The Real Diary

Entry no. 13

Looking For Me..
[published 25/11/2014 1:05 am]

Growing up I always felt like I was invisible. No one noticed me and I was fine with that; I didn't want to be noticed. But then people started noticing me too much, they noticed my flaws and judged me for it. Bullied for being me. So what's the point in being your self if people won't accept you for you? That's the question I asked myself so many times.Yet I still don't know the answer. I was and still am labelled to society has a freak, a nerd and a geek. At night when I went to bed their taunting often times echoed in my head. Soon I saw myself the way society saw me. It did nothing for my self-esteem. When I looked at the mirror I saw someone who was a disgrace to society. I thought of myself as unwanted. And that's when I felt truly invisible. I didn't know what to do or who to turn to. Where to look for help. I didnt trust people easily, still don't. And that's when I started writing. I kept a journal with my deepest and darkest thoughts.Words just came and they just found their way to the paper. My home life wasn't any better, I didn't live with either of my parents. They were teen parents so when I was 4 years old my dad made me live with his aunt until he could fend for me himself. My parents never got along, still don't .Then my relationship was rocky with my mom. People made up all these stories about her breaking down, the image she should have upholded in my head.

So back to my great aunt. I lived with her for 10 years, ten years of torture, pain and sadness. I was like a slave to her. In the third grade I was already responsible for cleaning my bathroom and bedroom. Then by fourth grade her bathroom and bedroom. By fifth grade I was also cleaning the kitchen and all the other rooms in the house, along with my younger cousin. She was my rock then, we went through it together, we were like sisters. I was also making my own meals, washing my own clothes, I was doing chores kids my age weren't even introduced to. By sixth grade I believed I was raising my self. I spent most of my time cleaning, I barely had time for homework, I would have to stay up late to complete it, because low grades where a no no in her house. So no I'm not a nerd, I was forced to maintain my grades and always be on top. My dad did send money monthly but she squandered it, only providing us with lunch money. Then she hired a cab to pick us up and drop us to school. Anything I wanted I saved up for it. My dad did send me clothes and shoes but she gave most of it away to her friends behind my dad's back. People on the outside thought I was living the fab life because our house was so big with nicely kept grass and gardens. But they didn't even know half of it. I was also beaten as a form of traditional Jamaican discipline. But with things like the hose, shoe heel, broom, hanger and belt buckle. Is that justified? What ticked me off was the reason for getting a beating, I mean, not sweeping the room spotless,what do I know I was just nine. For crying and not telling why I hated my life. I wanted to die.I picked up that knife so many times, ready to end it, carving the outline of my skin.What stopped me I don't know. But still I would put a needle in my skin and dig it deep. She was a big deal in her church yet her evil wasn't missing fake on the outside boasting to everyone how obedient we are, how we get good grades. But yet once she threw my report card back in my face. I also held on to religion, faith that god made me live for a reason.

It took me awhile to find out who I was. I was trying so hard to fit in and be like everyone else I didn't know who I really was. I would always wear makeup though I hated it, I just didn't feel beautiful without it so I putted on this mask to impress everyone. It worked because people starting saying I actually looked good without my school uniform. It made me feel good for a while but then I felt guilty for reasons I didn't know. But then I realized I wasn't me wearing makeup or playing dress up. It wasn't me. And I hated that people couldn't accept me for me but when I dressed up they suddenly wanted to talk me. When I was 13 I stopped wearing makeup. Now when I leave the house I barely even apply lip gloss. Then I thought shopping was cool and I would tell people how much I love shopping though I've never been shopping a day in my life. All my clothes and shoes were handed to me. Now when I go to a mall I can't wait to leave I just want to get my clothes and leave. Then next are parties. I hate it and I use to pretend to like them to act cool. I hate crowds and loud music, plus I can't dance and I'm not a people person. Now I try to be as different as possible, now I do the opposite thing everyone does. I realized that's who I am; someone who wants to be different and make a difference.

It took me years to find my talents. I always thought I wasn't good enough to have a talent. I couldn't sing well couldn't dance either. Artistic? Heck no, always colored outside the lines. I never viewed writing as a talent, just school work. Never thought my short stories or poems I wrote in class with that big A on the top meant anything.bI've been writing forever but just recently realized it was my talent all along.Well, last year my friend told me about this app called Wattpad.I wasn't sure I was going to install it but I did, best thing I could have ever done. That's when I found my center. Ideas kept popping in, and that dream I thought I could never full fill I could slowly see coming to reality. Writing changed me and I found a piece of myself through it.

My other talent is running, well, probably a skill.But still I wasn't good in sports. In netall (Jamaican game similar to basketball for females only) I couldn't shoot a hoop to save my life, and no one ever wanted me to be in their team. I could play football (soccer to Americans) and cricket but those were male sports. But then a miracle happened and it was time for track and field. We learned all the starts and baton passes for relays. I wasn't expecting much, I was nicknamed butter finger. But shockingly when all the girls lined up I outran all the girls in my class. My P.E teacher wanted me to even join the track team but sadly I had to go home after school.bMy house was a hour and a few minutes away from my school and it was hard to get any bus that wanted to carry school children. Then people started noticing me for something other than academics. People wanted to race me insports day.

Still didn't think I was any good until I came to America and joined the track team. I'm trying to make states next year. My coach put me on varsity when I was only a freshman. Big privilege. It's now my second passion to writing. When I'm running I feel powerful. I feel in control, like I can do anything. Running is freedom. Finishing a race, winning a race, makes me feel invincible, like I could do anything. For me it's not about winning but finishing the race. For me running represents strength. And strenght represents me.

One summer in Jamaica I just left seventh grade and I was in high school, I joined Facebook and met this guy I thought was a player. He accepted my flaws and thought me being different was a good thing. We had this mutual connection.And even though he could have any girl he wanted he choose me. I learned we had so much in common when I really got to know him. His parent didn't really accept him for him, always saying he's so into girls, that's why his grades are low. He studied hard to prove them wrong. He was the first guy to tell me I was beautiful. The first to say the words "I love you". The first to make me feel special. The first to make me feel the fireworks. He was the first and only guy I fell in love with. The magic lasted for eight months.

Sadly I moved away from Jamaica. My dad didn't approve of me dating when I was only 13. I had to end our romance. I still think of him every day, still not over him. And now I'm 15. I still think of how he showed me how up to stand up for myself and always be me. Now I stand up to my bullies. I still think of our late night conversations, silly arguments and debates. I still think of his voice. How he could make me dizzy with lust just by saying hi. I still dream of him.

Its hard to move on. Really hard and it just makes me feel so pathetic. Since I know he has a new girlfriend, kissing another pair of lips.

My life still isn't perfect though I moved away from my country. I miss Jamaica, it's a place I've known my whole life. Where I learnt to be independent . I do have good memories. I did have good friends. But I think I'm in a better place now. My relationship with my dad isn't the best, we've had our problems and overcome them. I still feel empty at times and blank out on occasions. I'm still not fixed. But I'm getting there, I'm slowly finding me.

I guess life is about having problems.Wouldn't the world be blank without them?

P.s..my cousin is also in a better place now..she finally lives with her mom in California. I'll be visiting her this summer.

Thanks for reading my story.

Hoped you learned something about life from it.

-edited by the Head

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