SUTTON, charlotte evangeline *complete*

[CHARLOTTE EVANGELINE SUTTON]

CHARLOTTE EVANGELINE SUTTON

I owe it to the dreams,
That always seem to bring me round,
Waiting at the harbour,
There was only water to be talking to,
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HAI THURRR~ MY NAME IS PIXIE and I HAIL
FROM THE PACIFIC!
AREN'T YOU JEALOUS ;] YOU CAN CONTACT ME
BY EMAIL!! *[e-mail]* OH,
AND I'VE BEEN ROLEPLAYING FOR THREE YEARS NOW!

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* / FULL NAME

[/b] Charlotte Evangeline Sutton
* / NICKNAMES[/b] Charlie. Just call me Charlie okay? I don't like Charlotte. I don't like Charlotte.
* / AGE[/b] nineteen.
* / GENDER[/b] I suppose my boyish figure might fool some people, but I'm actually a girl...
* / JOB[/b] N/A
* / SEXUALITY[/b] Hetero.
* / MEMBER GROUP[/b] Musician.
* / CONDITIONS[/b] Officially, this is what it probably says in my 'file': Manic/Depressive, Alcoholic, Sporadic use of minor drugs (weed, mushrooms etc.), Delusions triggered by severe manic or depressive episodes occasionally in combination with drug use. Mild OCD in conjunction with manic episodes. What that shit doesn't say is that I'm actually only here because my step-mother is a repulsive thieving whore.
* / FACE CLAIM[/b] Willa Holland
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* / LIKES

[/b] I like music. Actually I love music. All kinds. I couldn't name a favorite band if I tried. It's the only thing that's stable in my life. Everything else is uncertain, but music is simple and powerful. Erm, I like liqueur. Not beer, or wine. Just the hard stuff. Anything that will kick in fast and hard. I like animals. I really wish they'd let me have one here because I think it would help me a lot. I like animals more than people. Personal space. I don't get a lot of that here. And blueberry pancakes, especially my father's. What I wouldn't give for one of those fucking short stacks right now... Anyway... I love the few friends that I have.
* / DISLIKES[/b] People. They're the reason I hate my life most of the time. I always feel alone around people and I hate that too. I hate being told that I'm not alone. Those fucking shrinks. They have that line on a loop or something. "You're not alone...other people feel the way you do." Is that supposed to help me? Is it supposed to make me feel any better knowing that another person hates their life as much as I hate mine? Because it doesn't. Anyone feeling the way I do is never going to be any help to me. They're all to wound up in their own shitty problems to bother worrying about mine. And I don't blame them. I don't give a fuck about their problems or how they feel when they wake up in the morning and realize nothing has changed. It still means I'm alone. It actually makes me feel worse when people try to trivialize my problems. If I'm not the only one then I'm nothing unique. Nothing special. Just nothing. Just another fucking problem child. Anyone who thinks just saying "you're not alone" will solve anything obviously has no idea what goes on in my head. And compassion. It's useless. I hate that I can't be cold. I hate that I feel. All it's ever gotten me is pain. Everyone who I've ever trusted, or loved has either abandoned or betrayed me so what good is it that I have the capacity to love or trust at all. I hate a lot of things, but most of them aren't worth mentioning. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a pretty negative person...most of the time. Sometimes the world is amazing. Sometimes shit can't touch me and I'm just on cloud nine. (I've been told these are the manic parts of my disorder) But that only makes it worse when everything starts crashing down again. And it always will crash down. I'd rather not even have the mania at all. At least then I wouldn't even know happiness. What else don't I like... Being told what to do. I don't like other people hearing me play music... I know. I'll never be famous if I can't let people hear me, but I'm not ready. I get horrible stage fright. I don't even let most of my friends hear me play. It's just another reason why I'll never make it. Whatever. I hate insects too. And sex. Yea...I don't like sex. I don't know what my problem with it is, I've just never enjoyed it or the baggage that comes along with it. I get serious social anxiety when someone I don't like is hitting on me.
* / POSITIVE TRAITS[/b] These are what other people might say my positive traits are...I on the other hand, have my own opinions. People say I'm compassionate for instance. But I fail to see how this is positive. Positive for other people maybe because it makes it a hell of a lot easier for them to take advantage of me. People also say I'm creative. They're right on the nose on this one though. I am. Always have been. Most of it I channel into my music. I'm...at times, easily excitable. I don't really see the benefit in this either. It's kind of overwhelming when I get excited because it's usually only the result of a manic episode. Trustworthy. I guess I can't find a reason for this to be anything but positive. I keep secrets. My own, other people's, it all goes into the same vaulted safe. Oh and I'm smart. Not like supernerd smart. Just more intelligent than most people, and more intelligent than most people would assume me to be. I don't really think this is a good quality either. It makes me really miserable most of the time because I don't like dealing with morons.
* / NEGATIVE TRAITS[/b] I'm pretty sure I could go on forever here...but for simplicities sake I'll cut it down a bit. I'm pessimistic for one. I think I'm more of a realist, but most people don't agree with me on that. And I do tend to always paint things a shade darker than they have to be. But I don't think I can be blamed for having a dark view of the world. I suppose I'm also a bit impressionable. I'll try anything once. You never know where a bit of happiness might come from, so I'll pretty much literally try anything at this point. Rebellious. Or, at least that cunt Veronica used to peg me for it. I act out for fun because I've got nothing to lose. But I'm small time. Nothing too serious. Worst thing I ever did was steal her car. And it wasn't really stealing. It was my dad's car, and he used to let me drive it whenever I wanted. Anyway. She's a bitch so I don't care what she thinks, but she had a point. I just don't like being told what to do. I guess I'm also a little stubborn. Kind of goes along with disliking authority, but it's also a viewpoint thing. I don't like people pushing their opinions on me either. I have my own, and they're extremely difficult to change. And trying to change them just makes me stick to them more...take the fact that I think I'm hopeless. I am hopeless, I don't just think I am. I'll never amount to anything. I'll never find anyone I can completely open up to. Everything will only ever cause me pain. And the sooner I accept this, the better it will be for everyone. I have a split personality though. Not in disorder form...I'm not multiple people in the same body. I just have serious changes in mood which for the rest of the world equates to a seriously different Charlie. It's not always sudden, sometimes it comes in phases, but sometimes it's like a snap. Usually this happens when I get angry and when I'm in the middle of an episode, either manic or depressive. It's happened in both. One minute I'm fine...or fine relative to the episode, and the next I'm in a rage. This is when my compassion and composure fly out the window...it's really not pretty. I've taken temper tantrum to a whole new level on more than one occasion. Usually I'm so angry in these situations that I can't even speak. I start shaking. Punches and sharp objects that happen to be in my reach are thrown. Like I said...not pretty. [/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

