You Are Not Ugly

UGLY

When I was in the seventh grade, I was ugly.

I was ugly because I had metal braces and when I would smile my gums would show and it made it seem like i didn't take care of my teeth. Kids from eighth grade, or maybe even seventh, would call me braceface or train tracks to make their friends laugh. I was ugly because I had big, round glasses that made my eyes look smaller than they usually were and it made it seem like i had a bigger head. I was ugly because when I felt insecure about my eyes, I would draw black eyeliner around them and by the time lunch came the black would smudge and they would say I looked like a "raccoon". I was ugly because i didn't put the right product in my hair and it would always turn out big, dry, frizzy or tangled. Sometimes i would beg my mom to just cut my hair off so i could regrow it all together. I was ugly because I wore all black, and I didn't wear anything that helped my figure. Not that I had one anyway. I never liked to wear bright clothing because it would make me more noticeable to other people.  I was ugly because I was bisexual and It wasn't ok for someone as ugly and weird, or as young,  as me to be into both genders because that's just how it worked. Only if you were pretty, it would somewhat be ok to do whatever or like whoever you wanted. Because i was ugly i wasn't allowed to love whoever i wanted to love. That right was taken away from me because i didn't have straight teeth, big eyes, or pretty hair.
In the seventh grade, i was ugly because I didn't know how to be beautiful.
   
When I was in the seventh grade, I was weak because I would let people walk all over me; as my friends would say. People would call me ugly and other names that would make me feel like i was less of a person. Sometimes when people said mean things to me I would let it slide past my ears and pretend i didn't hear anything because i was so afraid of letting people know that what they said hurt me. I was weak because if people laughed when I would speak in front of classes or walk down the halls, or even sit quietly with my friends I would cry. At times i would beg my mom to take me out of the school, and i could live without having to be taught by teachers and getting bullied everyday. I could just do online schooling and get all the information about what i needed to know in the comfort of my home. That also made me weak.

In the seventh grade, I was weak because I didn't know how to deal with the constant hate thrown at me. I guess that made me even more of a weakling for not knowing how to defend myself.

    Somehow i didn't get the memo of where i had to be a certian way to be happy. Therefore in the results of my ugliness and my weakness... i was sad.

When I was in the seventh grade, I had little friends, maybe two or three best friends. We weren't popular or liked. We stayed in our own little corner by the water fountains and the benches that surround some trees that gave us shade during lunch. I remember when the popular kids walked by us, they would snicker, or even spit at us as we sat and ate our lunch. I remember having crushes on the popular boys along with my friends, and thinking that I would never be able to get to their level, but my friends could.

But to everyone outside of my five people friend group, we were ugly.

I was ugly.

The year of seventh grade was slowly coming to an end, with just a few more weeks left in the year I started noticing how sad I truly was. I was sad to the point where I could have ran away, and believe me i've thought of it many times before. Running away to New York, Paris, even across my little town to a new one. Finding a place where i didn't have to speak with anyone was a goal of mine, but I eventually knew that i would die, hungry, cold, and sad if i ever did fulfill my want.

I was so tired of being sad and not being good enough or pretty enough to even be looked at as a person. Being pushed and shoved into walls, and someone calling me a name every time I glanced at them. I was tired of being weak, and tired of being ugly. I was tired of being myself and i eventually got tired of living. When you start to doubt why you're even worth to live in this world and why your being hurt so much, you start to doubt your reason to breathe. I thought to myself if i'm not worth it now when will i ever be and I started to think everyone's lives would be easier if i was gone and didn't have to worry about having to deal with mine every day.

I remember being so angry. Angry at my parents because i thought to myself why couldn't they have raised me as someone who is beautiful, someone who can stick up for themselves. I was angry at everyone I surrounded myself with for telling me i was this amazing person and i didnt have to be pretty to be successful. I was angry for being lied to.

I remember screaming at the top of my lungs for help and yelling, why was i like this and why me. Why now and what can i do to make this hurt stop. What can i do to get sleep, to eat, to stop the tears flowing from my eyes every night from the thoughts of myself. When was the ache in my stomach going to stop from looking at myself and being so disgusted from what i saw in the mirror everyday.

I remember crying myself to sleep every night because i knew that nobody wanted me to wake up in the morning. I remember crying so hard that i would hyperventilate and eventually pass out. I remember the days where no more tears would flow down my face.

I remember being so scared to tell my parents that i was like this because i knew they would be disappointed and blame themselves for their "bad parenting", and think... why they didn't conceive a better kid. Why couldn't i be different.

I remember standing over bridges and on top of train tracks hoping to God that i wouldn't be weak this time. That i wouldn't run away from what i've wanted to do for so long and not back out from my promise to myself. 

I remember saying that i hated myself. And i remember not having hope, or faith in who I was. I remember telling myself that i was a fuck up. And i was tired of me. I was tired of existing. I was tired of being so afraid of myself and everyone else around me. I was tired of being called names and doubting myself everyday. I was tired of crying and not being able to speak because of all the times i would scream in my room with my music turned all the way up. I was tired of being hungry from not eating because i remember thinking to myself that maybe if i was skinnier i would be prettier. Maybe if i stayed inside forever i wouldn't have to hear other people. Maybe if i locked my door all of the time,  my disappointed family would leave me alone. Maybe if i wasn't alive, this would be a whole lot better. Maybe if i wasn't ugly... none of this would have ever happened.

I remember my first time drinking at the age of 11, and at that young age it was so terribly sad coming to the realization that people drank alcohol because they were sad. having to smoke weed to be numb. Girls wanting to have boyfriends to know that they were wanted for something. weather it be love or sex. i remember realizing at such a young age that alcohol and drugs were used for an escape for being sad. and i abused that knowledge every way i could. and i remember being done. so done with myself. so done that i thought that swiping razors on my wrists and stomach would be a solution.
i was so terribly sad. so tired, so weak, and so ugly.

and one night i remember waking up angry. so incredibly angry that hot Tears ran down my face as my heart grew cold, and dark. so much anger that i told myself that i couldn't give up, that i could make it to happiness. And i believed myself for the first time in a long time. i hid everything away and instead of telling myself i was sad, angry, and scared, i told myself i was fine.

Instead of being sad, weak, and ugly, i disguised it.

And I became a bitch.