Even when I think about it now it still hurts. When that hot guy in school came up to me in the hallway and asked if I had a boyfriend, my world spun. I mean, he was a Senior. I, only a Sophomore.
Was he asking me out? Me??!! OMG!!!!
I finally managed to bring myself back down to Earth long enough to stutter an answer.
He smiled, as I awaited his reply with baited breath.
“Figures,” he said with an air of total disdain, “you’re too ugly to have a boyfriend.”
He then turned and chuckled, as he walked back through the between class crowd and over to his posse. The high fives and laughter easily echoed my way, as I stood frozen in humiliation until the bell snapped me back. In a daze, I made it to my next class but the damage was done and it hurt. It still does.
It hurt when others mumbled “Butterface” or “Prawn Bitch” as I walked by. It hurt when I was shoved out of the way in the halls by the cheers and the wannabes.
Oh, I recited all the advice I’d heard, over and over to myself.
There’re just words. Only you can give them meaning. Don’t give in. Don’t let them get to you. Ignore them. They’re the ones who are really hurting, deep down inside.
Funny, they didn’t ever seem hurt to me.
At home I stared into the mirror. I decided they’re right. It was me. It’s my fault. I am ugly. Then I began to feel guilty. All the terrible things in the world that were happening to people less fortunate than me and I’m upset about what people think about me? Me, some stupid girl in a nowhere town at a nowhere school? I realized I’m also a hypocrite, just as judgmental as they were. I mean, I always tried to avoid the geeks and ignore the nerds, who would smile and nod at me in the hall.
But I still tried to change. My image. My attitude. I tried to be like them. To be liked by them. In hope that maybe they would see me for who I could be. Then they’d accept me. Then the hurt would stop.
I fixed up my hair. Splattered makeup across my face. Short dresses one day. Tight jeans the next. Maybe they will notice me differently now. Maybe he would ask me out again. For serious.
But I was stupid. It was “Ho” they now mumbled behind my back. It was “Slut.” They still mocked me and the only attention I got was unwanted.
Cornered in the hallway by some hanger on wanksta who wanted me to meet him near the park Friday night. Who grabbed my butt and asked what I charged for a BJ… if I charged anything at all.
It still hurt but that was my bad. I tried to be something else for someone else but it still hurt, right down to my soul. I put on a brave face at home but I silently cried in the middle of the night. I just couldn’t tell anyone how I felt. They wouldn’t understand. Mom would’ve just said, “Ignore them.”
I couldn’t tell a teacher or a counselor. They would just file a report and/or tell my mom. It hurt and I kept it all deep inside. So I did the only thing I could do. I wrote it all down. It helped. It really did. I loved to write and I knew no one could ever take that away from me!
It still hurts but now a little less. I’ve also convinced myself all wounds do heal… eventually.
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