The Contender To Be An Avenger

Every year, I’ve tried to get someone a gift, start a tradition, keep a tradition, yet there’s always someone who tries to put it down, asks me why I’m doing that, why I spend the money, waste the time and energy and even care in the first place. 

I’m always asked and told: Why do I need to spend time with my own family on Easter? Won’t a Facetime Valentine’s Day dinner do? Why do you feel the need to go all out on Christmas? Halloween is for children, why are you excited? Just suck it up. These are holidays created by greeting card companies and capitalism, they don’t exist. Just stop caring. They’re all literally just like every other day.

I want to scream at these people to stop trying to take away the special feeling. Stop trying to dim my light because someone did that to you. I feel like I’m tightening my grip, yet they keep pulling harder. Stop trying to take away my magic. Just stop. 

I feel like a doll. People say, “Look at you! You’re so great!” when I do what they like, when I dress how they like. When I say something that agrees with them, they cheer, they say, “Wow, such a great dolly! She says what I like! Say it again!” and I do, because, well, honestly, I’d like a friend, just like every doll dreams about when they sit in their boxes in the toy store, ready to please. 

Once I decide to have my own thoughts, people essentially say, “Oh, Dolly isn’t very fun anymore, I’m going to put her back up on the shelf.” When I wonder what went wrong, other’s say that I went wrong by being myself, and dolls don’t do that, silly!

So I sit there as punishment. I sit there and watch everyone have fun and be themselves, come up with sayings that aren’t only accepted when someone decides to bestow a string pull on you, they can just be. They have friends, plenty of people who enjoy them, and just live life with them. They celebrate everything together, there’s no malice, snide remarks, rudeness, or unfriendliness. 

But this Doll? Nah, she has to stay up on the shelf, Dolly wore the wrong thing, she wanted to look nice in a new dress. Dolly wanted to ask a question out of sheer curiosity. Dolly gave practical advice that would actually help the person complaining, not lie to their face and say their vibe is awesome. Dolly was lame as fuck and didn’t want to drink, since the drink made her feel like shit. Dolly dared to say that she wanted some control over her life. 

Now we can’t have that, can we? 

No worries, Dolly will learn, and she’ll be given the right thing to wear when she’s taken down from the shelf. She’ll be given a voice box that says the right things when her string is pulled, she’ll do whatever you want, all because she wants a friend. She’s been told her whole life how she should love to be alone, isolate herself, and that no one else has who they think they have, but then come the cold nights, filled with a loneliness that can only be described as drowning in an ocean after stepping off the sandbar, arrive, and everyone is having fun but her. The second Dolly falls off the shelf, everyone looks with a shock, wonder what possessed Dolly to do that! Ensure she’s not shattered entirely to a value-decreasing level, and put back up where she belongs. We can’t have Dolly lose value, she’ll be useful someday. Eventually. Hopefully. 

Otherwise, what a waste.

My entire life has felt like a movie set where everyone has a script except me. I ask people where they got their scripts, they pause from studying their large script, with complex notes on the side, clear work done, and this girl closest to me looks at me. She says, “I don’t have a script, why would you think that?” as she licks her finger and turns the page. 

“You have one right there, I can see it, can I at least look at yours?” I ask, hoping and praying to get on the same page before we start rolling.

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about, you should’ve done something beforehand to prevent this feeling” she says, not caring that I’m screaming on the inside. 

“Well you see, I didn’t know where to get a script, I don’t even know how i got to this set in the first place.” It’s true, I genuinely don’t know how I got there or what I’m doing here. I remember working hard for it, I just don’t remember the steps themselves. I know i did it myself, though no one believes me, because how could someone so stupid and disorganized get to the set? They assume I’ll be gone once they weed out the weak, dishonorable, the ones who couldn’t get a fucking script. 

“There IS no script!” she exclaims. “You know, I feel this way all the time, I never know what I’m doing.” No, thats not true you have a script somehow. I don’t. “Now stop tapping your fingers, it’s weirding me out.” See? How did you know that’s weird? Why am i so weird? Why am I the only one here without a script? Who’s in charge? Could it somehow be me? What did i miss? What did I do to deserve this feeling 24/7? Can’t worry about that, I need to figure out how we’re acting today. Am i even an actor? What am i even doing here?

Find someone who can help. That’s what they’re here for, right? They want something done, I’m here to get it done. What is my role? Who do i find? WHAT IS GOING ON? I find someone who is handing out scripts, finally! I rush over as fast as possible, I need a script, I need to figure out something, anything, a single drop of information. 

“Oh! There’s no script,” he says as he’s giving someone else a script. The newest recipient of the script look at ease, since, yes, she got the script, she’s going to be ok. “You don’t need a script anyway.” What? What does that even mean? “You’re perfect the way you are. We all love you here.” the script giver says, eyes empty as he smiles at me. “So, stop being so intense, it’s so annoying.” Ah, there it is. 

Everyone who needs to be here, is now here. I sweat even more than I did beforehand, and it’s noticeable. I feel the eyes of someone staring at me, who says, “I don’t see anything at all!” She’s lying, of course, wearing her dry clothes, sitting in perfect makeup, looking graceful as can be. “Learn to accept yourself. And make sure you remember what you’re supposed to do...correctly this time.” HUH? What does that even mean? What did I even do last time? What did I do ever? 

“PLACES” the director shouts. I panic, where is my place? He looks at me, exasperated. A girl who has had the script from day 1, perfect as can be, runs in late. The only people that look at her give her genuine, warm, smiles. 

“I don’t know-” I start. 

“You never know. You don’t use your head. You just don’t have *it* and you never will if you keep this up.” Keep WHAT up? Simple mistakes? He turns to everyone. “Let’s begin.” 

I’m never ahead, always behind. I adapt, but I’m exhausted. I feel alone even though I’m surrounded by hundreds of people who will say how I’m perfect, and within the same breath tell me how to improve myself. 

“Why aren’t you happy?” many ask. 

“I’m lost and lonely.” I answer. 

“Oh, I wish I had my shit together.” You do. You have a script. You have cast members that go along with your script. You have a world built around a script that YOU have. I don’t have it. 

I feel like I’m drowning. I hear the voices over and over saying how I need to improve, but also lamenting that they have the same problem. The people around me say how I should be happy that I don’t have a script. Why? I’m lost and lonely without one. I’m told I should be happy to be alone, while they surround themselves with people who adore them, as I look through a blue tinted window, air sucked out of the room. The funny thing about air being sucked out of a room, is that you can’t really see it if there’s nothing else in there. Sure, you can gasp for air all you want, but in reality, all people will do is look at you and say, “She’s having another meltdown. Get a grip.” as they type on their phones that people who don’t have scripts need help. 

I see someone, he opens the door. I get my air back. I’m overjoyed. He seems happy to help me. Everyone whispers, “I can’t believe he helped HER. The one without the script.” I can’t believe we’re going on about this damn script, it’s almost not a word anymore, but oh, it’s the most important word out of all of them, yet the semantics of the word itself flows out of my ears like water that’s been kept behind a dam for years. Who is this guy? Why did he help me? I’m so grateful, I barely care. All I know is that when I look at him, I feel relief. I thank him, he says not to mention it, and to keep it on the down low. 

“Hey, where can I get a script by the way?” I ask. He looks at me and then rolls his eyes. 

“There is no script,” he says, annoyed that I dared to ask. Why will no one help me? I don’t want the air sucked out again, I don’t want to drown, I just want a minute of something positive. Please. 

“But everyone ha-” 

“Drop it.”

I do, because I can’t take the disdain anymore, especially from someone I admire so much.