My name’s Molly, and I’ve lived an MTV life:
When I was twelve I was made into a prom queen. I was a skater-chick with eyeliner and my girls. I didn’t fit in at my middle school. I was an outsider and everyone made fun of me in three second clips. But then all that changed. With the help of my coach, and an etiquette lesson I completely reinvented my whole self. And 36 days later I was a queen.
But the weight of the tiara grew too heavy. I was sick of being the most popular and prettiest girl in the school. I couldn’t take the pressure. I cracked. I started stealing things. Any thing I can get my hands on. Jewelry from Claire’s, candy from convenient stores, songs off the Internet. And it was only a matter of time until I got caught. I got busted big and they sent me upstate.
To Juvies. I served my time there, and tried to make the best of it. It was really scary, and kind of sad. I was silent a lot of the time. I even started to sing. Some good came out of it though. I told myself I’d never steal again. And, my parents stood by me and told me that when I got out they would throw me a huge party to welcome me back. They said I could have anything I wanted.
After all, I was turning sixteen. And it was super sweet. I did a Green Mile theme and for my entrance I had two prison guards walk me in, sit me in an electric chair, pull a big switch and then the chair lit up into a throne and giant dancing monkeys came out from all different doors. It signified my freedom. My dress was so hot. I looked good.
Which is why Luke fell in love with me that night. Luke, my one, true love. Who I got Engaged to. I know, we were Underage, you don’t have to tell me that. But, we were young and stupid and in love with our stupidity, so we got married.
We were as happy as Newlyweds on a brand new Wednesday. We traveled, and laughed, and bought a big house. We were so happy. But, it wasn’t to last. We grew apart, Luke and I. I still loved him, but there was too much world to see, too many other men to love. I couldn’t live this sheltered existence.
I had to go out and find myself in the Real World. So I moved into a gigantic apartment with moose-heads on the wall and six other mousse-heads as roommates and was handed a job. I loved it. It was so real. I felt so alive. I was back to my wild ways. I was going to tear my twenties up.
But it only lasted four months, and then I was shit out of luck. I had to duel with my roommates just so I could get a giant pay-check. I was living challenge to challenge. And I had no other way to make any money.
I tried a brief music career, but who was I kidding, I couldn’t sing. I was lost and helpless in the world. There was nothing left for me to do. I was useless. Dead-broke, and not even worth a True Life.
It’s been a really rough time for me. If I died I don’t even think I’d make News. I haven’t had a camera in my face, or a boom-mic hung over my head, or a make-up artist in months. I don’t even know how to exist in this fake world. I knew reality, but this unscripted fantasy life just isn’t for me. I don’t have the imagination to get out of bed every morning.
I miss the fame. The attention. The back-light. Having all eyes on me. I miss having my life dissected by bloggers and people who post message board responses to bloggers. I miss my time-slot. I miss reality.
I just don’t knows what I’ll do now. Get married again, have a kid or two, fade even further into the fake world? I mean, it might be nice to live chronologically. Not having to worry about remembering what I have to say. I definitely won’t miss the confessionals. Or the commercials
Maybe the fake world will have some benefits after all. Plus, if I ever get too sad, I guess I can always slide on my sweat-pants, curl up on the couch with a bottle of wine, pull out my old DVD collection, and watch myself episodically grow up.
