We Are Us

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Editorial and Opinion  |  House: Booksie Classic
A True story from my life. A story i hope to make more people understand what they say and help end judgement

Submitted: October 24, 2011

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Submitted: October 24, 2011

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Normal does not exist. Not in the sense people perceive it as that is. Think for just one moment. What is normal to you? Most people who read this will think the same thing. Normal: designer clothes, little or model type makeup, natural hair color, the “popular kids”, ect. Well that is not “normal.” Not to say that to some that might not be normal to them. That is just it, normal is different for everyone. It is not a set thing. For example, Normal to my best friend is really designer clothes, Uggs, designer jewelry. She likes stores like Victoria Secret and Holister. To me normal is Hot Topic, My sneakers and gray skinnies. Neon colors and thick eyeliner. She likes country and I like Rock. We are as different as can be and yet we do not judge. We do not say that either of us is not normal because normal is what we make of it. What is normal to everyone is different. The media around us is trying to make up believe what normal is through the eyes of their products, not how people really feel. I’m not weird I’m me.

I wanted to share a story here, something personal, something to make a point. I wanted to start with talking about normality because that is sadly the world we live in. People get judge for being “normal” or not. Thinking back on something my teacher said my class a few days ago I felt I needed to make a difference even in this small way. She asked us what we were afraid of. How we act on that fear and how it can impact our lives. Thinking back on what I was afraid of I cannot believe now that I left it drag on as long as it did. My terror, my horror, my devil. It all started at CCD.

I was only in maybe sixth grade at the time but I was already marked as different at my school. I dressed in all black, wore lots of eyeliner, I didn’t like dolls and purses, skirts and pink. To make it simpler I was the black sheep of my class. I didn’t mind to much. I was different and I didn’t care because that was me. The kids in my class made it known that they thought I was different but I didn’t care because I had my friends and didn’t need to be accepted by everyone. I wasn’t afraid to go to school and face those who thought bad of me. CCD was another story all together.

CCD is a class taken once a week for students getting their education in catholic studies. I was a good student I knew my religion well enough and didn’t mind going. That is until my last three years. This boy who I knew had been a part of CCD had always been in a different class. I didn’t know him but I had seen him around. He would soon be the reason for all my pain. Every week was a battle. I had to fight with my mother every week. I didn’t want to go. I was terrified. This boy, this same boy that I had never even talked to decided it was his job to make my life hell. Along with three of his friends they decided I was “emo” and was not worthy to be in their presence if even worthy to live.

Every week I would sit there for an hour and listen to them from across the room. The spiteful things they said to me would lock inside and cause pain they couldn’t understand. Things like, “Emo”, and “Go Cut Yourself”, even things like , “Go Kill Yourself”. For three years this went on. Back then I was shy, afraid to say anything. I didn’t know what to say either. They had broken me down to the point where I’d wonder if I was even worth it. I’d be afraid to talk to people even at school. I felt like they were right. I wasn’t worth it and no one would ever really accept me or care.  The words hurt worse then physical pain.  I fell into depression and my school life slipped. Less people wanted to talk to the “depressed emo.”  Until one day I snapped. I got up and yelled at them and left the room. I only saw them two more times after that. But I stayed far away. They never bothered me again because they knew I had had enough.

Three years have passed since then. I am now a Junior and my life could not be better. Sure there are still a few people who bother me. But that is life. Not everyone will accept the world as it really is. Full of different people. No one at school says anything anymore and I have only gotten more outgoing. But that is not what I wanted to say by putting this up. For anyone who was put in a similar situation you should know that being able to put up a story telling the public that they were told repeatedly to kill themselves it is not an easy thing to do. What I want to do by sharing a personal story like this is that words hurt and the things you say can leave an impact that can last a lifetime.

Some people will say that your overreacting, that its not such a bad thing. To brush it off. Well its not that easy. Words can hurt worse then a punch and last ten times longer. People need to stop and think about what they are doing before and realize what could happen. I was lucky, I was told to kill myself but I overcame it. I didn’t let it take me in the end. I moved on and I ignore the harsh words that come my way. But some people do not. Many people die every year because of harsh words.

For those of you who were kind enough to bear with me and read this to the end I beg you that no matter who someone is, “emo”, “goth”, “gay” or whatever stereotype may be thrust upon them. Do not make them feel like they are worthless. Everyone is worth more then the world. We are all people. We are all normal in your own way. And We are US.


© Copyright 2017 Rose Killson. All rights reserved.

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