My years in the first decade of the 2000s have not been inspiring or memorable. They were just years that are now gone. Nothing truly magnificent has happened that inspired me to do anything with my life or figure out where to go; they were just years that I was able to add on-to my age now. My father and mother had been apart before the year 2000, maybe that is the “end of the world” theory many people were talking about? I was three when the new millennia had arrived, but I missed the party.

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I was not yet aware of the strikes on the twin towers, I don’t even remember the report, I was just turning four. I was told it was devastating when it had happened, but I have no memories. The teachers talk about it as well. After a while I started pre-school, although it was another a year that I don’t remember. I never had friends to whom I could talk to. I never had any fun on the playground. I was simply there, watching the others be normal children. I might have to add that this was also the year when that other woman had come into my life. That other woman was a person whom my father swore he loved, but I saw nothing special about her. Her ridicule of me had become normal by the time I was five. Her harsh words meant nothing to me, nor did the visits from my biological mother. I never considered either of them significant enough to remember. I was still a young child yet freedom was never mine. I was always told by the time I was six that I must always study, to never slack off.

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While I listened to stories about other kids playing video games or going outside to play, but I found no entertainment in those activities. I was always busy hiding my feelings from everyone, hiding myself from myself, never letting anyone know how much I was hurting. Fun never existed for me in the first decade, doesn’t exist now, really. I was never allowed fun without ridicule. I was never allowed to smile without tears. This was normal; I had become numb to it all. I had learned to lie to protect myself and I had also learned to be fine with being abandoned by everyone. By the time 2007 had came around, I was numb to everything and everyone, including myself. To me, the loneliness was satisfying. I was satisfied with never playing with everyone; I was perfectly fine being on my own. I was fine with never being a normal kid. I was always doing older kid stuff, or rather adult stuff because older kid stuff means I could still be a kid.

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I was perfectly fine never going to an arcade, going to the park, going outside or playing video games. They never interested me anyway. I was far more interested in watching other people have fun. To me, seeing other people happy made me happy, it had become normal. I watched TV to feel what they felt. The word ‘fun’ was just a word to me; I had learned to hide my indifference, my hatred and my pain toward the word ‘fun’ as well. The word alone was, before I had become indifferent to it, enough to cause me to hide further in myself. ‘Fun’ was a word that never existed for me so I felt no need to enjoy it like other kids. Around the time I had become numb to everyone, I think I was about ten years old; I had developed a way to lie to make myself feel emotions.

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I was the perfect actress. I acted a certain way so that people would leave me alone. I had become used to the fact that nobody wanted to be near me; I had grown used to not being near anyone. That was okay with me. I didn’t want to be near anyone either. By the time the end of this first decade had come, I had people who called themselves my friends, I had people who called themselves my family, but they had never made an impact on me. I had only one friend, she mattered to me. I think she is still the only one that matters to me. I don’t mind though. I don’t mind being numb, I don’t mind being alone. It is normal for me to realize that the first decade is ten years I’ll never get back, nor do I want them back. They were years no different than this decade. They are just ten years that I am surviving.

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That is fine by me.

Sylvera Kitsune was born in Indiana. She had cats all her life. She is an aspiring author that sees fiction stories as a way to escape reality. She uses fiction writing as a way to indirectly deal with her eternal emotional struggle with herself and other people.