Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > It All Started With Clay S'mores.
A/N: This is about to take a serious turn fast. BTW, this chapter isn't formatted into paragraphs. Hopefully it makes since as to why I did this.
Tiara Bickens was a peculiar girl, always had been. She was the type of child who collected both Batman action figures and My Little Ponies. She’d preferred dinner to dessert, and loved to mix sour and sweet things together, much to the disgust of others (For instance, ice cream and pickle juice). Her favorite color was brown, and she actually ate the mud pies she created. However, Tiara was bad at handling things. For instance, her parents’ divorce when she was 11 forced her into therapy because she was under the impression that it was her fault, and she had no idea how to fix it. She simply couldn’t cope. When she was in her last year of middle school, a girl had called her fat and ugly. This was a shock, as most people generally ignored her. All through the summer before freshmen year she’d cut down on serving sizes, stacked up on workout time. Fruits and Pilates were her new favorite favorite things, goodbye ice cream and pickle juice. Once she was thin and toned, she had to work on her appearance. She purchased bottle upon bottle of acne medication and diligently made her skin perfection. She grew her hair out and began styling it in sock buns, and high ponies. Her nails were always polished, and never bitten. No one except for her mother saw her without makeup on. That school year, no one dared call her fat or ugly. People still ignored her though, and that simply would not do. She bided her time and money and once school was again let out for summer she shopped, and shopped, and shopped. All of her savings were spent on clothes, and shoes and accessories. Now, she worked on her personality. She read countless magazines and discovered how she should talk to certain people to get them to like her. For the cheerleader types, she gushed over boy bands and hair products. New friend gained. For the losers, she geeked out over comic books and old movies. New friend gained. For the jocks, she provided stats over games of every sport and player. New friend gained. New friend gained. New. Friend. Gained. She was finally beginning to feel accepted, and she was obsessed. Obsessed with being skinny, pretty, liked and accepted. She hardly even remembered what she did before freshman year. Who she was. She didn’t care. Who was she back then? Nobody. She was obsessed with being somebody, even if only to a handful of people. For everyone else, she was only obsessed that they liked her. Regardless, she was obsessed. And obsession is always dangerous. For everyone involved.
Tiara Bickens was a peculiar girl, always had been. She was the type of child who collected both Batman action figures and My Little Ponies. She’d preferred dinner to dessert, and loved to mix sour and sweet things together, much to the disgust of others (For instance, ice cream and pickle juice). Her favorite color was brown, and she actually ate the mud pies she created. However, Tiara was bad at handling things. For instance, her parents’ divorce when she was 11 forced her into therapy because she was under the impression that it was her fault, and she had no idea how to fix it. She simply couldn’t cope. When she was in her last year of middle school, a girl had called her fat and ugly. This was a shock, as most people generally ignored her. All through the summer before freshmen year she’d cut down on serving sizes, stacked up on workout time. Fruits and Pilates were her new favorite favorite things, goodbye ice cream and pickle juice. Once she was thin and toned, she had to work on her appearance. She purchased bottle upon bottle of acne medication and diligently made her skin perfection. She grew her hair out and began styling it in sock buns, and high ponies. Her nails were always polished, and never bitten. No one except for her mother saw her without makeup on. That school year, no one dared call her fat or ugly. People still ignored her though, and that simply would not do. She bided her time and money and once school was again let out for summer she shopped, and shopped, and shopped. All of her savings were spent on clothes, and shoes and accessories. Now, she worked on her personality. She read countless magazines and discovered how she should talk to certain people to get them to like her. For the cheerleader types, she gushed over boy bands and hair products. New friend gained. For the losers, she geeked out over comic books and old movies. New friend gained. For the jocks, she provided stats over games of every sport and player. New friend gained. New friend gained. New. Friend. Gained. She was finally beginning to feel accepted, and she was obsessed. Obsessed with being skinny, pretty, liked and accepted. She hardly even remembered what she did before freshman year. Who she was. She didn’t care. Who was she back then? Nobody. She was obsessed with being somebody, even if only to a handful of people. For everyone else, she was only obsessed that they liked her. Regardless, she was obsessed. And obsession is always dangerous. For everyone involved.
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