Girl's Behavior

(You May Ignore This)

This is of no consequence to anyone else and you can ignore this if you wish. It's just hard to delete something I've written and trick my mind into thinking I've posted it.




Everyone's talking at me. Acting like they know me, understand me. Pretending they know what's going inside my head but even I don't know what's going on in my head so how the heck would they know.


I get that I'm a screw up. I have a habit of lifting everyone's expectations of me to the sky so that when I hit that point where I'm as far as I can go, and I'm barely a third of the way they believe I should be able to go, they get dissapointed. In me.


'You're smart, Bailey, you could do so much if you just put your mind to it.'


You can stop fucking telling me that. I know, I get it. I'm so fucking smart, and so damn clever that I failed year eleven. I'm such a great person that it feels like everyone who doesn't like me hates me and everyone who likes me thinks I'm a burden. It might not be true, but that's how it feels to me.


I don't get all the little hints and social clues people hand out that everyone else gets in an instant but I don't even notice. Sarcasm passes me by, and whenever I try to use it, people think I'm being serious.


People think I'm immature, indecisive, I think I know it all and everything is about me. I know it's not all about me, I know I don't know it all. I'm probably more mature than half the people my age, and just because all the small things have me stumped, like what's for dinner and what to wear, that doesn't mean I don't have an opinion on things.



Nobody believes me when I tell them I can't remember faces or names. A teacher even went as far to call me a liar. I wouldn't lie about that. Do you people not get how embarrassing it is to have to ask who your own uncle is? Or what your teachers name is two weeks away from the end of the school year? I get anxious before each and every lesson. Am I at the right class? Is it really Tuesday? Am I sure? What if I'm in the wrong class? Where's the teacher? Why don't I know who's in any of my classes? If I walk in only to be told I'm in the wrong place will everyone laugh at me? I don't want them to laugh at me.


Why the hell would I lie about something that affects my every day? I barely know any of my cousins names. I can't picture my own siblings faces in my mind. I can't picture my mums face. Poppy is just in the other room and I can't picture his face either. I saw him not five minutes ago. I can't picture my baby brother or sister in my mind. I don't have a photo of them. My memory is all I have and that is faulty. It's fucking faulty.



Nobody seems to get that I'm doing my best to stay afloat. 'That's just not good enough, Bailey.' 'I'm dissapointed in you, Bailey.' 'You're letting people down, Bailey.' I thought I was only letting myself down. Isn't that what you told me before? It was easier when the only person my shortcomings were hurting was myself.



I know my dad doesn't hate me. My family doesn't hate me, I'm sure of that. I have to be sure of that. I know he just doesn't understand me. I cried when I put that picture of him and me when I was a baby into that photo frame with friends written on the top. I'm scared we never will be again. I can't just be straight on demand. He doesn't get that. I can't just like guys because it'll be easier. I don't like guys. Not in that way. Not enough in that way at least. Besides, I don't want friends who will judge me for the gender of my partner. I want friends who will judge me for me. That's what mine do, right? They judge me for me, and they know me, and they're still sticking around right? They don't care if I'm queer. They don't care if I've never put a true label on myself, and they're happy with me just floating with the breeze. Why can't my dad understand that those are the friends I want? Why can't he understand I wish he could be like that? Loving me for me. Not what he wants me to be.


If anything, he should want me to be strong. Or stronger than him. Not that, that would be very hard. I at least got out of that house. Still waiting for him to do the same.



I feel like I've been kicked my whole life. My councellor has even said that I've definitely had it pretty bad growing up. So it's not just me having a 'woe is me' moment. For everyone who ever said I was a sook, or a 'walking manikin' (Get fucked Tom) I actually had a reason to complain and cry and ask for help and advice. I had a fucking reason and what did you all do? You knocked my glue stick over every time you walked past my fucking table. Then smirked when I'd burst into tears.


Why the teacher loved you baffles me to this very day, six years on.


Because of the way I was being raised, or at least I like to think that's why I was so stupid, I kept a controlling 'friend' around who only put me down constantly, and excluded me when she decided I was too 'immature' to have around. I'm sorry I wasn't into dresses like you and your princesses. I'm sorry I hadn't hit puberty yet. I'm sorry I lived with a fucking abusive bitch who smacked me over the head if I ever had an independant thought. How dare I. I'm sorry you kept telling me I was lucky to have her. I'm sorry it took so long for me to finally stop caring if you cried when you got the hint that I hate you. I fucking hate you.



