The hardest struggle of all is to be something different from what the average man is.
-Charles M. Schwab
I am "different". Nobody can tell me that I am normal because I have known for all of my life that nobody is, in fact, perfect. I have had scars for as long as I can remember. My earliest memory is of the nurse in the hospital. She was my favorite nurse. She had long, wispy blonde hair and shining green eyes and she was by far the nicest person in the hospital. Her name was Cindy Montgomery but I just called her Miss M. Every day she told me I was beautiful. There I was, little teeth smiling and big eyes shining. I hadn't looked in a mirror since the accident. I hadn't known that Miss M was lying to me. I wasn't beautiful. I wasn't even pretty. I still have ugly burn scars across my face, my legs, my chest, and my right arm. I am a freak.
When I was in 3rd grade, the taunting started. People always stared at me but they never said anything. Sometimes they pointed. Mothers would gasp and lead their children away. My mother just told me that they were heartless and didn't know how great I really was. I was too little to understand. I remember once when I was about 4 years old, I was at the ice cream shop with my grandma. I remember what I got. Vanilla ice cream with chocolate sprinkles and chocolate sauce. It was about a year after the accident and the scars were still extremely visible. I went up to the counter and ordered my ice cream. The lady working there didn't make eye contact with me, not even once. She turned to the other lady working there and whispered something. The other woman turned around and gasped quietly. They both looked disgusted. I sat down and ate my ice cream while my grandma said some awfully mean things to those women. I was embarassed.
In the summer of 2003, I decided to finally take swimming lessons. I was 8 at the time, going into 4th grade. Claire White and her "posse" were there, swimming in the deep end. I was in the shallow water practicing blowing bubbles under the surface. I got up to get my towel, and as I walked past the deep end, Claire and Maggie Edwards got out.
"Hey, Izzie! I heard you can't swim," Maggie giggled. I stopped in my tracks.
"Of course I can swim!" I lied, standing up tall and brave.
"Then why don't you show us!" Claire snickered, pushing me in to the 7 foot deep water.
I splashed and sputtered for a while, kicking and frantically waving my arms. The last thing I saw was the lifeguard's red shorts before I blacked out. When I woke up, the lifeguard was pounding on my chest. He had blonde hair covering his arms. I opened my eyes and coughed out warm, chlorinated water. My nose and throat burned. I lifted my head up and looked around, but Claire and Maggie were nowhere in sight. I wanted to beat them up.
"Are you alright?" Blonde Hairy Lifeguard asked.
"I think so," I mumbled, still trying to catch my breath.
"What's your name?" he asked, "I'm Charlie."
"My name is Isabelle Diaz. But you can call me Izzie!" I said with a faint smile.
...should I continue?
