“Why do you dress the way you do? Why do you act the way you act? Why are you how you are?” a girl sitting to the left of me asks. I don’t know her very well, but her name is Miranda and I have two classes with her. That’s about it. As to why she came up to me today at my lunch table, I just don’t know.
“You really want to know?” I ask her.
“Yes, please”
I sigh and look around with my sight telling me what I see. Preps with preps, jocks with jocks, stand-outs with stand-outs, and me with just me. I take my headphones out, even though the volume was turned way down to the lowest decibel so I could hear what Miranda was saying. Plus, I want to put as much emotion into my answer as I can.
I sigh one more time before saying, “I dress the way I dress because that’s who I am on the inside, dark and complicated. I act the way I act because it’s the only way I know how to express my emotions. Oh, and even better: I am who I am because that’s who I was born to be.”
She stares at me for a little bit, question in her eyes and brow. I can tell what she is thinking just by looking at her face. She thinks I’m a freak. But her gestures change drastically, with her folding her two hands together, forming a chapel of one. She looks at me.
“How long have you been this way? Quiet and concealed to stone. Clothes so black that you resemble a shadow?” she asks me.
“Almost a year, not quite yet”, I answer
“Why the sudden change?”
“Umm … I don’t mean to be rude, but why do you want to know this?”
“Because you’re so quiet! I’ve never seen anybody as quiet as you! Plus, I’ve seen your pictures on Facebook. This is a major switch from normal to Goth”.
Damn, I forgot she added me on Facebook.
“I’ve been through a lot since then, okay? Now if you’ll excuse me …”, I say to her as I slowly walk away with my backpack swung over my right shoulder and soon the left.
Miranda isn’t about to give up though, and she displays this attitude by firmly grabbing hold of my arm.
“Do you, umm, you know …”, she starts, but with my quick wit, I interrupt her, “Do I what, Miranda? Cut myself? Is that what you were going to ask me?”
“Well, normally that’s what people like you do …”
“People like me? Oh, you mean the Goth and emo people that dress in dark colors? While you preps dress in Hollister and Abercrombie? Oh, and the Goth and emo people that show more emotion within ourselves than people like you do?”, I scream. I hated stereo typical anorexics like her last year, which drove me into who I am today.
She doesn’t say anything, but let’s go of her hard grip on my arm, stares at me a second longer before walking away, shocked expression and all.
I watch her as she walks away, suddenly regretting my outburst at Miranda. But I just hate that stereotype so much.
“All Goths and emos cut themselves”
But in my heart, I know it isn’t true. Everyone at this school just thinks it is. Tears well up in my eyes. I hate that stereotype so much it hurts me inside like a flame.
I’m sure it hurts everyone who is just like me as well.
The stereotype needs to perish.
I’ve had enough.