still have both of my parents, a younger brother, all three of the grandparents I started with… the only major loss I’ve had is my great grandmother, who I refused to see after she was moved to a nursing home, anyway. I didn’t cry. I did cry for the horses, though, And myself. those are two different kidns of losses, though, and might be discussed later.

I’m a freshman in high school, your typical living-in-a-small-town-and-wants-to-get-out kidna girl. Except I don’t want to move to the big city, I’d rather go someplace even smaller. Not quieter, just cozier. I’m awkward and geeky, but not totally ugly. Insecure and unconfident, but brave when necessary. I don’t brag or boast about my modest eprsonality, though I do state the facts I’ve heard time and time again from others if I feel the need to. My self-esteem is mediocre. I used to care about every little thing that happened,  I had an issue with every little thing someone said or did, and used to pray that they’d stop. I’ve learned, though, that praying and wishing and hoping just doesn’t work all the time. The only surefire way to any success is is the direct approach. Being someone who doesn’t totally trust the world aside from the select few of her select few, I resorted to not caring. Period.

Have you ever noticed, almost every book or movie is NOT about typical, average people? The mothers are dead or the fathers left them of the friends all hate them or they’re too popular for their own good. I am not one of these people. I am me, Tori, a girl who wishes she could be one of those people so that she’d have a reason to be so sad all the time. As with most people, I wear a facade all the time. Bubbly, sweet, caring and intelligent by school, though I magically become rude, selfish, dumb and anti-social each time I reach home, and I’m not quoting myself. That is jsut what I’ve been told, so that is all that I know. I sometimes wonder if my friends wonder why I don’t join them after school or on the weekends. Do they know there’s more than “a doctor’s appointment” or why “I simply don’t feel like it”? Do they even care? I secretly hope they do, but I bet they don’t.

I suppose that if I could pretend I were an ominescent friend, I could step outside myself and evaluate when I am. Or, at least, what I think I seem like. I could divide myself into 3 parts, understanding any subdivisions are subject to change. I am made of the schooltime Victoria, the hometime Tori, and the internet sensation, Ria. These are not my real names, mind you, as are none of the names and proper nouns that can be found throughout this story. I simply recently decided that another name change that can still support my previous two “Ria”s was in order, and Victoria was a prime contestant. My friend Ari suggested Tori, which lead to this.

That is all I can think of about me. Follow me as I learn more, myself.