My stepmother found something I wrote as a child one year. I was fourteen when she found it. Eight when I wrote it.
"I think different to everyone around me."
She instantly turned to me and told me I was no better than anyone else. If anything . . .
Well. There's a reason my self esteem isn't as high as it could be.
When I wrote that however, I hadn't been under the impression that I was better than anyone else. I didn't think I was below anyone either.
I believed I was in some sort of bubble. Everyone else shared a bubble, they understood each other, got along. I had a bubble to myself. My bubble sat beside theirs. I couldn't see into theirs, they couldn't see into mine. But we could see each other. The knowledge that we were apart, seperated somehow was common. Sure, I shared my bubble also, I just couldn't see who with. They were like wisps. There, but unseeable, untouchable. My bubble wasn't better than the rest of the people around me. It wasn't worse.
I felt alone.
According to psychology there are many reasons attributed to my upbringing that would explain why I felt alone. But I will just stick to one single theory based on my social life.
In primary school, in prep, I was well liked.
Young children tend to get along with everyone. They would laugh at my jokes, I would laugh at theirs. When my birthday came around I got people begging me to invite them to my party. Not that I had one. I wasn't allowed.
Then came grade one. A few kids found who they got along with best, and I lost some attention. I didn't realise it then. The kids who moved on were the ones whose faces I never memorised. So there were no faces to miss. I had a birthday party that year, I was only allowed to invite five people.
By that point I was talking to about ten, and actually got a long with six.
That sixth girl missed out. She dropped me as a friend in retaliation.
Nowadays she doesn't remember ever being friends with me. But that's okay.
It is okay. She found new friends, she moved on. I was content with who I had left.
Slowly, as time went on, by year four. I was down to two friends.
I don't know how I lost the others. I don't even remember clearly who they were. One moved out of town, I know that much but the others. I dunno.
One of those friends I lost last year, though I'm not upset by that. I'd tried to drop her as a friend in year five. I had recognised even then how toxic she was. But then she cried, I felt bad, a teacher told me off. sigh
The other I knew for only that year. She was in year three and was taller than me, and more, ah, developed. Nine years old and hitting puberty. So glad that wasn't me. (I didn't hit until I was thirteen)
I was ten by then.
When I lost her as a friend I cried.
I really liked her, and I realise now, that I'd had a crush on her. Funny how that works huh? We met up a couple of years ago for a sleep over. Three years after she moved. We all three slept on the floor with mattresses pressed together. She was made to sleep in the middle because both myself and the other girl wanted to sleep next to her. I told her I tend to cuddle in my sleep (I don't) and she just nodded and smiled and said that's fine. I made sure to soak up that cuddle. Although it wouldn't be until I was fifteen for me to realise that being gay is a thing that does actually happen in real life and I just might be*. That was the best nights sleep I'd had in a while and can remember ever having even now, five years later.
Fuck. I might still be crushing on her. Huh. (as you can see I don't think my takes through very well before writing them)
Anyway.
This does all have a point.
When I hit year five, I had another friend. Not sure where she came from, how I met her, if she'd been at school the whole time and we'd just never talked. I don't know. But she was a sook who is now my best and oldest friend. (Because the other best and oldest friend apparantly hates my guts. I haven't spoken about this one, so no, you shouldn't know what I'm talking about)
It was around this time when people started to notice me.
It's not like they'd just ignored my presence. They just never took much notice of it.
But I don't say noticed in a good way. I recognise it now as bullying. I was teased. Called names. They made fun of me. Though at the time I though tit was all in good jest. So it never bothered me.
It was in grade two that I wrote that sentence of thinking different. And to tell you the truth, I'm not sure how I came to that conclusion at that point, but the idea was definitely stuck in my head by year five.
I didn't care about the thing sother kids did. I didn't care about casual dress days, I didn't care about jewellery or makeup (some girls were getting into makeup at that age yes) I didn't care about boys, or about other kids calling me a lesbian because I kissed a friend. (friendly peck that meant nothing. Not that they were wrong per say) I didn't get all upset by my constant blood noses, though everyone else was weirded out by them. And got pissed when I said it's bad to hold your head back, you need to lean forward to stop it going down your throat.
If a kid called me weird or a book worm I would grin and say thanks. I saw other kids get called names and they'd lash out with some kind of come back. I was never good at coming up with comebacks. (take's one to know one was my go to)
It felt to me like nobody liked me. It felt to me like I was the only one with problems. (other than the chick throwing rocks because her parents had left her with her grandmother and ditched).
God. Okay, I'm going off on a tangent again.
Basically shit happened that put in my head that I was different. I felt different. And thanks to shit going on at home, I began to feel less.
I was in a bubble. At one point I could see my friends in that bubble with me, but as I got older, those friends left and joined the other bubble. I tried to follow, but I would only bounce back and fall on my arse. Every attempt would have my bubble floating further away.
It was lonely.
Okay, so after all that reading you're probably wondering where the inspirational message is. There is none really. Like I said, I don't plan my takes very well. I get the urge to write about something so I do. If youenjoy reading it then that's fine. If you don't then that's fine too.
These days I still feel like I'm in a bubble, but the people I share it with are becoming more clear. In fact, I can see a couple of them. I'm not so alone anymore. But I'm still different.
And you know what?
I'm okay with that.
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