Am I Now?

This was written inspired about growing up in a small Indiana town. It seems like every class singled one person out from the cradle to live through pure hell until graduation. I was that person singled out because I was quiet so I didn't fit in. This was written fueled by anger that I still held three years after graduating. I remember that you used to make fun of me when I was little. As we grew older and moved on to high school, I prayed that the words would change. They didn't. Your words grew more harsh and made fun of everything from my name to my weight. People would tease me about being too small and sickly when I wore loose fitting clothes; though, I nearly weighted 140 pounds.

I could never prove that I was normal.

I struggled in vain to change everything about me to fit your approval, and possibly, your friendship. Every night, my face would sting and redden after being submerged in acne medications. Sure, a couple of zits aren't a big deal, but they were invading my body and they had to come off. I felt as though my whole face was nothing but one huge, infectious pore and that everyone stared at me. Paperclips, safety pins, needles... anything that I could find sharp would find its way into my flesh to rid myself of those horrid, little blemishes. Guess what, I scarred. now, every former home of a pimple is marked by little scars or little crevices in my face... they will neverheal.

I thought that people made fun of my limp from an accident I was in when I was very little. I tried so hard to walk straight. yet, the harder that I tried, the more obvious the limp felt to me. It seemed as though I wobbled every time I walked in front of a crowed.

I tried to be popular and tell the jokes that I though would get me in, but I gave up. The jokes just weren't funny. I decided to become my own person and sit in a corner to myself. That just made things worse for me. You noticed my absence from your spotlight and you tried harder to aim its uncomfortable glare into my world.

I was never left alone. Never found peace. Never developed proper social skills.

I trembled every time I was in a crowd...a trait that followed into adulthood. Rage filled my soul and there was no room for any other emotions to fill me. I believed that I was worthless, and most of all, teh ugliest thing there was. I was never asked out or asked to a dance. I was the joke to everyone. A joke that wasn't even funy.

I looked at myself every morning n the mirror thinking "whelp, this is you. This is what they see...why can't you clear your face up, have beautiful hair or at least pretty eyes?"

I would always beat myself up mentally and hated going into the bathroom for anything...there would be a mirror in there.

I remember you and hope that you remember me now. I am sure you do. I would tell you my name, but I will let my stone tell you. I hope that in high school, you learned while you teased me. I hope that you can read because my name will be staring at you for as long as your life continues.

I hope that I am finally beautiful to you. I worked so hard to look how I do now. My complexion is finally clear...yet pale. My hair is done just right and I am finally dressed in a beautiful outfit. My eyes are closed to your crueld jokes and my hands are too limp to cover my ears and ignore you.

I hope that you finally approve of me now.

At least I know that I won't get cold anymore. It's hard to get cold when you have a blanket of six feet of Earth! I hpe that you are happy with yourselve and doing right on your self-proclaimed, self-righteous paths. I hope that my face haunts you in your memory and I hope that the most monstrous face haunts you, like one did in my life.

I know now that I was not repulsive, just a normal teen with abnormal surroundings. The Barbie Doll society just made me out to be something other than normal. I look down every once in a while to view those who had made fun of me...and you know what? They are not so Barbie Doll anymore.

Before many of them reached their 21st birthday, they've had children out of wedlock, some committed crimes and are locked away and some have grown out of their doll proportions. Those who made fun of my dreams now bag at the corner convenience store. Those who vowed success in life have only fallen to failure.

I wonder what my life could have been. I wonder every day. I can't turn back the hands of time and take my first breath all over again. I can't laugh at any more jokes nor complain about the shows on television. I can't enjoy the sweet taste of food or make a sour face when I eat something gone bad. I even forget the simple joy of having clean water rush onto me in the shower after a humid summer day.

I would give anything to be able to shiver in the winter's coldness once more. I hope that you are happy with your lives and remember mine. There are others here like me. A statistic that so many of you have created. You are all statistics now. The unwed mother, the welfare abuser, the bag person at the check out constantly dreaming better things...

I hope that I am finally pretty to you. I hope that you remember.

I remember all of you.