Post by DESDEMONA CALIDA DE LA TORRE on Jan 23, 2010 17:15:08 GMT -5
DESDEMONA CALIDA DE LA TORRE
[/font]" CAUSE I'M THE CRAZY BITCH RUNNING THE GAME "[/font]
[/center]FULL NAME: desdemona calida de la torre[/blockquote]
AGE: seventeen
MEMBER GROUP: fucked up kids
GRADE: junior
BIRTH PLACE: cancun, mexico
RELIGION: christian, atheist and rage.
SEXUALITY: heterosexual
PLAYBY: brookelle bones
AND IF YOU SWEAR THAT
[/font]" THERE'S NO TRUTH AND WHO CARES, WHY DO YOU SAY IT LIKE YOU'RE RIGHT? "[/font][/center]
HEY THERE, WHAT"S YOUR NAME?[/b][/size][/color]
"my madre's first mistake - well, not her first, was my first name. desdemona is greek for 'misery of the devil'. it's like she knew i'd be fucked up from the very start. and i mean seriously, it's her own god damn fault, the fucking crack whore! my middle name is spanish for warm. so warm misery of the devil. sounds a lot like blood, huh? and i took my mother's last name, partially because at the time we didn't know who my father is. and now that i know, desdemona calida garcia sounds like a typical latina. and i am far from typical. as for nicknames, there are the oh-so-adored petnames my parents gave me - fuck up, brat, devil child, diablo, poquito perra. when people are happy, des or mona come into play."
WELL THAT'S PRETTY FUCKING AMAZING. HOW OLD ARE YOU? WHEN'S YOUR BIRTHDAY? DO YOU LIKE YOUR AGE? WHAT GRADE ARE YOU IN?[/b][/size][/color]
"me? baby, i'm timeless. aha, okay that was bullshit. i'm seven fucking teen years old, and mi madre popped me out on october twelveth. i'm happy with my age, because i'm going to drink and shit no matter what age i am. and yeah, i'm a junior. almost out of hellhole schools. want to know a secret, though? i get good grades, no matter what. i want to get into college."
AWESOME. SO WHAT ABOUT YOU? WHAT ARE YOU LIKE, YOU KNOW, AS A "PERSON"?[/b][/size][/color]
"me, as a person. that's a funny one. i don't know who 'me' is because there are so many sides to 'me'. let's see. desdemona, the real me, she's a normal little girl scared the fuck out of her pants at the stuff that happens in her mind. she's not crazy, she doesn't need pills. she's not the one that tried to stab her madre. if she was strong enough to rule my mind the whole time, i wouldn't be here. i'm a happy person when the pills control la perra and mona. i goof off, hang out with my friends, dance around in my underwear. i look for a guy to spend my life with, try to control the others. la perra - the bitch. she's the worst. i also call her ira - anger. she's unsupressed rage. with her comes the screaming, the violence, the threatening of lives. she only gets out every now and then, the meds control her. and even when she comes out, i know she's coming out. and i'll tell a nurse and she'll lock me up until i'm no longer a threat. but she can be elusive...i've let her slip a couple times. mona is depression, pure and simple. suicidal, that girl is. the scars on my wrist? that's her. she can cry for days straight for nothing. if you haven't got the drift, i've been diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder - basically, it's like three girls are sharing my body. but there is one real girl, and the other two are my brain. "
SWEET. SO HOW DID YOU GET HERE? HOW FUCKED UP ARE YOU? TELL ME ABOUT YOUR PAST. GO.[/b][/color]
"my life in the beginning was a hell hole. mi madre, the woman who is supposably so good, was the biggest cocaine addict i've ever met. she stopped when i was ten, but you can see what it's done to her still. let's see. my faja? he was a rich, american-mexican buisnessman on a trip to cancun before his wedding, and madre was an accident. so was i, really. the cocaine she used while she was pregnant with me probably relates to some of my mental-ness. the first 10 years of my life were filled with white lines being snorted by madre, men coming and staying for a week, the bed rocking - i was made to sleep in the living room when she had a guest. the men would leave, she'd fall into a depression, result to getting high again. sometimes the cocaine would disappear for a couple days, and we'd go to a park or to the beach. when i was 11, i was sent to live with my abuela - grandma, and i've gathered that mom was in rehab. abuela, she was well off because abuelo owned a vineyard before he passed and the earnings went to her. so abuela watched me, and my mom came back sober. skinny, mentally deranged and two years later, but sober.
