Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones and Words Will Always Hurt Me

Every middle school girl is not worried about much. They are worried about the newest Jonas Brothers or Hannah Montana song, what lip smacker flavor to get, and whether cargo pants were still in. I was later told they were never in. In seventh grade I worried about those things as well but a big struggle I had was my weight. During my seventh grade year, I became sick and the sight of food disgust me. My doctor said it was hormonal, so I assume he knew best. I spend three weeks eating the bare minimum because I was just never hungry. After I got over being sick, I had lost around 20 pounds. It was just my baby fat leaving and I just felt more confident because of my harmones. I was looking and feeling good with my straight hair clipped back. I felt as if I was on top of the world in the middle of seventh grade. My friends were awesome, I was going to my dream high school, and on top of that I had lost my biggest flaw, my baby fat.


Everything was okay until one day in seventh grade when I had gotten lunch. To get to my lunch spot, I had to walk through a crowd of seventh grade boys. I was friends with many of them and had a crush on one of the guys who was new my sixth grade year. That day at lunch they were celebrating the third 9 weeks being over and gave us moon pies. I was never the biggest fan of moon pies, but who doesn't love free food? I grabbed one and walked back to my seat with my food in one hand and moon pie in another. While walking through the crowd of boys, one of them told me I should lay off the moon pies. I vividly remember stopping and turning around, unable to move or think rationally. I was crushed to find out the boy I liked was the source of this comment. The feeling of hurt, anger, and self consciousness waved over me quickly. My initial reaction was to get violent. I tried to hit him until one of my friends stopped me. This was not my finest moment, but in that moment I felt as if it was how I was supposed to act. When I told my friends about what had happened they told me not to worry about it. They justified his comment by telling me he was just a dumb boy who did not know what he was saying. They left it alone and continued on with their conversations while I sat holding back tears that were threatening to escape my eyes.


The feeling that day is one that I hope never returns. I had not told anyone this story and I believe everyone has forgotten it. I saw the boy again my junior year because he is friends with a close friend of mine. She did not know what happened, and I never had the nerve to tell her. I saw him and his words echoed throughout my mind. It was as if I was the innocent, naive eleven year old girl again. From this experience, I have learned to love myself. I am not totally healed and never will be. I still have body issues that I will probably never get over, but I have grown from it. I have tried to make sure no one feels the way, because no one deserves it. Every time I eat a moon pie, I cannot help but to think of the immature boy who tainted me forever. However, I have learned to not let people’s thoughts define who I am. I am strong and independent. I do not listen to what people say about me.






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