I just wanted her to see this Anti bulling video.
But my Mother had not the time for me. I need to show her things on her time, so things her way, be crazy at more acceptable intervals and wait wait wait for the help we both know that I need.
I never thought that I was bullied, or that I was a bully. I always thought of each interaction as a battle. Some days I would win, and others I would lose. Each day a battle. I lost many days. I lost and I didn’t want to deal with them because I was tired of fighting them.
But every day I fought on, because if I didn’t defend me then no one would.
“Hey crazy”
And I would say “Shut up loser”
“God, you’re such a freak”
So I would tell them “Like I care what a moron like you thinks”
“You are so ugly Sticks.”
Sticks, the name that they gave me because I was too skinny. I was ugly because I don’t even know why. Nothing was ever good enough so I would say “Whatever idiot.”
When I was in the second grade a boy in my class that will never see this and I doubt that he even remembers this incident, he said to me “The only way I would date you is if you got plastic surgery on your whole body.”
And I thought to myself ‘Wouldn’t that make me another person?’ but I looked at him, that boy. Braden. I looked at him and told him that beauty was in the eye of the beholder. So you take that Braden Yarbrough.
But I never really believed that there was a beholder for me.
I still go to school with Braden. I used to think he was my greatest enemy, but now. Now I hurt a little bit because I’ve only spoken to him once since fifth grade and I could tell the moment we spoke that he didn’t even remember my name. But he still managed to think I was weird. I could see it in his eyes. ‘ What is this freak talking about?’
He didn’t even remember who I was but that opinion held strong.
I see him in the hallways sometimes, after I’ve put on the little makeup that I wear. I want to ask him “Am I pretty now?”
I think the answers no.
I have always been that girl without many friends. So, having as many friends as I do in high school is a blessing (I think I'm up to seven.)
Because I made such a hard shell around myself.
Because people were going to call me weird, that was a given.
And crazy
and rude
and uptight
mean
stupid
a tattle tale
ugly
skinny
fat
and boring.

All of which I took great offense to.

I couldn’t help tha way I acted. My nightmares, my paranoia, the monsters that only I could see with my eyes wide open, there was bound to be a mind reader in the room who would find me out as a freak.
So I had to push out all that I could. With a sharp mouth and a quick enough wit for a stupid ugly girl.
But I still made friends. Friends I fear are just pitying that loner girl and will turn on me at a moment’s notice.
Because if I'm not worth my Mothers time, than why am I worth anyone else’s?
And I do try. I try so damn hard.
To stay calm, not lash out at people, to be a good girl. But I don’t think it’s in my programming.
That always seems to be overloading.
Jittering and shaking so hard that I can’t write.
Trying desperately to calm my whirring mind at the same time I'm trying to draw, paint, write the buzzing and itching in my fingers far far away.
And (almost) all of my good friends treat me like a baby. Because they don’t know that I am trying.
Trying to save them from their own depression, or eating disorder, or whatever other mental shut down that they're facing.
Because my shell is not only filled with things to keep people away.
I also have things that I use to help stop others from sinking any farther into the pit.
With my smiles, and jokes, and if only I could keep them happy.
Because maybe then, they'll notice that this weird girl is sinking fast.
And maybe they'll take a moment
a second
make that an hour
a day,
a year
a century
do you think that they could spare a few millennia to help me up.
Because I think I'm too far gone.
They say that their ugly out loud. So that we can reassure them that their not.
But I don’t do that, because while they may say it earnestly, there is no beholder for me.
And I didn’t used to thing that was okay. But now that no one has the time to see how I really feel. To pry and ask how I'm really doing and if I’m really okay. Since no one has time to look beyond my fake smiles and see that inside the broken fragment s of my own mind I’m always reminding myself not to scream. Since no one has time for that I don’t even think it really matters if I sink anymore.
Because it will hurt at the time, but then I will fade from their minds.
Not even a memory left to be spared for me.
Because there is no beholder for a girl as ugly as me.