in the two years at my abuela's house, the DID began showing it's signs. i would talk to myself, i was prone to angry outbursts or tears for no reason. i had headaches all the time, there was so much going on in my brain. i had unexplainable, unrealistic phobia's. i'm still scared of apples, really. i got colder, more icy to people around me. i would have panic attacks in the middle of the school day, and i would swear i could hear people talking to me in a dead silent room. abuela was the one that took me to the doctor, got me diagnosed. she helped me, at least a bit. when madre came home, abuela talked her into moving to the states. she said it was the mexicano air - all the polution. so we moved to the dalles, oregon. it's a small town, with no other latina's - mostly, at least. i grew up there, and mom stayed drug-free there. it was when i was 15 that i really cracked. madre was coming down hard on the grades, and i was getting fed up with it. she yelled at me while i was working on a poster for my english class - cutting out the pictures, too. she shouldn't have messed with me when i had the scissor's. ira was out, getting more and more upset, and had it not been for abuela walking in i would have stabbed my madre. abuela - she's always been my soft spot. it was madre that sent me here, she's scared. and she should be."
WANNA TELL US SOME LIKES?[/b][/size][/color]
"aha, it depends on who you're asking. as desdemona, i like the girl stuff. seventeen magazine, boys, alternative music. kissing, the rain that we always get, snowboarding, playing with my makeup. as a christian, i love easter-time. i like dressing up, or going down to hot 'n' pot sushi and eating to my heart's content. i love starbucks, and forever 21. ask ira, and ira likes fighting. she likes a challenge, dangerous people, adrenaline rushes, and seeing people get emotional. and mona, she likes nothing. she hates life. a small laugh it's funny."
AND SOME DISLIKES?[/b][/size][/color]
"the list of dislikes could go on and on and on. i'm scared of the dark, being alone, apples, bees and big dogs. i hate broadway shows, though in march i did go see wicked at the schnitzer in march, and i go see the trans syberian orchestra every year. i love concerts, but i'm oddly claustraphobic. i hate girls that are pretty enough to not wear makeup, and the super-prep types. i hate staying in my jammies all day. at the same time that i love life, i hate the world sometimes. i'm a strong christian, but i hate god for cursing me with this disorder. i hate people that don't eat - i mean seriously? and when girls wear plain leggings with a tshirt, i want to tell them to cover their fucking vag. oh, and the color yellow. greasy hair. racist jokes about mexicans. yeah."
I GUESS WE'RE DONE HERE. ANYTHING ELSE?[/b][/size][/color]
"fuck off, kay? your a nosy little ass." < des is known to cuss alot.
WHY ARE YOU SCARED TO
[/font]" DREAM OF GOD WHEN IT'S SALVATION THAT YOU WANT? "[/font][/center]
NAME: addison
AGE: fifteen
EXPERIENCE: six years
TIME ZONE: pacific. i live on the washington-oregon border
OTHER CHARACTERS: none!
too lazy to convert my IF tags to proboards, so here is the unpretty version.
sickly, it was something makalah still looked. no matter how terrible she felt, she had lied. it'd been a week, and she was slowly going insane in her prison-cell of a room. the xbox, the playstation, her phone, her laptop. it had all been confiscated so that makalah could 'heal from her sickness without mental distraction.' it had been hell. and though if she moved too fast, her stomach fluttered with that terrible lurch and she'd have to stop to soothe the nautiousness that overcame her, she needed to see seth. it was a feeling that she had never experienced before. the very need for another human being, just a specific one in general. seth clearwater. his very name sent butterflies into a rampage, stirring up her already uneasy tummy. she's abandoned him without warning for a week now, and makalah figured she could fake being well to her parents just for the chance to see him for a little bit.
