Things Are Wrong

Let's Hear It

   Mare is a wonderful name, isn't it? I chose it myself, to me this name basically makes me feel like me. The name Mare is rebellious, I'm rebellious. The name means bitter, and thanks to the fuck ups of society, I'm bitter as well. Let's make a cheesy ending sentence to this paragraph. Let's talk about how we came this far.

   This entire story may seem stupid to you, but I'll never feel any better unless I write it down for you to see. I may even record myself reading it, so they'll force you to hear it. Again, it's stupid, but you need to hear it, it may just make you a better person. And to a nameless person, you know who you are, it'll teach you to not treat other like shit. 

   Once you realize this story is dedicated to you, you'll feel sorry. Maybe the good, quiet students, will finally step up and tell the truth instead of worrying about your image. Worrying about how the popular kids will see if you 'tattle'. Don't think you're off the hook for not doing anything bad. You did nothing at all, you could have done something good.

   Students of Westville High, and students who went to Westville Middle, and Westville Elementary. You won't remember me as Mare, now would you? Well, I grew up with all of you. I liked to wear skirts and have long hair, I loved being girly. The only problem being my birth name was Magnus. 

   As you would imagine, the name Magnus isn't necessarily feminine, in all fairness, it seems quite masculine. Doesn't it?  

    You don't remember growing up with anyone named Mare, a girl, who felt beautiful being a girl. I did not feel comfortable, having to pretend to be a boy. I was not a boy. Though, I was classified as a boy, and I was sorted with the boys.  

   Let me get this straight: I am not a boy. It feels wrong to say that I am a boy when I do not feel like a boy. I am a girl. I feel comfortable as a girl.

    You most likely remember this small boy in third grade, he was shy-spoken and kept to himself most of the time. That was Magnus, that was me. That was who I was until fourth grade. When I first met my one true friend.

   To her, I am so sorry. I know I promised that we would battle everything together, but I just couldn't fight this battle again. We've gone through it so many times before and it's getting too much. Just know you are in my heart, you're the only one who's there. 

   I met her in just fourth grade, which was when she first came to the Westville education line. She obviously didn't know that I was considered unpopular, that I didn't belong. She soon discovered that, and learned that she too would be pushed away from everyone else. She didn't care. 

   One day, there was a free dress day. So obviously, I wanted to wear something nice, to hopeful even be looked at by other kids. The problem was that I wandered into my older sister closet, and looked through her old clothes.

   I discovered this pretty flowy dress, I thought it felt nice to wear. So I did.

   No one told me goodbye that morning, they didn't kiss me as I got on the school bus, and no one in my family saw what I wore.

   As I stood on the bus, and got showered by eyes of disgust, did I realize. Boys don't wear dresses, they think I'm a boy, I don't feel like a boy. Don't make me be a boy.

   The only person I trust stands and calls for me to go sit with her. Seeing her look still happy to see me after all the glares faced me and now her, made me relieved. She then compliments me on my outfit, pulling the tremendous weight off my shoulders.

   I felt happy at this moment in time.

   Of course, no moments can last forever. While it is true that many more good moments happened with her, my best friend, so many more terrible moments happened.

   As you, students in year 12 at Westville High School, I bet you guys feel terrible. Oh I can't believe he would ever think of doing this. I'm so sorry and I wish him the best. 

   This goes without saying, as everyone should already know this. Don't be fake. Stop acting like you care, or ever cared when you don't. Kaitlyn, Ema, Jada, Carleigh. All of you, high class students, who treated me like shit my entire life.

   When you get the news of my passing, that's when you start acting like you care. Not when I stop going to school. Not when I, being the smartest student in school, start failing classes. Not even when scars started appearing on my wrist, or when bruises began to cover my body, did you start to care.

  No one ever really notices anyone, or how they act until their gone. No one ever really cares until something devastating happens. 

   Now that I'm gone, the school started putting up posters about depression. About helping everyone, and caring for every student. The anti-bullying posters, not until something bad happened did they go up.

   That's the fucking problem. No one gives a shit until it affects them.

   You may not understand my anger at this, but just wait. You'll get the entire story, if you care enough to stick around. Students of Westville High, this story is for you.

[A/N: This chapter is probably really short, and I'm still not sure if I'll ever actually decide to write this entire story. Yes I have many ideas, I'm just not very confident in my writing ability, so please if you like this story can you please tell me? It'll make me feel better about this story. Also, I'm trying to get my pen name to be Sugar, and I actually made a decent cover it just wont post on the story properly, so it will probably be up shortly but who knows.. ~Sugar]