I am thirteen, and awkward, as most thirteen-year-olds are. I have zits on my face, and am pudgy at best. I think that I am somehow horribly disfigured, and will remain so for the rest of my life. My reflection makes me cringe. Part of me knows this is an overreaction, but most of me believes my wavering emotions. I am too young to separate what I know to be true from what I feel.
What I feel is that everyone is looking at me, all the time. What I feel is that I am fat and ugly and annoying and too tall. I feel that they hate me. I feel pathetic for caring so much.
I know that I am staring to hear things that no one else can hear. I know this is a sure sign of madness. I know that if I tell anyone they will lock me up and throw away the key. I know that I am sequestering myself from others. I know that I am different from my peers.
I feel that I cannot trust anyone. I know that this might be the safest path. And so I talk to no one. The agony of merely being alone makes my heart hurt, but I do not know how to connect with those around me. I feel fundamentally different. I am on the outside looking in. I cannot touch them, cannot hear them, and though I see I am not seen by them. I know that the loneliness can only make my wavering sanity worse, but I do not know what else to do.
There is one person who goes out of her way to talk to me. She it tall, even more so than me, and built like a linebacker. The only reason that she is not ignored as a freak is her naturally happy and giving nature. She is kind in a simple and unflinching way that I cannot even begin to understand. I have never met someone who gives something without expecting payment.
All she gives me are kind words and smiles. It is more than enough to convince me that not all thigs are evil, and that there is good yet in the world. The more I talk to her, the less i listen to the whispers. They are there, but they do not seem to matter so much anymore.
What I feel is that everyone is looking at me, all the time. What I feel is that I am fat and ugly and annoying and too tall. I feel that they hate me. I feel pathetic for caring so much.
I know that I am staring to hear things that no one else can hear. I know this is a sure sign of madness. I know that if I tell anyone they will lock me up and throw away the key. I know that I am sequestering myself from others. I know that I am different from my peers.
I feel that I cannot trust anyone. I know that this might be the safest path. And so I talk to no one. The agony of merely being alone makes my heart hurt, but I do not know how to connect with those around me. I feel fundamentally different. I am on the outside looking in. I cannot touch them, cannot hear them, and though I see I am not seen by them. I know that the loneliness can only make my wavering sanity worse, but I do not know what else to do.
There is one person who goes out of her way to talk to me. She it tall, even more so than me, and built like a linebacker. The only reason that she is not ignored as a freak is her naturally happy and giving nature. She is kind in a simple and unflinching way that I cannot even begin to understand. I have never met someone who gives something without expecting payment.
All she gives me are kind words and smiles. It is more than enough to convince me that not all thigs are evil, and that there is good yet in the world. The more I talk to her, the less i listen to the whispers. They are there, but they do not seem to matter so much anymore.
