School started to get worse for me. More and more people went by connors side. Like a pack of wolves taking down their prey. I started to get bullied. Pushed away. I was starting to be "the last person chose" in group activities. I was pushed to the side like a pair of torn up shoes. I wasn't needed for much. No one seemed to want to listen.
I even started to lose my friends. Were they even friends in the first place? They didn't stand by me through it. Mainly because they hated the idea of being seen with me.
During school didn't seem as bad anymore. I was getting used to the pain of being forgotten during lessons. It all seemed normal at the time. I barely got chosen to speak up during lessons. However when I did, I was as quiet as a chihuahuas footsteps. Fringe over face. Breath in.... breath out. I barely looked up from the desk. Or the floor to be precise.
You see, I wasn't the person people liked. I had blond hair, skin was make up free, hair always across my face. While others had hundreds of pounds of makeup on their face each day. Eyebrows would jump further and further up their head each day. I guess I just wasn't a likeable person. There were always people ahead of me and well, I............I was always one step behind.
The end of school was a mix of good and bad. Good because I got to go home to my safe haven. Bad because almost every night I got followed and when I found a new way to walk they always seemed to find out where. Sometimes it resulted in police coming round.
The mean words followed me to my room each night. They haunted me from day one. Each words blew up in my head like a firework. The words blowing up usually resulted in something a lot worse.
I walked to school with my long sleeves, coated in blood where they painted their words. There to stay. Printed on my arms as scars. Words I still remember to this day.
It was all a cycle. Getting used to it sucked. Who knew life hurt so much? That it hurt to the point you have a suicidal thought in your mind every night. Debating for hours on end on whether you'll say goodbye at the end of the note. Debating on whether to write more then a page. Or whether to even write a letter at all.
You see, at the point where you just feel so crappy that in the morning you hate getting out of bed. Or in the night u fear sleep. You fear the dreams you may have. You fear the bad ones. You fear the good ones ending. The pain doesn't leave. It never did.....
I was always told fear was a trick of the mind. That there were people who didn't fear it at all. But that's not true. Everyone feels pain. They feel the tears that fall down their cheeks at the strike of midnight. They feel the silky hair they pull out from stress. They see the scars they draw on them selves. Some people are just better at hiding pain.
I got better at hiding the pain I felt. If I cried then I tried to make it when everyone else was asleep. I even got better at hiding the scars. I got so used to caring and soaking up all of the pain that I lost control of my self. I lost who I was. While I was caring what others thought of me, I lost all care in myself. I lost all of my hygiene. Stopped showering every night and only once a week. I stopped brushing my hair as much. I even stopped brushing my teeth and didn't eat as much. You might find all of this disgusting however when you're so depressed, so down that you just don't care at all. It just makes you think weather the world is really right for you.
Those thoughts didn't seem to leave my mind. The clung onto me with a huge amount of strength. So much strength that it left a scar. Not a scar on my skin but one on my heart. It cannot be healed.
The bullying seemed to hug onto me. A hug so tight it was warmer than a summer day. The hug was mean. Violent. Soon enough one boy turned into 2, then four, then more than 10. By the end of the year.............it was the whole year group. They were all like a pack of wolves wearing sheeps clothing. All pretending the cared and then stabbed me in the back when I wasn't looking. The stab went straight through........
At this point I only really had three good friends that I could call my own. Georgina. My best friend. James, we were going through the same thing. Cameron, my gay best friend; always good to have a gay best friend. They stood by me, or so I thought.
Georgina was the first to go. The worst to go. She never really stood up for me. Always hurting me. I guess I knew our friendship would soon walk out the door. I still think about her. The times we had. Of course it's all gone now.
Cameron walked out my life after Georgina did. I guess he just got sick of me. Didn't want having me around when Georgina was there. I guess, he was always relying on her. Without her, he was basically a chair without legs, pretty useless.
Then there was James. He hurt me the most. He was always there for me. The trunk to the tree. He picked a group of friends over one. That night we both said the wrong things. He decided he'd make a photo of me hanging myself. It hurt. It was like every shattered piece of my heart had shattered into more pieces. However, he came back. I felt the rush go through me once more. I HAD A FRIEND. I had my best friend back and I couldn't be happier.
