.:irony of friendship:.

I guess that you can say that it started in kindergarten. Preschool was fun for me; preschool was when I was normal; when I could hold my head up high and not care what other people thought. Catholic school changes everything; kids are meaner; Catholic kids don’t know when to stop, they keep eating at you and eating at you just to spite god’s golden rule. Yeah, this happened even in kindergarten. Believe me when I say that I was never a popular person; believe me when I say that at one point in my life I was the most hated person and it was just because I was myself. My feelings were always subject to torture. I was already really emotional from years of verbal torture from my sister. My mom pulled me and Devin out of the Villa Santa Maria after on semester because I cried at least 2 times a week. Devin and I were home schooled for the rest of the year. Over the summer the verbal tortures got worse from my sister and I went to 1st grade. Yeah, I was still in catholic school, but that doesn’t mean anything. In 1st grade you get blamed for things that you didn’t do, and you get in trouble for them… Things happen people needed someone to blame—I was that person simply because I don’t fight back. Never in my years of remembrance have I ever had the guts to fight back. That was because I was the only person who ever took my side. I was a pushover—I took things as they came, because sometimes you don’t know if you deserve better or not. When people walk all over you sometimes you just learn to let them flatten you—especially at such a young age. It was pretty much the same from then on; I got stapled to foul names and stereotypes and finally during the summer after fourth grade I thought that I had at last had a glimpse of change. I was transferring out of Saint George—I was finally leaving that hell hole of a school. Yeah, I was sad—I don’t know why, but I was. Oh I forgot to mention something that is really important. When I was 8 my mom went to walmart and went to the photo section. She left me there, because she had all the other kids with her and forgot to count us. I think I wandered around for 10 minutes bawling my eyes out until some creepy old lady who was the greeter asked me if I was okay. The way she said it was creepy. She grabbed my arm and we started looking for my mom. I remember when I found my mom and ran to her and clutched her legs. She told me how stupid I was for messing around and not paying attention; how if I had just wizened up I could have saved everyone a whole bunch of trouble. Since then I’ve had separation anxiety from my mom—I think that’s why I'm so quiet around people I don’t know unless my mom is around. I hate being alone—it is one of my biggest fears; I always have to be by someone. I can’t do anything alone. Anyways, I thought that at Arbor everything would change; that I wouldn’t be stuck being outcast anymore. I was wrong. At public school it’s worse because they swear and they are trying to act like adults. Pre-teens are worse than 1st graders because they know how to use words precisely with the ability to cut you. So I whittled down even further. I never had many friends before Arbor Park, but I had even less there. I was smart, and people hated that. If people wanted to be my friend it was because they wanted my brain, not me. They wanted my brain so they wouldn’t have to think for themselves. Why would anyone do anything if they could just have people do it for them? I was used. People never saw me for me and that made me worse. I never had high expectations for myself; I never realized how bad it had gotten. I’ve never cut myself if that’s what you’re wondering. Never would I do that. I couldn’t kill myself either because of my number one fear—death. When I'm dead I’ll be alone. No one will be their waiting for me because they will forget about me. I won’t have 5 people that are waiting for me at heavens gates. I won’t be missed. Sure people will mourn for a day or two after the funeral, but after that I’ll just be dust in the wind. I can’t stand the thought of being buried in a casket. I never have, and don’t think I ever will be. In eighth grade it was the worse. I had realized one thing. If I were smart I would get mean; if I hardened up they would stop making fun of me. If I tried to be just like any of them then maybe I won’t be subject to their torture again. How wrong I was. It got worse and worse and at home it got worse and worse. Leisha wouldn’t shut up, and kept on calling me names. Have you read the Outsiders? I have. If you haven’t I’ll lend you my copy. You see, there’s this main character and his name is Ponyboy Curtis. He is just like me—the odd one out. I seem content with life right? I think I am, but I know I'm not. Sure I have friends but are any of them true to what they say? I’ve battle with the tangled edges of friendship and I know what its like to be screwed over. People think I have it all, but I think I don’t have anything. I’ve never had people realize just me for a minute. I'm just one of those people who are smart; that’s the first things that people see about me. I am smart, so they have to do what ever it takes to have me on their side. I hate it when people are nice to me just because they know that I’ll cry otherwise. I don’t want people to be all buddy-buddy with me because of that. I don’t want just to see a smart girl. I want people to just see me at first glance. No one has ever done that.