For the first time in a long time, I’ve realized how I am nothing but a wolf without a pack in this world. I go on Facebook and I see pictures of girls putting their bodies into silly poses. I see adolescents with their friends, mouths open wide with laughter. I see all the memories that have been made as I click through the FB photo albums of these individuals. Then I look at my own photos I have posted on that humongous social networking site and my heart sinks a bit. There are a few pictures of me forcing a smile with my family, but there is absolutely no image of me and another adolescent my age. Absolutely none.
What is it that makes me repel teenagers like OFF spray repels mosquito? Is it my hair? Is it the way I dress? Is it just who I am?
Now I know what you are thinking. You probably are saying that I should just put myself out there and try to meet new people.
Well, the problem with that is I have been and not one person that I’ve talked to has ever asked if I would want to hang out with them. For example, I’ve been sitting next to the same girl (Allison) in math class since the very first day of school. I am always kind and we converse with each other about superficial subjects, like the weather or how the weekend went. One time we ran into each other in the school fitness center and we schmoozed for quite a bit of time as we sweated like animals on the elliptical. Despite all this effort to be social though, I have been completely unable to schedule a time to meet-up.
Maybe I need to take more of an initiative and just ask Allison if she would like to do something over the weekend or come to the fitness center after school. But I am mortified of doing something like that. I mean, what if I am turned down? What if she considers me some odd freak of nature for even suggesting a time to meet? All these what if’s are just flooding my mind right now. . . . I just can’t take it!
Pressure from tears trying to push their way out of my blue eyes is beginning to occur and I feel as if I must cease writing. I don’t want to compose rough sentences and broken, topic-lacking paragraphs. That would just be terrible to read.
I will instead go lay on my messy bed and let the flood gates open. As rivers of tears rush down my hideous face, I’ll try to resist the urge to dig a blade into my skin and watch the blood ooze out of my arm. I’ll try to resist the urge to stick my head in the toilet and release the contents of my stomach into its clear water.
I just can’t do this any more. I need someone to hug me, to tell I’ll be OK, to tell me things will get better someday.