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Bernadette Lewis is your average teenage girl who loves indie music & films, trying to be unique in a world where everything isn't normal. She goes through high school being insecure. She doesn't r...
I just feel lonely.
I can’t explain it but I feel empty inside. I try to cheer my self up by reading romance stories and listening to love songs but that just gets me more depressed. So, I listen to depressing music which makes me more depressed.
It’s a cycle, really.
I try to fill the emptiness with food but that doesn’t work. Eating junk food just makes me feel sluggish so I try to eat healthy for a weekend. On the following Monday, I crack and stuff my face.
Sometimes, my body just starts shaking and I can’t control it. It usually happens when I’m by myself so no one can see it. I just wait for the fit to stop and then I keep on going with life.
Even when I am surrounded by my friends and watching a funny movie, I still feel the emptiness. I have this yearning for closeness to a boy. Yet, when ever I can tell a boy how I feel, I chicken out and start punishing myself for being so inconsiderate of my own feelings. I am not talking about a specific boy: just boys in general. I dream of marrying my College sweetheart and having kids and being happy. But I never seem to really try to communicate with the opposite sex other than flirtatious winks and small talk. No deep relationships, no confiding of childhood secrets. It seems to be able to do this I need to have known them for years. Oh! Woe is me!
Look at me, Miss Melodramatic.
I tell my heart to this computer because it has no heart and doesn’t give me funny looks whenever it sees me: thank god.
These are the times I wish I had a pet who I could tell my deepest, darkest secrets to and it would still love me. Both my parents agree we should get a dog but my mom keeps on saying “Oh but, Barbara, will you be committed to walking the dog and feeding it because it will be your pet?” Thanks, Mommy, for boosting my confidence about the fact I am a commitephobe.
First of all, I really should tell you about me so you won't think I'm just a loony with no life.
Name: Bernadette Lewis (call me Berny)
Birthday: October 7, 1994
Favorite Song: New Romantic by Laura Marling
Favorite Book: A Great and Terrible Beauty
Favorite Movie: Anything with Harrison Ford in it – shame he’s old enough to be my Granddad
Favorite Sport: To Watch: FOOTBALL!!! NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS RULE!!!
To Play: Soccer… god, I love kicking people’s shins
Dream Occupation: President of the United States / Actress (I know, I am ambitious)
There, you go, a bit of information about me to keep you interested. So, let’s talk about my family in general. I am part German, Italian, Portuguese (the part I am most proud of), Polish, Russian, English, Irish, Scottish, French-Canadian (I am one fourth French Canadian), Mic Mac Indian, and many other things my dad found out about my family. See, my dad loves history and loves telling people stories about the Spidle family. He was a sailor and has a son from another marriage who has a daughter and a son who I adore. He lives near Olympia, Washington with his wife Lilly and works with the Native Americans to help with the salmon because he is a marine biologist. Sadly, I never got really close to him. I think, because my mom is only ten years older than him. My dad had his son, Adrian: named after my dad, my granddad (who died before I was born), and my great granddad, when my dad was 20. My father and his first wife were married for quite some time because of my brother but sadly, problems divided them and they divorced. My dad then married someone I don’t even know the name of and quickly divorced. I never really knew anything about her, never seen a picture ever, and my dad never talks about her. Then, he met my mommy. My mommy is an amazing cook and that is what brought them together: food. Which reminds us of the old saying “The only way to get to Man’s heart is through his stomach.” My mom grew up in a small town near the border of Rhode Island with her parents and three sisters in stark contrast to how my father grew up in New York with his three brothers. One of my father’s brothers, the youngest Roderick, died before I was born and was followed by my grandfather. My other uncle, Alfred or Ally Pie as he was called, died a couple of years ago and was followed by my grandmother who, I think, died of a broken heart. I know there all in heaven smiling down on me.
As I said my mom, Cindy, has three sisters: all alive and well. My favorite, Aunt Louisa, lives in Maine with her cats and her son and daughter, Nicholas and Gwen, visit her while they are on vacation from College. Her ex-husband realized he was gay and now lives in England with his life-partner. My cousin, Nick, is very funny and is a lady-charmer. His sister, Alexis, is boy-charmer and was a cheerleader and wants to be a nutritionist. My other aunt, Aunt Ann Marie, lives in California in a big house with her husband, Brad, and my other cousins: Helena and Michael. My aunt Bria is a lawyer who used to work for the state of California but now she has decided to start teaching law. My only remaining uncle, Uncle Aaron, is some big hotshot smart person who I have no idea what he does for a living but my dad always says he is really smart. His son really inherited his sense of humor, or lack thereof. They both have a dry wit. My cousins who live in California are the hopeful big shots. They’re blond, athletic, and smart: everyone in my family expects them to succeed. All we cousins try to fight for the spotlight. My Grandma lives an hour away and I love her very much. My grandpa, her husband, died last spring and she is taking it very hard. I hate seeing her cry and I really want her to know Grandpa is in a better place without any pain and he is with all his family.
And now…. MY HOMELIFE!!! AHH!!!! Just kidding, I love it. I live in a big 8-bedroom, 6 and a ½ bathroom house on the Main Street of a small city. We currently have 15 people living here and no bed is empty. There are all from different countries that came here to learn English. Dinner usually has 10 people sitting elbow-to-elbow eating my mom’s scrumptious food she works so hard on and then it disappears forever. How sad to work so hard and the only rewards are sighs of content from us demolishers and some crumbs on our plates. Sadly, that is the life of a housewife. She spends at least two hours every weekday in the car to drop me off and pick me up from school. If you are reading this mommy, sorry!! My dad works at home arranging appointments between software companies and businesses. He has two people working for him. He used to own a translation business with my mom for 11 years but sadly, it fell apart. My father doesn’t like to be pushed around and loves having his own businesses.
And here I am, late at night (or early in the morning, I should say), writing a diary when it seems I have nothing in the world to worry about. Just another teenage girl who thinks she has issues. Another girl who loves indie music, indie films, British television. I like to think I am unique. But the truth is, there are thousands of girls out there just like me, thinking they are special. We are alike. The good thing, at least we have someone who thinks like us. And that optimistic thought… terrifies me.