This morning, just like any other morning, I dreaded waking up again. I had to join reality, but I didn’t feel presentable to the world. I never do. A few months ago, someone told me I was pretty. I asked him to stop flattering me, I didn’t believe him anyway. I wish I could. I wish I could just be myself. I wish I could relax and feel normal. I wish I could just be secure. I wish I could feel good enough. But I don’t. Not by a long shot. I cannot believe I’m pretty. My hair is fluffy, I’ve got spots on my way too big nose, my skin is dry… Those things are not the factors that define someone pretty.
Those factors make me ugly. I have always had problems with people. From an early age, I learned that it’s not OK to be myself. My body, my face, my clothes, my words, my movements, nothing was good enough. It started off with my parents, continued with my classmates in primary school and has not stopped until now, high school. I was, am and will always be the ugly one. The stupid one. The wrong one. I am being bullied day and night, online and in person, verbally and mentally. There’s no one on my side, so it’s me against the world. They make up rumors, and I’m the one that’s in tears.
They never think of anyone else except themselves. At first, I tried to fight back, but I soon found out that only makes it worse. Any word I say, gives them something new to dupe me. So, I decided to pretend I’m strong. And happy. My grades are at an all time low, but my morals are even lower. The only thing I do, is trying to make it through another day. I remember any insult that came out of their mouths, although I tried to erase them from my brain. Somehow, everyone of their twisted words manages to stay burned into my mind. Every snicker, every dirty look, every nasty word, holds a special place in my mind.
The Essay on How Does Stevenson Make Us Feel The Evil Of Mr Hyde In This Passage?
... a way in which Stevenson makes us feel the evil of Mr Hyde, by using the last words of the paragraph to create ... Satan is done, when Jekyll turns into Hyde permanently. Stevenson makes us feel the evilness of Hyde by using violence, the setting, ... beautiful gentleman with white hair … bowed with a very pretty manner of politeness. Stevenson describes Hyde as ‘very small gentleman’ ...
But that place is not a happy place. It’s dark in there, unhappy and extremely miserable. It is kept under lock and key. You can never have your guard up all the time. You can never pretend you’re always strong. You can never always pretend your life isn’t crumbling around you. You can never fake true happiness. It’s like walking on broken glass. By now, I am so broken down, I’m losing it. I just want to disappear. I lost my will to live. To fight another day in that devastating world, is the last thing I want. I hate myself and feel incredibly stupid all the time, a feeling that never leaves me alone.
I always wake up in the same miserable life. Then back to school. When I walk down the hallway, it is always a battle with my tormentors. People I once deemed friends and people I barely know yell mean things to me, in a way everyone can hear. Everyone makes up their audience. Perfect for them. Horrible for me. Getting back home isn’t any better. It’s even worse. My parents, my brother, my sisters. They are meant to love me, but all they do is making me feel even more insecure. Whatever I do, it’s never good enough. I try so hard to satisfy them, but I never succeed. It’s wearing me out.
No one ever knows how miserably I really feel. I hate looking in the mirror. I hate what I see. I hate the sound of my own voice. I never before experienced a group of people trying so hard, to be so mean. To a girl. A girl like me. A girl like me should be loved. Most girls are. But somehow, that just isn’t for me. I’m not cut out for this thing called life. At first, I deemed it bad luck. Now I know better. It is my own fault, I am the ugly one. The stupid one. The wrong one. So, today, I took a pocket knife and I did it. I deserved it. In a way, it was relieving too.
For a little ten seconds, I just stared at the blood running down my arm, on my hand, to my fingers and dripping off their tips. Fascinating. For that little ten seconds, I didn’t feel anything. I just loved to see the blood running down and down, to eventually leave my hand via my finger tips. It was like my misery ran down with the blood. What a disappointment after my ten seconds. I’d have loved to stay like that forever. But I needed to get back to real life, just like waking up every morning. Somehow, there must be a way to be in my own ten seconds forever. They wouldn’t care anyway.
The Essay on Life Teen Music Ministry Choir
5655 Cassidy Rd. Hermitage, PA, 16148724-962-Rev. D. G. Davis III January 3, 200279 Case Ave. Sharon, PA, 16146 Dear Father Davis: This letter is to inform you that I am resigning as Director of the Life Teen Music Ministry effective June 30, 2001. I have not reached this decision easily, but I feel this is an appropriate one at this time. My position with the Life Teen Music Ministry has been ...
