I love you to pieces, distraction, etc.

 

From the tween files

When I was in the 8th grade, I was a piece of work. Very angry and mad and upset all the time, throwing shit all over the place and yelling and getting kicked out of the house for several hours on end because of my “attitude problem.”

One day I got into a screaming match with my mom and ran off to my bedroom and slammed the door. Then I tried to leave my room and couldn’t open the door. I banged on it until one of my parents came by and I yelled through the door that I couldn’t open the door. They couldn’t either. I had slammed the door so hard it got stuck and now I was trapped in my bedroom. My dad eventually had to break the door down with an ax to free me.

After that, I didn’t have a door to my bedroom. Since my two youngest brothers were toddlers and my family lived in a one story house, this presented a lot of safety problems. My parents put up one of the baby gates to serve as a surrogate door to my room which made my life a living hell. I would get into one of my moods where I would yell at everyone, run to my bedroom, forget the door was no longer there, and crash right into the gate, collapsing on top of it and bruising up my legs. (And then everyone would start laughing at me in pain which made me even angrier, hooray!)

Also, there was no privacy. I couldn’t be alone in my room without everyone casually strolling by to see what I was doing or watching or when I was actually going to bed. I couldn’t change in there either and had to change in the bathroom all the time.

This continued for several months with me wondering when I’d ever get a new door to my room when one night I found myself staring at my closet.

My closet had a door that was the exact height and width of my former bedroom door.

My closet had a door and yet… my bedroom did not.

My parents took it off the hinges and put it on as my new door that weekend.

The moral of the story is that you ever want to ruin the life of a teenage girl, and I mean really ruin it, take away the door to her bedroom. Taking away anything else is nowhere near as humiliating as not having a door. Another moral is don’t slam really old doors either when you’re mad because you never know if it might get stuck with you on the other side in a small, confined space. Throw something cheap to the ground instead or stomp your feet!


Anna Wintour’s first issue of Vogue, November 1988.
Michaela Bercu photographed by Peter Lindbergh.

Anna Wintour’s first issue of Vogue, November 1988.

Michaela Bercu photographed by Peter Lindbergh.

(Source: mschristinamaria)