Every single day at school, it’s hell. In every class paper gets thrown at me. In homeroom a pencil almost struck me in the eye. An eraser bounced off my head onto the floor, and the sad thing is, the teachers do nothing.
Every school has a few black sheep in a herd of white ones. I’m one of those black sheep. I’m just… different. I have few friends, and I’m hated by everyone. I’m overweight, but people at my school take it way to far, saying I’m 200 pounds, or bigger than a mountain, etc. But none of that’s true.
I have a webshow on Youtube, and you wouldn’t believe the nasty comments on there. I have a mild case of tourettes, and apparently, I “blink every frickin’ two seconds” and I’m a “freakin’ retard” and more things like that but in more offessive language. Half of those commenters don’t even know me, so why must they judge?
I shop at Hot Topic and wear some heavy eye makeup, but so does this popular girl at my school. People ask me why I try to look like her and people say I copy her, but I don’t. We just have some similarities. She’s somehow cool because of it, and yet it makes me “emo.”
I’m even hated in my own home. My sister’s just as bad as the people at school, and my dad loves her more because she’s thin (like him) and jewish (like him) while I believe in christainity. That’s not even the worst part of it.
I was at a pet store with my mom all the way on the other side of town. I was holding a dog, but was told not to stand up. When I was ready to give it back to the pet-store emplyee, she didn’t see me. I stood up to look for her, and it was a mistake. The dog was squirmy, and jumped out of my arms. It landed on it’s back, and started sqeauling. It was terrible. The employee had to see my mom’s ID, make a record, etc.
I made an even bigger mistake later that week. I was telling my best friend what had happened, but I told her at school, at lunch. I didn’t think anyone would hear, but appraently, someone did. Rumors flew, and know I got called a DOG KILLER every. single. day. This was in the middle of seventh grade. I’m now in eighth, and I still get called a dog killer every day.
My life, hard enough as it is, is only getting harder. I found out I have to have a second foot surgery (I had one last summer,) in about a month. That’s in the school year. I can only imagine how hard my life will be then, I’ll probably get pushed, and I’ll probably fall because I’ll have crutches and a big old bulky cast for a month and a half.
The worst part didn’t even happen yet. In seventh grade, I was friends with a boy named… let’s call him James. James and I were friends, we talked, but we weren’t exactly close friends. When the dog killer rumors started, he turned agasinst me too. To him, I was a “female Michael Vick” and nothing else. We weren’t friends any more. Over the summer at a town fair, I saw him again. We had an all out war, from name calling to throwing drinks at each other. When school started up, he table-topped me outside. I told my mom, and she calls the assistant principal! James got in trouble, so now I’m also a tattletale.
Even though my life is super hard, and will only get harder, I learned that just because I’m different doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. I know I’m not a dog killer, I know I’m not a retard, and I know I’m not fat. I am who I am and nobody can change that. I learned to stick by my real friends, and ingnore the haters. Who cares if I only had four friends? At least they’re good ones who will stick by me everytime I need them too…