Challenge #14: Weekly Drabble
She wasn’t fashionable or feminine, so the neighborhood children called her a man. She wasn’t married, so they called her a dyke. And she had four cats, so even amongst themselves, they referred to her as the Crazy Cat Lady.
She knew it shouldn’t bother her. She was an adult. She knew better. They were just children. Their taunts didn’t change the truth. Their taunts, though, did change the way she felt.
Their taunts hurt, maybe even more so now she was an adult. Aside from the sting of others’ repulsion, she felt responsible. She felt guilty and ashamed of herself for allowing them to affect her so deeply.
As a young girl, she’d convinced herself that the torments would end, that being an adult meant these emotional trials would cease, but they never did. She’d come oh so close to convincing herself that what they said didn’t matter. She’d strut out to the mailbox in the afternoon with her shoulders squared and her head held high, but nonetheless the kids would taunt her and that wall of confidence and courage she’d spent all night rebuilding would crumble again. And, so, the vicious cycle continued.
She knew it shouldn’t bother her. She was an adult. She knew better. They were just children. Their taunts didn’t change the truth. Their taunts, though, did change the way she felt.
Their taunts hurt, maybe even more so now she was an adult. Aside from the sting of others’ repulsion, she felt responsible. She felt guilty and ashamed of herself for allowing them to affect her so deeply.
As a young girl, she’d convinced herself that the torments would end, that being an adult meant these emotional trials would cease, but they never did. She’d come oh so close to convincing herself that what they said didn’t matter. She’d strut out to the mailbox in the afternoon with her shoulders squared and her head held high, but nonetheless the kids would taunt her and that wall of confidence and courage she’d spent all night rebuilding would crumble again. And, so, the vicious cycle continued.