I Used to Like Myself

I used to like myself

I never had a reason not to. I had friends and loved ones. People used to say how pretty and smart I was. They used to tell me that I was going places. And maybe I was. But I don’t think this was ever the plan.

I didn’t know a mean word. I had a love in me for everyone that knew no boundary, including for myself, because I was beautiful. I had no reason to think otherwise. I never had a reason to think I was ‘uncool’. To think I was ugly. I didn’t know what hiding was.

I was in third grade when I first learned the meaning of the word ‘self-hate’. Hate was a swear only meant for the devil, but I felt that word inside me. I felt that word for me when I was told by my best friend that she couldn’t be seen talking to me. She couldn’t let anyone know I was her friend.

Of course, this took place in the bathroom, where our words were kept secrets, and no one else would know. But the memory is warped in my mind, all I can remember is grey. Grey walls. Grey stalls. And she was grey and my feelings were grey and the grey rises up around me…And then there’s me. Starting at the mirror wondering why. What was so wrong with me, that I had to hide? I remember smiling, and agreeing, because I couldn’t fathom being angry. I hardly knew what anger or hurt was. But I quickly learned. I learned what it felt like to be alone.

Flash-forward a year. I’m in a new school. I’m older now but I’m still learning. Still hurting, I don’t know how to protect myself from words that must be true, because why would they lie to me? I don’t know a stranger but I’m quickly finding that these strangers know me. Because suddenly I’m fat. I’m ugly. And I earned my first nickname. Katie Kong.

And because I have no defense for myself I start lying. I start fabricating stories because I have to have a reason for all these things. I’m fat because I have an eating disorder! I’m crying because I fell! I have to have a boyfriend because who else would love me? And the lies get bigger and I start to fold in on myself and soon I’m screaming, pleading at them to leave me alone in front of gym because I can’t stand to hear them say Katie Kong again and I’m hiding inside shelving books during recess because I am too scared to be looked at wrong or fall victim to another name. And I’m clinging to the two friends I have because I am so scared of what would happen if they left my side because I can’t face it alone.

And you wonder why I don’t let anyone else in. You wonder why I flinch when I mess up or why I give myself garbage while my equals sit high above me, while I am assuming they must be looking down on me despite the fact I’ve put myself down there.

I used to like myself.

I used to care. But that little girl who loved herself is stuck inside the bully victim who was tormented well into her teen years with ugly rumors about her family and evil snickers from behind her. She rots away because the person I am now locks out her family and friends and gives herself dirt because I don’t know what else I deserve. She sitting in me crying because she wants to love herself again but every bullying word and crippling lie sits on my chest and drowns her out. I don’t love myself. I don’t care about myself. And if there was ever any hope for my future, that I would do something great, I’ve set it on fire, because over my head hangs a sign. Loser. Freak. Fat. Ugly. Me.

I used to like myself.  

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Wælcyrie]

This is a very powerful work, and I really liked it. Which almost seems like an odd thing to say because of how sad it is.

I will say that your writing style, at least for me, contains a great voice. I could picture a woman saying the first part, calmly and matter of fact, but then as I continued to read the sentences got more and more erratic, and I could almost hear the narrator's voice becoming more and more emotional, crying and yelling as she explains her past. Particularly in paragraph six ((not including the first line)) when all the sentences become blurred with conjunctions. This normally wouldn't be something you'd want, but here it works great. Its like the narrator is saying the entire thing on one breath, and by the end of it even I felt tired and emotional, as I'm sure the narrator would be.

There are a few syntax issues, nothing a good proof reading couldn't clear right up.

I don't know the setting or reason for this, if its fiction or not, but I will say it's really great. Your ability to paint a vivid picture of an entire life without having to use many paragraphs or sentences is something to be proud of. You certainly have a talent here, and I would love to read more.