The Inglorious Years They Call High School

Falling for him wasn't the problem...

 When grade 9 started, everyone remembered me. Somehow they had all heard about my holidays, but that was okay it was the reason that very few people talked to me. There were whispers and stares and that was okay too, it was nothing compared to what the girl who spreaded the rumors in the first place faced. She had to move towns. I was appreciative of what I had, it could have been so much worse for me.

I was in a good headspace, I was passed feeling sorry for myself. My parents were almost back on their feet and I suppose my brother leaving had helped with that. I was healthy in every way, I couldn't have felt better. I was content with being alone, I wasn't actually lonely. I had everything I wanted. My grades were back to perfect, I was even getting and A in sport. 6 months passed that way, I was into the third quarter when I was trying to focus on my assignment on the First World War.It was harder then usual because I kept getting notification e-mails about my blog. I was getting messages.

I've never been able to really remember what they said, I remember how they made me feel. I remember the shaking and the crying and all the anxiety and hate filling me up again. I remember how they wouldn't stop, there was seriously not an hour that would go by without atleast one message. Usually there was atleast ten, I'd wake up to an ask box filled with hate. I'd wake up to see I'd been crying in my sleep, I'd wake up to feel those words sinking into me, beginning to see the terrible things they called me in the mirror. I saw my reflection change before my eyes. I felt the pressure build up to the point were I'd feel like I was screaming when infact I wasn't making a sound.

I didn't have release. Until I listened to one of the messages "u talk like your sum kinda emo bitch but u dont evn no wat its lyk 2 put a razor to ur skin stoopid wunabe btch go cut urself". I did. It hurt. Like fucking hell, have you ever cut yourself shaving?It hurts atleast 10x more then that, but I guess you don't really feel it, it was the blood I focused on. It was a release. I spent a long while after that staring at the knife I used. It was deep and it scared me, but it worked. And if it worked it couldn't be that bad right?

Wrong. A few months after I was hiding 3/4's of my body, I never wanted anyone to see my cuts or my scars or the names the anons called me all inscribed on my body. The shame begun to seep into me again. The fear overwhelmed me sometimes. 'What if I get caught? What would they do to me? What would the people at school say? They all hate me anyway! Uselless, bitch, emo, slut, stupid,worthless, fat, whale, ratface'. Sometimes I'd just start crying and shaking out of no where and you know what? It's really hard to cry when you can't breathe either.

Although the anons never stopped sending me hate, eventually there was a nice one. Only one but with so many messages all saying I suck (in much more graphic ways) that one anon stood out. Kind of like if you put a candle in a closed wardrobe.  The anon was so nice, they called me pretty and told me I was kind and smart and helped me through so much. After about a month, on the first term break, that person came of anonymous. He had a blog too, he only a year older but in the same grade and he lived in the area. The parralels were scary. But eventually he convinced me to video chat and 'proved' he was him.

He was kind to me, he had amazing eyes, and his smile was to die for, his name was Adrian. He had the best personality, I honestly thought he was flawless. He was my best friend, my only friend. I was so glad to have him in my life. We pulled of the 'a guy and a girl can be best friends without falling for each other' perfectly, even after we met, even after he transfered and we started spending all our time together. Falling for each other wasn't the problem...