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The Roads Less Traveled

By , Memphis, TN, TN
Walking down the halls, you here your name. Occasionally, it's good things. But most of the time, you know it's not. You want to ask where they heard such a thing from, but you know who said it. You don't know how to confront them? Popularity Problems.
Your best friend is mad. You don't know why, and it's not at you. She's mad at the world. She won't talk and she has secluded herself to a corner. She comes to school with a grimace that can't be wiped away. That grimace will come for five days every month from now on. What do you say to make it better? Best Friend's Period Problems.
The cutest guy in your class keeps looking at you. Smiling, waving, and he bids you good morning every day. Seven days a week, you come to school and you study the back of his head because you sit diagonal from him. You sit next to him in Spanish, and he talks about music. You sit in front of him in Math and Social Studies. He pokes you in your back, so you grab up your hair and throw it on his desk. He doesn't care, he just writes through it. He has everything in common with you, so why don't you go out with him? Because he's also one of your best friends. Best Friend meets Boyfriend Problem.
There's this bleach blonde in your class. She's gorgeous, and she nearly looks Albino. But her eyes are a light green. She dresses in name brand clothes, and wears all the right stuff. But you look at her face and you see a Barbie. She has tried to transform herself with orange makeup and black eyeliner. To much mascara and black eyeshadow. She looks half dead. She smiles, and you can see the whitening strips on her teeth. She doesn't want to be herself. Why not? Insecurity Problem.
There's this girl in your music class. She looks at you, very dodgy. You don't look back, because you've never spoken with her before. But you've heard things about her. She has your phone number, but you don't text her, and you don't call her. She hangs out with the wrong crowd, she's not someone you want to be seen with. Ever. The things you've heard, well you see them as politically wrong. You may support her lesbian rights, but if you hang out with her, people will think your a lesbian too, maybe? Confused Acquaintance Problem.
You love him. You hate him. He involves everything you do with suicide. You had a past, and he's terrified of it. A year ago, you were the school whore. You aren't anymore, you've changed. You swore on your God to him, that you've changed. You don't dress the same, you don't act the same, and you don't even look the same. Maybe he's scared, because he's about to go into the same place you were a year ago. Your parent's divorced, and it took four years. His dad is moving out tomorrow, and he's afraid. He's afraid his dad won't come back. He may be older than you, but he looks up to you in a way. He's afraid your contagious. Maybe, that's what it is. He will catch the 'divorce disease' from you. You pray for him every night. Why is he scared? Divorce Problem.
An old friend. She cut her hair, she gained fifty pounds, and she wears tight skinny jeans, band shirts, and never takes off her jacket. She wears little bows in her hair, and dark makeup. Colorful jeans and tee shirts don't make a difference. You know she's been to counseling, but do you really want to tell someone she has another problem? A problem with her wrists? That she cuts them with a razor every night for pleasure? Emotionally Attacked Problem.
You newly gained five pounds, and it's showing. More in your belly. You buy a tank top that sucks it all in, but it hurts. It leaves red marks on your skin. It nearly kills you, and it hurts to breathe when you wear it. But apparently you need it. All to fit in. You buy some underwear that make your legs look skinnier, too. But now you look disproportionate. You want to be free, be accepted, no matter what your body looks like. But you know the skinny girls at your school will look at you and ask, "How much lard did you eat last night?". You tell your family you have ton of friends. But you go to school and come home every day lonely. What's wrong? Scared to be Me.
Author's Note:
Dear Middle Schoolers & Highschoolers,
I'm a 13 year old girl. I've seen hell & heaven. I've gone through it all, or most of it. My parents started divorcing when I was 9. It lasted three and a half years. It was the worst three and a half years of my life. I spent my whole first year of Middle School, afraid to be myself. I wore a black pea coat, black skinny jeans, and black makeup. I walked around with scraggly hair and I was a mess. I fell 'into love' with this guy in my homeroom class. I had never seen anyone like him, he was so close to being grown. He was already 13, and in the sixth grade. I should've known something was wrong. But I was naive and desensitized. My family was being torn apart, and I needed something to love, something to hold onto. Soon, I found myself in a deep depression. Cutting my arms, my legs, trying to find a way out. I went to the doctor, I had been sick. He was examining me, and found two long red streaks across my arms. "What's this?" Quick lying reaction had become second nature. "Cat scratches, he's mean." And he didn't believe me. My doctor was smart. But he didn't question me, either. I texted him, the kid I feel in love with. He asked for pictures. Sexting. A disgusting, vile thing. I said, no. I cut my wrists again that night, feeling sorry I had said no. I guess you can figure out what happened next? No, I didn't send him what he wanted. My doctor had talked to my mom, and he recommended me to a doctor. A psychologist. So I went, and I spent alot of my days with this Psychologist. Her name was Dawn. I've been seeing Dawn for 2 years now, and I'm not ashamed. If you were like me, get help. That's all I have to say, because I never want anyone to go into a dark place like I did. It's scary. Anyways, this story I wrote was about my life as a middle schooler. I didn't mean to go into a memoir, but things happen. It all leads up to this: When people thing Middle Schoolers are inexperienced and no nothing about life, they're wrong.





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