Open Closets

For those who need it

A/N: Hey lovelies this is the 13th chapter and it's written by the beautiful WinterJoy. She is such an sweet person and an awesome writer. And I'm so glad she wrote this. Thank you so much for helping me, girl.<3

(In the text she is talking about a song so I recommend listening to it, I linked the lyrics video)

*trigger warning*

Where do I start something like this? I don't know, because I've never really written anything like this. But I guess the beginning would be a good place. I think it started without me realising, when I was nine. I had just gone up one class, with some new people, and some not so new to me. Things started off quite unpleasantly. There were already groups of friends and I didn't fit into a single one. At the time, this didn't bother me all that much. I had my books to keep me company during break, an escape from reality into the wonderful world of fantasy, where I could be anyone and do anything I liked. But that was before the comments started. One of the very first I remember was during break time when I was standing next to the the usual bench with the other girls (there was never any room for me to sit down) and I was saying something but nobody was really listening and I ended my story with, "That was so freaky, don't you think?", and then this one girl whom I had known before briefly turned her head towards me and said "You've always been a freak, we know, Anne." Now that hurt me, but I was rather naive and young and never saw the bad in anybody. I figured maybe I had bored them with my story, so I moved on, although that moment always stayed in the back of my mind. From then on, little nasty things started to occur. I frequently found my indoors shoes scattered haywire across the hallway, or hidden in various bins. I was followed, chased until I was shaking with fear and couldn't run away anymore. I think those were the boys, mostly. Then once in handcraft, I came in after the break only to find that my seat had been taken by two other girls. I pulled up a chair and continued reading my comics. A few moments later, the first pencil hit me in the head. I ignored it, hoping they would stop. They didn't.
Ten minutes later I was full-out screaming at them to leave me alone when the teacher came over. She listened to my story, ignoring the giggles of the two girls. She believed I must have provoked them somehow and made us shake hands. Does anyone else hate that? Everyone always knew that it wouldn't help.

I was walking home, glad to be away for that hellhole of a school, when I heard voices behind me. The two girls saw me and started chasing after me. They caught up and circled around me, yelling things like "You little tell-tale!"
What was I supposed to do? They were two and I was one, I didn't know I what would happen to me. Luckily, my friend's mother came out of the house and called me over. That was the last time the girls followed me, although comments and snide remarks never missed an opportunity to humiliate me in front of the class. Coming home crying had become the norm for me. Crying myself to sleep? A regular.

Sooner or later, when you keep hearing every possible negative thing about yourself, you start to believe it. Maybe they were right, I wasn't worth anything. I mean, who would want to be friends with me? I read books, was the only person at 12 not to have a phone yet and didn't know more about celebrities than their name. And of those, I knew just about three. I didn't dress like the others, I had no pocket money, I was always away with my family every weekend - I sucked at maths, I was stupid, disgusting and should feel sorry for the people who had to see me every day. At home I would cry and scream until my lungs hurt because I hated every single one of them, they were idiots - but maybe it was me, maybe they were all right - no, it wasn't me, but then again it could be and besides, I was worth nothing, I was stupid, I'd never have a future. I'd also never find a boyfriend, because who would want me?
Three years. That's how long I was stuck in that school, with those kids who could never get enough of hitting me, verbally abusing me and making me see myself as a disgrace. It's strange, because when I try to remember that time, everything is a blur. I see glimpses of situations, remember the sound of somebody's voice as they insulted me or feel such shame and disgust that I can't help but shut my eyes tight and curl up into a ball until the moment has stopped replaying in my head. Maybe when you go through a bad time your brain makes you forget certain things because you can't handle seeing them again.