What hurts the most



From the time I was in the 5th grade, up until the end of high school, I was a social pariah. I was awkward, weird, and just plain odd. In two short years I went from a smiling bright happy girl, to a miserable angry person. I stayed that miserable angry person for many many years. My choices in clothes, in music, and in pretty much everything reflected what was popular. Well, as much as it could. We were poor.

Around the end of high school, like my last semester, it was as if someone cleared a film from my vision. I realized that I would no longer see these people every day. I cared nothing about them, and they cared nothing about me. That was the God’s honest truth, with the exception of a few people. I was done. I was free. I could be whoever and whatever I wanted to be.

Turns out being me isn’t anything fancy. I am a girly girl. I am smart, crafty, and nerdy. I am stylish. I have a wicked temper and a kind heart. If I am livid at you, I just won’t talk to you anymore. You have been deemed no longer worth my time.

All in all I think I turned out pretty good. I am confident and self aware. Sometimes though, it takes one comment to take me back down to where I was when I was younger. Usually it is from a ‘loved one trying to help.’

So I am sitting here, sad, pissed off, and hurt, by someone who is supposed to love me most. I’m sure I will be over it in a day or so, but for now, I am just going to sulk and be emo.