Everyone Hates Me Mentality

All my life. I've been hated.
When I was young there were reasons for it to happen, i was loud, cocky, and had a huge ego.
I screwed up my own social life by showing off and insulting others, and mum took me to see psychologists.
They tested my I.Q and then my E.Q. When the tests came back, they were surprised to see that i had an abnormally large intelligence score, but that my emotional intelligence was exceptionally low. From the age of 5-9 i was at a small unforgiving school where i was taught that I was to be hated by everyone, no matter how hard i tried, or how nice i'd be. 

That mentality remained with me for the rest of my life. 

At the age of nine, i begged my parents to let me switch schools, finally they caved and let me go to the school near our house. It was good. I learnt how to be nice to others, to play in a playground and i even started being quiet in classes. All was well.

Until 2 years later when I had to start 7th grade at a new school The school I had selected was posh. christian. and strict. I was m e s s y, funny, and jewish. Things were a DISASTER. Every single girl in my year hated me from the VERY beginning. Suddenly the almost-forgotten feeling of being disliked through-out  a community had returned, but this time there were 300 more people to hate me. I went to school every day, and battled through torment, and how happy i was to discover my teacher hated me too. That's when i started cutting. And writing poetry. When I first showed my poems to my teacher she curled her lip, and said "you're dark and depressing Maya (thats my name btw), be happier". she had n o i d e a what emotional hell i was going through. I was 11 years old, and writing about death. Alarm bells never went off for her, that OOOPS SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT HERE. When i was picked on by the rich kids, she never stood up for me, all she did was tell me how bad i was and how weird i was. 

8th grade was pretty much the same, my poems got darker and so did the cuts. My 8th grade teacher noticed the scars on my forearms and sent an email home.
I made sure it never got to my parents.  (they never found out till 9th grade).
I got some nerve and wrote a poem about playing the violin.. i showed it to my teacher at the time, who flattened it, but i sent it off to a competition anyway. I was the youngest entry and i won.
That just got me more hated.

I moved schools twice after that, and my social life fourished. But until today i still have the mentality of:
Everyone hates me. 
 
It follows me everywhere. It gets me hurt. 
It gets me really hurt.

It followed me to my summer camp, where i got on great with the boys in my group (i was 15 at the time) everything was going great until Zanetta happened. she had history. 
She had sex at 12, and had been pregnant thrice. she smoked a lot, and although she was always caught, she never got kicked out.
She had a mission.
To make my life a living hell, and she succeeded. 
But Camp is another story, for another day. 

When i feel strong enough to talk about it
mayabooba mayabooba
13-15
Jul 11, 2010