If one is to value their life based on a generic definition of success, or based on the amount of people who liked him to his face, or the amount of times he got his way, I’m sure plenty of people would rank themselves in a higher category than most, (if not openly then within the confounds of their own minds) disregarding the occasional jealous inclination that causes a want or yearning for something in particular of which one may be deprived. What is the value of a life? Most people blindly claim to live for no one but theirself, completely oblivious to the selfish and shallow nature of each mile mark used to up their value, and feed their ever growing egos; people claim to do things for no one else’s sake but their own, but all the while, through time, society and it’s inhabitants that have been fortunate enough to assume the label of “normal” have proven to constantly thrive off the opinions of others.
Those who aren’t that way are often labeled “odd” or “strange”, and even sometimes the slightly less degrading and more respectful “eccentric”. These “odd” people, of whom some are not familiar or comfortable acting according the unannounced and invisible social laws that dictate the actions of “normal” human beings, are the ones that are cast away, or shunned, or even hurt, because, I mean, really, who cares?… Right? They’re weird. If they hate me what does itmatter, any how? It’s not like I spend time with them. These thoughts are among the many that “justify” the actions against “strange” people. These very thoughts are the beginning of what may become months, years or even decades of torment. The world needs eccentric people, but because hardly any one seems to acknowledge this necessity or even thinks for a moment that maybe this odd person deserves a chance that sometimes during times of weakness or vulnerability oddballs mistake these opinions as significant and are forced, based on life experiences, to believe they are worthless or that something is wrong with them. Learning comes through experience. A child will never truly understand that when mama says the stove is hot that the stove is indeed hot until they make the mistake of touching or groping or grazing its smoldering metal pieces. If a child is taught Christian morals starting from the time they first speak, then they will most likely grow up believing in a God, because that’s the only way of believing they’ve ever known… So, it’s really no wonder that some people grow up hating who they are or thinking that there is just something so wrong with them that they just aren’t salvageable, because they’ve been told those exact things all of their lives… it’s all they’ve ever been taught… all they’ve ever known.
I’ve always been one of those weirdos… but even I’m a special case. Most strange people tend to stay secluded in their social utopia consisting of other strange people and their odd hobbies, but not me. I’ve never even fit in with the odd people, nor have I maintained interest in anything long enough to become submersed in intrigue, practice and the inevitable skill that comes with passionate rehearsal. I am a lone wolf. And though my efforts to change that have been valiant, they have never rang true. I care too much about other people. So, naturally, I am affected deeply by their actions and words. Ever since I was young, I’ve been kicked around like a crushed can; “you look like a boy!” “he/she!” “sl*t!” “Sk*nk!” “go kill yourself!”… and, for a while, I believed each word these “normal” people spoke. I even reached a point where I held onto each word through every painful and emotionally devastating bushel of needles that they could drag me through until I started to notice a pattern. When I first became mature enough to understand that I was disliked, I blamed myself, accepting that maybe I, in fact, deserved the pumble-ings and the emotional distress… but, after a few years, I switched schools, because the intensity of the bullying got to be much too much, and at first, things were better, but as the days fleeted, so did my “new girl at school” charisma. I began to fall into the same old rut of mocking, class, mocking, occasional physical altercation, some more mocking, go home… but this time I was more perplexed than upset. I had just met these people, and though I hadn’t committed any malicious social crime against them or even gotten to know them, they… already hated me? Those thoughts are what initially inspired me to protect other people that suffered my same fate of constantly being bullied. In middle school, I tried hard to remain unaffected and remain unscathed… but, those years are the years that females’ hormones really start developing and emotions run wild. Not too long after my second year of middle school started, I started becoming chronically depressed and I began to question if there were really something wrong with me. I decided that there must be, because otherwise, why would I have to go through this, even after each new start with new people? Why would I be so hated instantly? Then it dawned on me… things would never change. I’m weird and undesirable. So, I began to hate myself. I thought about dying nearly every day. I wouldn’t wish any one to feel like they would be relieved to die. Especially not a young girl in middle school. But, this is how it goes. Sometimes there is a person who shares the same social life flowchart that I did when I faced ridicule on an almost daily basis… how my social life has been up until now. I’ve always been the girl everyone knows of, but never really knows. I got my lucky break freshman year, where I had actually become strangely popular, but since I was never really pampered socially prior to high school, I chose to focus on studies and move to another school that was more academically impressive. This high school was much different than my old one. I was popular, but I had ambitions that couldn’t be swayed by the position of having social prowess, so I didn’t back out of the transfer. I left in hopes of having more good luck than before, because I thought I would be moving to a school that had a bunch of people who shared my interest in learning. … WRONG. Boy, oh boy, was I wrong. I faced difficulty after difficulty. And so here I am, now, broken, and lost. I almost feel as bad as I did in middle school. And the sad fact of the matter is: if I did meet my end right now, not many would be all that heartbroken. Which is slightly disheartening. I’ve been up crying since about 11 pm last night, and though I’m much more stable at this momnet, I’m still not my usual self. I was on the phone with my boyfriend who claimed he would talk with me until I felt better, but since It had gotten to be pretty late at night, he fell asleep on the line. I wasn’t all that stable, and I was crying, so I hung up and thought about death. I read a story about a boy who was friends with another boy who killed himself, and at his funeral, hundreds of people came. I thought about how much of a wake up call it must be for people when someone actually takes their own life because of some one else’s words. It’s sad how once some one dies, they’re life is much more valuable than when they could draw breath. It’s heartbreaking and really just kind of disgusting that it takes a death for people to appreciate the things they should have from the start… I thought about how many people have intentionally hurt me… and I thought about how I’d like to be that very wake up call in my town. And as I began to go numb and my crying let up, I got a call from my sleepy boyfriend. As soon as I picked up the phone, he said, “I couldn’t live without you.” Words have NEVER meant so much to me before.
So… to recount one’s entire life according to memories, past emotions, successes and other major factors that may have played in a person’s tallying, that I may say according to my definition of success, and by my decisions, and though I may be lost now… I have no doubt the value of my life will increase with time. I will grow, and learn to accept things more. I will learn to not succumb to the cruel words of others, or be as maluable as I once was. Too bad no one else seems to appreciate the things I do… I will admit that a large flaw in my way of living, though it is a flaw shared amongst many humans, is the overwhelming effect that other people’s words have on me. It’s not that some people hate me, or dislike me, or judge me without foundation that bothers me, though… it’s that, not once in my 16 years here on this planet, have I EVER had some one stand up and defend me. No once has any one said, “Hey, shut up,” or “I love Michele, she actually means well”. I’d like for once to have someone, even if I don’t know them very well, to realize what’s happening, and just become enraged because someone who hasn’t done a thing to deserve such torment, receives it without a second thought. I’ve never taken any emotional or physical beating too personally myself, aside from my middle school years, but I’ve always feared that one day, some one might say something equally as awful to some one else who might not be as stable and they might lose their life due to an impulsive decision to kill his or her own self.
Just remember, if some one means well, then they’re a good person. They might be annoying, they may like to indulge in sexual acts every now and then, they may not be as pretty as you like, but if that weird person you dislike because they’re just… weird means well, then… do they really deserve to think otherwise because you decided to be rude to them for being vegan, or for praying before eating lunch? They could have been the best friend you ever wished for. Weird people tend to be pretty reliable and supportive, but that’s probably because they know pain and how it feels to get ditched or dissed.
