“Ew, it’s her.” I suddenly heard whispers break out in a great roar as I entered the small cafeteria only containing five round tables. Big, closed windows stretched from the ceiling to the floor lining one rusty wall. One glance at the wall and you realize that the paint was coming off piece by piece. The smell of mildew engulfed me as my shoulders slumped and my head dropped to where all I could see were my newly painted pink toe nails that glistened when the light hit them just right.

The battle in my head begins again. Should I stand up to them and they leave me alone out of fear of my harsh words that could cut like razor blades much like they do to me so often? Or should I stay quiet and do nothing? Be “bigger” than them, so my mom says, but it never feels that way. It goes like it goes so many times because after all, I am supposed to be the good kid.

Good kid or not, I still have feelings and the right to voice them. I have the right to stand up for myself. But wait! What if they make fun of me again? What if they hold me against that cold wall of pealing paint and scratch my face with their words that draw blood like their long, pointy, red nails would if they pierced my skin the way their words pierce my soul?




Who will take me in as their own? Who will finally accept me and love me for who I am and not what they hear from others? Is there anyone in here who will save me from the emptiness I feel every time I walk through those retched school cafeteria doors?

I need to be loved!

There was a time when I was loved and accepted - when we were all friends and we could just be ourselves without worrying about others opinions. We would do countless favors for each other without hesitation, I thought. We were all friends, weren’t we? Looking back now I just don’t know. It all seemed so clear just yesterday.

Why did it all have to change? I guess there’s a reason for it all. If only I could just see that “bigger picture” people talk about, maybe then I wouldn’t feel so hopeless. Maybe then I would feel more motivated to move on to the future and live for the day, but I don’t. How did it happen that I gave them power to control my emotions? Why would I ever hand something over that is so valuable? Now there is no way for me, the owner, to have control again and stop the game they play with me as if I am a joy stick bending to their every whim.

I gave away the power the day I became disgusting, “in their eyes” that is, but somehow, mine too. That fateful day began when they, my “friends,” wouldn’t even dare to be seen in the same room as me. They would send someone in ahead to see if I was there. When I was, they would give the insignificant other their bags and books to put in the room. The thought just played over and over in my mind, “How could this happen?” Everything was fine yesterday, except that they were fading. It was they who changed! Now they are hateful and rude, always looking for a new exciting way to put others down because it’s the fun thing to do. “Not!”

Still, here I am. Nothing has changed and I just need to make that decision once again, just like every other day. The decision which all teenagers ponder because it has such an impact on the way others see you. But to me, it’s more than how I’m looked at; I’m just trying to survive in here. The ultimate decision rolls back again in my mind, “Where will I sit today for lunch?”