Born In the Wrong Body (a bit of litterature.)
My skin feels too tight in all the wrong places.
My limbs are too long, and they fling around, and my hips move too much, and if I don’t say anything for a while my voice gets scratchy and irritating.
I slouch, and I frown, and I smell weird but I don’t know why.
I’m loud when it’s quiet, I’m quiet in social situations, I’m always late, and I spend too much time doing things I shouldn’t.
I’m a liar, and sometimes I disgust myself by the things I do.
I’m forgetful, and irritable, and tired, and awake, and lately all I’ve been having is nightmares.
I put the same song on repeat until I feel like it’s the only thing in my life at all anymore, and that annoys people, but it doesn’t annoy me, so does that mean I annoy people?
I laugh at dumb jokes, and draw on myself, if I don’t feel like talking I’ll ignore you, or maybe I’ll feel bad about ignoring you and come up with an excuse as to why I haven’t responded to the question you asked me three minutes ago.
I complain too much, I put myself down (when they say we’re our own harshest critics that may just be an understatement when it comes to me.)
But, like I was saying.
I put myself down to bring others up;
“I could never do anything as good as that!”
I think I’m a failure, and all I can ever talk about is myself.
I relate to all the sad songs even if they have nothing to do with anything I’ve ever experienced.
I look in mirrors a lot to make sure I don’t look too hideous, most of the time I do, then I’m almost late to class because I’m trying to eliminate the problem.
I pause movies half way through then walk away, the sentiment “I’ll finish after I finish doing this.” usually comes out of my mouth at those times, but I’m a liar because I never do.
I read too much, I type too fast, I’m a know-it-all, and people give me weird looks a lot.
If I don’t know you and you make a joke to me I won’t laugh, I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear you because I’m gullible and I don’t know if you’re being literal or not.
My friends offer to give me things, I say yes and then feel bad about it.
Only because I don’t want them to think I’m using them, because I’m not, I’d never do that.
I’m small and don’t stand up for myself, and I walk home alone even though someone I’ve known for eight years lives right down the street from me.
I’ve never been kissed, and all my friends have shared plenty of kisses with dozens of people.
I failed Algebra 1 for the third time, so I guess I’m stupid, too.
I’m not very talented at the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do with my life even though I’ve been doing it for years.
I’m not athletic, I’m not mathematic, I’m not scientific, I’m not a historian, I’m not really an artist, I guess you’d call me a writer (but not really.), and maybe, just maybe if I tried hard enough I could be a musician.
I burn candles to roast marshmallows, and I guess that’s weird.
I take four different medications to make sure I don’t get sick, and that’s weird.
No one my age should take four medications twice a day to stay healthy.
I go to the doctor more than my fair share, and each time they take blood.
I like my blood inside my body, thanks.
I’ve seen the same movies ten thousand times, and they never get old.
I’m religious, but I’m terrible at it. I forget to say my prayers, and when people criticize my religion right in front of me I don’t say anything.
I’m interested in so many things, and I could hear someone say something wrong and I’d be able to correct them if I could open my mouth and let the words fall out.
I chew gum, and don’t eat lunch, and fake sick, and I’m pretty sure at one point in time I had an eating disorder.
Because that summer I only at one meal for every two or so days, and I was always walking, and checking my weight, and turns out I lost over twenty pounds within three months.
But I don’t know because I’ve never ever told anyone that before, so maybe I’m opening up a little these days, but who knows?
I’m short, I limp, I never cry (except for when I listen to old Cds at two in the morning and think about how much I can’t stand everything about everything.)
I’m the most pessimistic optimist on the face of the earth.
I can’t walk down the hallways at school without the little voice in the back of my head whispering “I hate this place. I hate these people. I hate these hallways, and the way it smells, and how those kids are just standing in the middle of the hallway like there’s no one trying to get to class on time so they don’t get detention.”
And you know what else I hate?
I hate that I can’t be happy because they’re not.
I hate that I can’t say something simple like “everything’s going to be alright.” without someone saying that no, it’s the end of the world because you’ve got two boys fighting over you AND you have a boyfriend.
You know what I have?
I have to listen to you complain about being gorgeous and how these guys won’t stop being so “immature” about everything because you have a boyfriend, even though he lives “an hour away and I can’t get that far.”
I’d be happy to have one boy just make eyes at me, but no, you’re upset about two boys (one of which happens to be my best friend, who hasn’t even noticed that there have been multiple times that I wanted him to fight for me.) fighting over you and your gorgeous boyfriend who lives an hour away.
Let them fight, it’ll give them something to care about.
The other day I was presented the question “What is your purpose? Why are you here? Who couldn’t live without you?”
And I honestly couldn’t think of one person who couldn’t live without me.
Sure, there’d be people who would be upset, but eventually they’d get over it.
I mean, besides family. Family doesn’t count.
I mean friends, or whatever the people I associate with are referred to as.
My friends would cry for maybe a month.
But after that, any mention of my name would be followed by “Who?”
The answer to the why am I here question, oh, that ones a killer.
My answer to that question was “to make sure everyone else is alright. To make sure everyone else can deal with their problems.”
And sure, I guess that’s a good reason for me to be here, but the only reason?
I was kind of disappointed that I didn’t think I was here for anything other than my friends and family.
I always seem to say the wrong thing.
I don’t mean to, really, sometimes (most of the time) I speak without thinking.
People get offended, or they think I’m weird, or maybe I am weird, but we already went over that.
I’m open about a lot of things.
Not important things, but there’s a lot I’ll talk about.
Ask me why I live with my grandma,
I’ll gladly go into detail. I honestly don’t mind.
Ask me how my last breakup went, how long we were together, how I felt afterwards, I’ll tell you.
Ask me who I like, what I dreamt about last night, why I’m so quiet, why I read so much, why I didn’t do my homework, what I’m thinking about, I’ll tell you, no hesitations.
But as me if I’m okay, ask me what I think about before I go to sleep, ask me how I feel about myself, I doubt you’ll get a completely honest answer.
I think I’m a good kid.
I don’t break too many rules, I don’t lie (often), I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not, I don’t swear in front of my elders, I don’t steal, or vandalize (usually), but it seems that because of my good behavior I get more severely punished when I do wrong.
Even if it’s not by an authority figure, my conscience gets me.
Maybe it’s the religious factor mixed with the Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but I punish myself when I make mistakes.
Maybe there’s something terribly wrong with me that everyone but myself can see.
Maybe I’m just blind to the deformity that is me (or, blind to most of it.) and everyone else is cringing back and the disturbing factor that I carry.
But, sometimes when I’m upset I sit in my room with that pink composition book and I list everything that makes me smile.
“Hollister, boys, clouds, cats, gum, sunflowers, best friends, family, Jesus, books, acoustic guitars, ukuleles, water, candles, incense, good music, laughter, the sun, the sky, rooftops at sundown in the middle of summer, piercing, smiling, pop tarts, concerts, unicorns, old movies, Harry Potter, cookies, cartoons, sleep, good dreams, funny commercials…”
And somehow I forget everything that’s wrong with me, everything that I hate, or dislike, or the things other people do or say, and I remember how amazing my life is and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Maybe I’m not full of deformities, maybe I’m just better… happier.
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something I just wrote, feeling a bit off.
thinking about the past few months being at a public school, everything I've thought about sicne transfering there.
opinions?