Sitting

I took it sitting down. Hands on desk, smile painted on my lips and sitting. Always sitting. There was a group a couple feet away laughing and whispering. Every now and then they'd glance over at me and laugh harder. I was too loud, too weird, too different. I used to sneak up behind people and scream "WINSTON CHURCHILL!" because I thought it was funny. I used to say weird things, and every time I tried to stand up for myself it was just something else that would be fuel for their fire.


Most importantly, I didn't think they were being mean, I thought they were right. There had to be something wrong with me. I never knew when to stop talking. I always went to far. It was obvious when I did. When I crossed some invisible line that others could see. People became quiet and stiff. Stoned faced and stoned lipped. I wasn't making people laugh or be happy, I was making statues.

I had to be wrong. I was messed up, not wired right. Why else would people walk away or ignore me when I came over to say Hello? Why would they spread rumors? People who I had liked and been friendly with, laughing at me and making jokes. Why else would they do that?

But then, some days things were fine. Everyone was friendly. I would cling to the hope that I was getting better.

Next day, I would do something. Yesterday didn't matter. It didn't matter how friendly I was, or how much I ignored it. It always came back to get me. Laughing, nasty comments, rumors.

Rinse, lather, repeat. Over and over again.

"Did you see what she did? She's such a freak!"

It never changed, and it never had before. We had moved three times before sixth grade and everywhere I went, I got the same reaction. I had friends, but I even felt that I annoyed them sometimes. And if we weren't friends then you thought I was weird, and you would always be a part of the bigger group. If so many people, from so many different places told me and thought of me a wrong, how could I not be?

Even now, more confident and self-assured I still take it sitting down. I pretend I don't hear the words, don't notice the looks and that it doesn't hurt. But I know something now. It cost me pain and time to learn it, but now I have it. For eight years I let other people define me and shape my life. Now I know that I define myself. It's none of my business what other think of me. I won't follow them. I won't walk the path so many others have walked before. I will make my own path. And, one day I will fully realize that I am not wrong, that I never have been wrong. That all I can be is me, and that, that person is beautiful.