the phone tag that they had been playing got old, really fast. she needed to hear his voice, not through hurried voicemails but even in a simple conversation - or better, face too face. Surely she could bear a night of sickness, of bitter washington air just to be able to talk to him. meet me, no questions he had said. and even before that ook, kayla, i have to be honest with you... but not over the phone. there's a lot about me you just need to know and i don't know how to say it... i don't have time now, the others are leaving and i'm following... his tone in both of the messages had scared her, made makalah uneasy. so she did what he said - no questions asked. her parents accepted a run as a reasonable excuse because who would be out later at night and fresh air might be good for her health.
up in her room where memories with seth already danced in her head, she paced back and forth. she had to look believable, like she was really going on a run. teal sports bra, yes. fitting sweatpants that didn't cover her knees, those worked. teal nikes with purple trim so once outside and not moving, she could slip on her purple fleece sweatshirt. her brown eyes flickered around - she didn't want to carry a sweatshirt! her eyes found a blue sports back, into which she stuffed the sweatshirt for warmth, chips for carbs and gum for the 'just in case' situations. purple eyeshadow was quickly swept over her lined-eyes and a splash of perfume.
if it would help, she would dress up every day for seth just to catch his eye. but she didn't want to look like she was trying too hard. the expression on her face as makalah started her paced jog did, however, look like she was trying too hard to keep her dinner down. once outside the sight of her house, she stopped and leaned over, waiting for the nausea to leave before starting up again. it took her longer to get to the forest than it should have, but the constant hiphop music in her ear helped. she had, of course, seen the glimpse of a teenage boy outside her window, just inside the woods. but circling around seemed like the best option - the parentals would be worried if she ran through the woods.
she did approach from behind, but nothing could surprise him. he was already turned around, a peculiar expression on his face. the self control she had so hard tried to keep in, and the girlish, adoring shriek of "seth!" was all that left her mouth before she flung her arms around his neck, standing on her very tippytoes just to get a fairly decent grip. If he stood up straight, she'd be off the ground. had he grown? the thought was dim, unimportant next to the musky, alluring smell of seth and the warmth of his body. she didn't let go, and not just because she was steadying herself from her haggard trip.
the phone tag that they had been playing got old, really fast. she needed to hear his voice, not through hurried voicemails but even in a simple conversation - or better, face too face. Surely she could bear a night of sickness, of bitter washington air just to be able to talk to him. meet me, no questions he had said. and even before that ook, kayla, i have to be honest with you... but not over the phone. there's a lot about me you just need to know and i don't know how to say it... i don't have time now, the others are leaving and i'm following... his tone in both of the messages had scared her, made makalah uneasy. so she did what he said - no questions asked. her parents accepted a run as a reasonable excuse because who would be out later at night and fresh air might be good for her health.
up in her room where memories with seth already danced in her head, she paced back and forth. she had to look believable, like she was really going on a run. teal sports bra, yes. fitting sweatpants that didn't cover her knees, those worked. teal nikes with purple trim so once outside and not moving, she could slip on her purple fleece sweatshirt. her brown eyes flickered around - she didn't want to carry a sweatshirt! her eyes found a blue sports back, into which she stuffed the sweatshirt for warmth, chips for carbs and gum for the 'just in case' situations. purple eyeshadow was quickly swept over her lined-eyes and a splash of perfume.
if it would help, she would dress up every day for seth just to catch his eye. but she didn't want to look like she was trying too hard. the expression on her face as makalah started her paced jog did, however, look like she was trying too hard to keep her dinner down. once outside the sight of her house, she stopped and leaned over, waiting for the nausea to leave before starting up again. it took her longer to get to the forest than it should have, but the constant hiphop music in her ear helped. she had, of course, seen the glimpse of a teenage boy outside her window, just inside the woods. but circling around seemed like the best option - the parentals would be worried if she ran through the woods.
she did approach from behind, but nothing could surprise him. he was already turned around, a peculiar expression on his face. the self control she had so hard tried to keep in, and the girlish, adoring shriek of "seth!" was all that left her mouth before she flung her arms around his neck, standing on her very tippytoes just to get a fairly decent grip. If he stood up straight, she'd be off the ground. had he grown? the thought was dim, unimportant next to the musky, alluring smell of seth and the warmth of his body. she didn't let go, and not just because she was steadying herself from her haggard trip.
