Since a very young age I've known that I am precisely what the other girls with their average faces and silky hair full of potential whispered about to their carbon copy friends. Not the one they whispered about in awe, in jealousy, or in wonder, no. They sigh to each other, spending a brief moment of their time regarding me with pity.
We've moved a lot and it's nothing new for me to be sitting in Freshman year at a new high school not knowing anyone, eating alone at lunch making awkward eye contact with the plain, albeit prettier than I'll ever be, girl on the same table. I don't talk to anyone because no one talks to me. Goodness forbid I ever try and "just go up to someone" as my clueless mother encourages. With a normal face, nice eyes and soft hair she doesn't know.
With every day it gets more intense. The move temporarily took my mind off it, off of the countless nights crying myself to sleep in internal agony wanting to scream but knowing no one would hear me and if they did questioning, would they really care?
But all things come to an end and now I lie here again with my phone in my hands typing something on a social network behind a mask of internet anonymity. Weeping softly despite certain knowledge that it doesn't help and I'll feel even worse tomorrow when the skin surrounding my eyes has puffed out to the size of tennis balls.
What am I supposed to do? In preschool and elementary those girls whispered with pity about the weird-looking one with the spots and the masculine face. Now they either ignore me or do the worst they can do... Tell me I'm something I'm not. They see I'm unhappy, I've learned that hiding it does no good. If they can even just notice it in passing perhaps I'm getting a message across. But clearly not the right way because all I get is forced smiles and "oh, you look lovely today" in the hope a teacher saw and they'll get points for being friendly to the poor little girl with no self esteem.
Eventually it gets to you and it starts to change you. Nobody ever holds onto you so you hold onto others twice as much. I've been in love before, if you can even consider it love when it isn't mutual by any means. I've passionately longed for another human being, not as a sign of status or popularity, not as a toy, but I've longed for someone to look deeply into my eyes and tell me they love me, that I'm all they ever wanted. I want this with what was once passion but is now mostly tainted with bitterness, because I know it will never happen. "But true love is only in fantasies" you say, with your boyfriend, husband, friends, those you love who love you. It doesn't have to be forever, it doesn't have to be a case of dying for me. I just want someone to love me. Not just to tell me, but to mean it.
But of course, that never happens to the girl with the spots, the masculine face and the frizzy hair ruined by a long ago perm gone wrong. All we are is little experiences those who won the genetic lottery look at with pity in passing.
pretendingagain pretendingagain
16-17, F
Aug 21, 2014