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* / HOMETOWN

[/b] Albuquerque, New Mexico
* / PARENTS[/b]
Father: James Vincent Sutton, deceased
Mother: Abigail Yvonne Sutton ('nee Corbin), deceased
Step-mother: Veronica Josette Bellamy-Sutton, 48
* / SIBLINGS[/b]
Step-brother: Isaac Nicolai Bellamy, 21
* / OTHER FAMILY[/b] N/A
* / HISTORY[/b] Before I was born, my parents were happy newlyweds. Still in the honeymoon phase pretty much. I still think it's possible that my mother was preggers when they tied the knot, but it's so close that I could have been conceived on their honeymoon I guess. I'm pretty sure they were planning on getting married before she got pregnant. I'm not sure why this is relevant, it would just make me feel a little better if they'd been married first for some reason. Maybe I'm old fashioned. Anyway. Before I was born, they couldn't have been happier the way my father told it. He said they'd had the name picked out for months, and my room painted and decorated for almost as long. My mother was one of those ladies that adored being pregnant, and I'm sure if she'd lived past the pregnancy, I'd have a brother or sister or two. But I don't, and she didn't. I never knew my mother. I know it's ridiculous to blame myself for her death; I was an infant. How I could have possibly had any control over it is beyond me. But I still feel guilty for it.

My dad was very sad for the first years of my life. I'm not sure he ever really dealt with her death because it was all very sudden and unexpected. I don't know the specifics of what happened. I've never wanted to ask. But basically he lost the love of his life and then immediately had to start taking care of me. I wouldn't be surprised if he resented me for a while. But if he did, I don't remember it. He only ever showed me that he loved me. He said I reminded him of my mother. My childhood was happy as far as I can remember. I was a pretty normal kid. Maybe a little less social than most of my peers. I was always kind of shy. I remember the first day I was supposed to start school I cried for an hour before my dad was able to calm me down and leave.

I never had that many friends as a kid. I got picked on because I was very small for my age, and smarter than most of the other kids. I didn't like sports. During recess, if I didn't manage to snag one of the swings me and two other girls I'd made friends with would sit on the outskirts and play jacks or hopscotch if there was chalk lying around. I was never unhappy. But I had almost crippling social anxiety at times. People made me nervous. I was very attached to my dad. When we would go out to the store or anywhere really I always stuck by his side. It was like this until I got to middle school pretty much. And that was when I noticed myself starting to change. My dad was starting to meet women and bring them home to meet me. I never liked any of these women. Some of them might have been nice, but to be honest I never even gave most of them a chance. I didn't like change.

There was one woman, Claire, that stuck around for a while. I never grew to like her, but she was nice enough. She stayed over most nights. I realize now that the less time I spent with my dad, the more reclusive I got. I had people I talked to at school, but I never had any close friends that I talked to outside of school. I would come home. If Claire was around, I'd go up to my room and play. I started to learn piano around this time. Dad got me one for my 13th birthday. I loved it. In fact, I never even took lessons until about two years later, but I could already play a bunch of songs I'd recorded off the radio. I couldn't read music, but I could play almost anything by ear. I picked up reading pretty quickly.

