Finding Hope [A Memoir]

Finding Hope - Chapter 1

The Beginning

From the time I was born, I'd say I had a pretty good life. A good family, nice friends. What more could I have asked for? But it all went down the toilet once I hit my teen years. That's when things started spiraling out of control.

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I wish I could tell you how it was when I first turned thirteen. How I was so happy to finally be growing up, how I loved every second of it. But I can't, because I simply don't remember. But what I do remember is sixth grade, and what a horrible year it had become for me.

It's a big transition from elementary to middle school, mostly because you have to change six classes. But that wasn't the hard part. Oh no, not at all. The hard part was fitting in.

The summer before sixth grade, I had to get my hair cut off, every itty bitty curl that ever covered my head. I was little and therefore, never took care of my hair like I should have. Going back to school the next year was the hardest thing for me. I was basically bald. What would the kids think? I thought, Would they make fun of me?

I know an eleven year old should never have to think about what people say, but I did. I cared about everyone's opinion. I wanted to be like them.

I used to wear my hair with a different headband each day. My mother would always tell me how pretty I looked, even though I didn't think it. She always used to buy me packs of them at the store that came with an assortment of different colored headbands. But apparently, that wasn't good enough for anyone else.

That year, I got made fun of so many times. People would call me names, taunt me for being "bald," and I was nicknamed the puff, because what was left of my curly hair was in an Afro puff on my head, being held back by my sparkly headband.

I don't remember much, but I do remember how hurt I felt. People lashed names at me in the hallway, and I felt so hurt. But what could I do? It's not like I could stop them. And if I told my mom, she would probably go to the school and embarrass me, which would have made me even more of a loser than I already was.

In sixth grade, I had a crush on this boy. In my eyes, he was beautiful. Milk chocolate colored eyes, chestnut hair. And he ended up having second period in the room across from mine. I would always write him cheesy love notes and give them to him to read in class, but people told me he rarely read them. If he did, he would toss them into the trash after the bell rang, leaving every heart-felt word I'd written at the bottom of a plastic trash bag.

He was even in my band class, sixth period. One day, I had the guts to ask him to walk with me to the tree after school. And reluctantly, he agreed, probably hoping if he went along, he'd never have to deal with me again. So we walked to the tree after school, me clutching my flute case in my sweaty palms, biting on it and whispering, "Ohmygod, is this really happening?" as we walked. Talk about nerd, huh?

After that, nothing happened, so I decided to try Valentine's Day. I had asked my mom if I could get him something, so she took me to the supermarket and I picked out a few goodies. A chocolate chip cookie in the shape of a heart with pink and red frosting piped around it, a balloon, and a card. In band that day, I asked my friend to give it to him, since I was too shy.

He looked at everything and pursed his lips. I looked over at him shyly, but when he met my eyes, he just shook his head and turned away.

As soon as the bell rang, I darted out of class, feeling ashamed and stupid for what I'd done. Outside, staff members were selling pizza to raise money for the school. I bought a slice, and all of a sudden, my crush comes walking up to me.

"Uh, thanks..for the gifts." He said.

At that, I was basically screaming. But he walked up to me at the worst possible time. With a mouth full of pizza in my mouth and tomato sauce covering my face, I yelled-yes, yelled-"You're welcome!" as he sped down the concrete sidewalk to the tree. There, his mother and younger brother were waving, giving me a slight wave, and as I went home that day, he was all I could think about.

Another time, I wrote him a letter-the one that says, "Do you like me? Check yes or no," with boxes to check-asking if he liked me. In the instructions, he was told to check one box and give it to me after second period.

He did as told, and as he handed me the letter, he said, "I'm sorry," and ran to class.

As I opened the folded sheet of notebook paper, I scanned it and almost immediately started crying. He checked, No. And that's when I got my first broken heart.

From then on, I begged him desperately to give me a chance, that I could change. He would always throw away the letters, and sometimes he wouldn't even take them from me when I tried giving them to him in the halls. Every time I passed him by, he averted his eyes to the cold tile floor, never meeting mine once.

Kids at school knew about my crush, since I didn't even attempt to hide it. They would always call me a stalker. "You're not stalking him, are you?" They ask. "You know he doesn't like you right? You should just give up." "You're such a freak, get a life." "I think you're obsessed with him or something..."

Those were the harsh comments I would get, ever single day, to the point where I didn't want to go to school. But I had to, and after a while, I got used to it. Each time it was said, it would still hurt, but all I felt was numb. I wasn't any of the things they said. I was never obsessed, or stalking him. But no one ever understood, so I just stopped trying.

Ever since then, I never fit in. And I still don't to this day.