Painful Memories

December 13, 2011
Who am I?
How can a person endure me day after day?
I look different. I can’t help it. I was born this way. I accept the fact that I’m not the same as you or anyone else. That doesn’t give you permission to taunt me about it. Does it make you feel good to know you’ve hurt me? Does it make you feel better to know you have control over me? Does it make you feel powerful to know that I won’t fight back? Does it make you feel great to see the pain you inflict over me just because I’m, as you put it, a “wide load”?
Maybe I don’t look different. Maybe I just don’t stand up for myself and you know it. Maybe you see me as an easier target simply because I’m quiet and I don’t want to get into trouble. Maybe I’m the person that studies constantly and worries about their grades. Maybe it’s because I wear glasses, taped together because of all the times you’ve broken them. Maybe I’m not the strongest or the bravest. Maybe I’m a chicken at heart. Maybe that’s the reason for your shortcomings. Maybe that’s the reason you find the need to exercise your “authority” over me.
Maybe I’m just that person who stands alone. Maybe I’m that shy kid that got thrown into random schools their whole life. Maybe because of that, I grew up to be socially awkward, and as a result, I don’t have many friends. Maybe I’m that kid who wants nothing to do with anyone, especially you. Maybe I imagine myself as that kid who can stand up for themself. Maybe I imagine giving multitudes of speeches to you saying how I really feel, but then in real life I never do.
Maybe, just maybe, I have a hard life. Maybe my head is so wrapped up in the crappy chore that is my daily routine that I simply don’t care about what you think. Maybe that infuriates you to taunt me and see if you can get a reaction. To quote a certain famous playwright, “To be or not to be, that is the question.” For me, maybe it really is the question. The thing you don’t realize is, every time you make fun of me to make your so-called friends laugh, you push me closer to falling over that ledge. Maybe if you realized that, you would leave me alone.
The truth of that matter is, you don’t know me. I’m not the first kid. Or the second. Or the third. I’m not even some other person way off in the distance who gets bullied simply because the tormentor feels like it. In fact, I am not human. I do not have a single name. I go by many. Have you guessed yet? I’ll give you another hint… To the bully, I am the cause of their enjoyment. Once I show myself, the teasing and taunting was all worth it to them. Once I unveil my presence and rise up inside of you, they win. They know they’ve won. They can see me clear upon your face. I am the reason tears come to your eyes. I am the reason your face turns red when you are angry. I am the reason you cry.

I am pain. I am hurt.
I am anger. I am torment.
I am sorrow. I am hopelessness.
I am anguish. I am despair.

I am……Emotion.

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OurSTORY said...
Dec. 16, 2011 at 11:56 pm
I really liked this, the way you built it all up and the repetitive i am at the end. very unique and interesting. :)
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