Claire stuck around for about a year. I'd grown used to her, but also further away from my father. The night Claire left I had my first manic episode. My dad was obviously very sad, but I was bouncing off the walls with a huge grin plastered across my face. I remember saying something along the lines of "Now that Claire's gone we can be friends again Dad!" He turned away from me and went up to bed. It was seven o'clock at night. I went up a few times to see if he would come down, but he wouldn't answer his door. I didn't see him until the next day. By then my mania had died down and I started feeling overwhelmingly guilty about what I'd said. I got it into my head that I'd been the one to drive Claire away even though over the next week my dad explained to me several times that I hadn't been the problem. Nevertheless the guilt drove me into a month long depression. I was already rail skinny but I still managed to drop nearly 15 pounds. My dad became concerned. I went to my first shrink at age 14.

In high school, not much changed. I was still an outcast. I realized pretty quickly that I had very little desire to associate with most of the kids in my classes. So I picked up a guitar and started to play that to pass my time. School posed absolutely no challenge for me academically. I usually never even had homework because I'd do it all at lunch or during break. In 10th grade I started to take music classes. They were vague. It was more like a study hall. If you played an instrument, you could take the general music class and have a practice session. But there was the option to record, or write your own music. I loved this class. I spent all my extra time in there, working on my stuff. There was another boy that I noticed around a lot too. His name was Adam and he played guitar too. After about a month of running into him almost every time I went in there to practice, he asked me what my name was. We became friends very quickly, but I was terrified that if he found out about my disorder he'd stop talking to me. My secrecy eventually drove him to confront me. When I admitted it, as I suspected, he pulled away from me. But a week later he came back and apologized. He's been my best friend ever since.

When I was fifteen, things started to get worse again. After Adam and I became friends my disorder tamed down a bit. But I knew it wasn't going to just vanish forever. When I was 15, Dad met Veronica, and apparently fell hard for her. I hated her. With Claire, I'd just been jealous that she was taking up all of his attention. I never had anything against her personally. But I hated Veronica from the minute she set foot in our house. She's just not a good person. She's a soul sucker. A bitch down to her black heart of a core. The whole thing caught me completely off guard. Four months after they met, they were engaged. And four months after that, they were married. Their wedding was one of the worst days of my life.

Veronica has a son too. I never really saw him until after the wedding because he moved in with us from his Dad's place. I avoided him for a while. I'd known him from school. Adam did too. But eventually we were forced to interact. He was a senior, and popular. I was terrified that he would think I was strange. But we actually got along well. Too well. I noticed really quickly, because I'm sensitive to this kind of thing, that he was flirting with me. Every time our respective parents weren't around he would make a pass at me. At first, it made me very uncomfortable. I know he's not actually related to me, but he was still technically family. It disgusted me. But one some level, I also liked the attention. I don't think I was ever actually attracted to him. But when I was seventeen I lost my virginity to him. He'd been away at college for two years and he came back for the fall recess. Our parents were out for the night. He had some weed. Things happened. It sent me off the deep end. Short version: I turned into a whore for a while. The whole rest of my senior year was a blur of intense mania and violent angry mood swings. Adam, bless him, was the only thing that kept me in check. I'd never been social before. But suddenly I was getting invited to all of the parties. Adam came along most of the time, but it was a really rough patch in our friendship. I realize now that he must have liked me. And seeing me with a different guy every other weekend was probably very hard on him. But he stuck around.

This social, whorish version of Charlie died abruptly on June 22, 2007, when my father did. I'd spent an entire year binge drinking and using any substance I could get my paws on. My music was even starting to take a back seat to my habitual self-destruction. But after my dad was gone, I lost the socialization, and doubled the substance abuse. Tripled maybe. It was a few days after my graduation. My dad and Veronica had gone to the movies for the night. Adam and I were smoking a blunt out my window when the officer knocked on the front door to tell us there had been an accident. I was stoned out of my mind, but the overwhelming terror that flooded me was only exaggerated as a result. My immediate reaction was to vomit. I made it as far as the kitchen, but not all the way to the sink. The officer drove Adam and I to the hospital. I was in hysterics, but in such a state of shock that I couldn't express anything. I don't even remember much of the last minutes I spent with my dad, but I remember the only words I could get out were I love you. I remember saying them about a million times. He only nodded, and signed it out that he loved me too. I had to be escorted from the room because I tried to throw myself on him.

My world collapsed after that. I sank into a depression deeper than the ocean. And all I had to go home to was Veronica, and her fucking pedofile son. I hated my life, so I started acting out. When I wasn't trying to ruin Veronica's life, I was locked in my room with fat headphones trying to release some kind of pain through my music. Not even a month after my father's affairs were settled, and Veronica was sure she'd be getting the estate and not me, she had me institutionalized in this hell hole. It's been a year. I still can't even begin to describe how much I loath her. And nothing seems to get any better. My episodes have gotten more severe. Honestly, I don't take my meds like I should. I take them most of the time, but you aren't supposed to mix them with alcohol and I'd much rather have my alcohol than my sanity right now. I've got nothing to go back to.

Adam still writes me every now and then. I think it's for him that I haven't offed myself yet. [/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

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