Everytime I see a quote aimed at suicidal people that runs along the lines of 'think of those you love and who love you back' and I wonder about who I love and loves me back. I tear up at how short that list is. I fucking hate those quotes. I'm not suicidal. The closest to cutting I've ever gotten is scratching and pinching myself while being told off. But if I fail to think of people who might legit love me, then what about the people actually suffering from depression? Their list must so much fucking shorter.



Nobody calls me Bailey. I haven't asked them to yet. They still call me by my birth name. The one with all the baggage attached. The one that's been abused, physically, mentally, verbally and now sexually. I used to be one of those kids who thought it could never happen to me. But hey, guess what, it did.


I'm waiting for the day that I feel okay. I'm waiting for the day that I can cut ties, and be me. And be Bailey. So I can throw that other name away, and all the baggage with it. So I can have a fresh start. Be a new, better person.



I'm not a thief.


Yes I've stolen. I took a Neopet from an almost friends place. I've taken maybe totalling up to twenty dollars worth of gold coins from my step mothers loose change jar before she stopped me using her hair dryer by buying me my own for the kids bathroom (that I proceeded to never use(the dryer that is)). I can't even imagine how much sugar I would have eaten out of the sugar jar. I took a pencil shaped eraser. I stole a purple pen. I took chocolates. I snuck milos when nobody was home, and drunk the milk.


But I'm not a thief. I feel no urge to take things that are not mine. Sure I might want it, and depending on who owns it I might feel the slight urge of wanting to just take it. But I'm no thief. That ten dollar note I found, was not stolen from my brothers wallet. I found it at the library. I didn't tell you because, well fuck, why the hell should I? Besides, I forgot. I wouldn't take my brothers money. Yours, yes, but not his. Because I don't hate him.



My step mother thinks I'm a thief and a liar. I guess she just brings out the best in me. Tends to happen when you beat the shit out of someone. She thinks I'm a whore even though I've never had sex. I don't want to hear about the abortion you had a twenty two. I was fourteen, the fuck makes you think I wanted or even needed to hear about that? I mean it's not like you knew what I was doing with your best friends kid.



I didn't even know what I was doing with her best friends kid. It just felt good.



I don't even know. Life is like this one great big wirlwind of fuck. I'm that girl that nothing bad ever happens to right? I'm a ball of fucking sunshine. I'm always happy. Always ready with a smile, and I somehow make people laugh. 'If anyone ever saw you upset, I think the whole world would have a bad day.' Somebody actually told me that. They told me that, on one of the worst days I'd had that year. I'd been smiling. Laughing. Playing the game of 'laugh until you stop crying' that I've been playing since I learned how. She told me that, and my day brightened. It was the first nice thing, to that extent that wasn't an empty, I'm only saying this because it's polite, thing. It was the first nice thing that anyone had said to me since moving to that school that was said outside of pleasantries. She had no reason to even look at me in that moment, let alone tell me something memorable like that. And I forgot her face, even the colour of her hair, the moment she nodded, smiled at me and walked off. I have no doubt she doesn't remember telling me that. But I remember. I cherish it. I just wish I could remember who said it.



There is a ball in my chest and a clog in my throat.



My nose didn't even tingle today before the tears came. That's never a good sign. If my nose tingles it means I'm about to start crying and my body isn't ready for it. The sob is going to be either really quick, or it's going to be an uncontrollable sob. But my nose didn't tingle today. My body was ready for the tears even if I wasn't.


I hate crying.


And I hate this whole thing of writing.


I hate that I have to write this. I hate that there is anything to get out in the first place. I hate that I seem to be dissapointing everyone, seemlessly. As though it were planned. If that were the case however, it must have been planned by someone else. Because if I planned it, then even that would have stuffed up by now. Because that's what I am, right? A stuff up. That's why I can't even pass the subject I'm supposed to excell at. I used to be three grades ahead in English. And now, I'm at risk of failing. A second time.



Fuck life. Just fuck life and fuck my body. Fuck my mind. My body is working against me. My mind won't stop showing me things that i don't want to see. I don't want to remember. I hate remembering it. I can't.



I just. Can't.




(You May Ignore This)


(You May Ignore This)
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