A Letter to my Middle School Self

May 30, 2018
By pay489 SILVER, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
pay489 SILVER, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
6 articles 0 photos 0 comments

You’re not as big as you think you are. You’re 5’2”, weighing in at a humble 118 pounds, and as a high school senior, you won’t be any bigger. It’ll take your sister dragging your half-conscious body out of a Lil Pump concert for you to realize this. You’re more like a Chihuahua than a Pit Bull.
You look ridiculous in plaid jeans. That strip you bleached into your hair is brassy, and you’re not “well-read” because you finished some of Harry Potter. Your peers don’t think you’re cool because you watch Doctor Who or Supernatural or whatever dumb TV show was trending on Tumblr earlier that week. Sleeping with Sirens, Pierce the Veil, Bring Me The Horizon, Of Mice & Men, and Falling In Reverse all suck. You’re not edgy because you fix DOMO pins in your navy uniform pants and that’s “against dress code.” You took the pink extension out of your bangs because you didn’t want to get detention for leaving it in. You didn’t even have the balls to skip gym or talk back to your teachers.
But you should be happy to know that you 1) cut off all your hair, 2) dumped a bottle of black dye on it, and 3) pierced your nose. But you also 4) stopped talking to your dad, 5) went to 2nd base at a bus stop, and 6) cheated your way through all of geometry. Not the mention the time you 7) woke up in a pile of your own vomit on Thanksgiving, 8) made out with that older boy in his car after work, or 9) ate McDonald’s even though you made a promise to yourself when you were 10 that you’d never eat it again.
There’s going to come a day, near the end of 8th grade, where Timmy is going to get in your face. His face will be red, contrasting with the blondeness of his eyebrows arching high on his forehead, lips slick with saliva. He’s going to call you every name in the book: fatass, Gay Pay, dumb, stupid, a waste of space, etc. etc. etc. You want to punch him in the face. You’re going to want to punch him in the face so bad. You’re going to want to punch him in the face so badly it burns.
But you dig your nails into your palms so hard, the impressions are still there when you go to bed.
I’m writing you this letter to tell you to punch him in the face. Maybe if you did that, for once in your life, you’d feel powerful. Maybe if you did that you’d come out on top. Maybe if you did that you wouldn’t spend all of high school making up for the time you let people give you swirlies even though you hate the smell of toilet water. Maybe if you did that you wouldn’t feel the regret, years later, because you didn’t punch him in the face.
You should’ve done it. He deserves it.



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