Dear You (Plural)

If you’ve been reading my blog you’ll notice I don’t post fiction on here. I say that because this is a disclaimer for the rest of this post. What follows is true, and it’s the angsty musings of my sixteen year old self. I wrote it in a notebook two years ago when I was having problems at school, and completely forgot it existed until I found it yesterday. It’s completely unedited from my handwritten school, short of a couple of spelling/grammar corrections. It’s fairly angsty, but I’m posting it anyway. In part, I think, to show I’m over the problems that people were causing me. I’m not sure why, but I’m feeling that putting it online is helpful for me. So here it is.

Dear you (plural)

Another day, another pile of crap that comes out of your mouth. Sure, you don’t like me. Your body language makes that blatantly obvious. But all your sarcastic, faked interest in my life is just too much to bear. Believe it or not, I’m not an idiot. I’m just a geek. Loser. Nerd. Call me what you want, it’s obvious I’m not one of the cool kids. Just because I’ve actually got ambition, and don’t want to ruin it with drugs or cigarettes. Sure, I’m not a straight-A student, but I’m getting there. You laugh when I make mistakes in class, and roll your eyes if I crack a joke. Is it any wonder I’m shy.

You don’t know me at all. You think I’m gay because I haven’t had a boyfriend. Truth is, I’m too nervous to ask the guy I’ve fancied for two years to go out with me. You see, he’s a friend, and I don’t want to ruin it. Friend. Yes, believe it or not, I have friends. Quite a lot of them, actually. Check my facebook page. But you can’t. You added me on there; said you only added fit girls, when I knew you were messing around. You don’t think I’m fit. You think I’m ugly.

I heard you in the corridor, anyway. Told someone you added me for a joke. Ha ha bloody ha. I’m in hysterics over that one. I blocked you, by the way. You don’t even know who I am. You use my full name to refer to me, even though there’s only one other girl in our year with the same first name as me. You’ll say my name in a silly sing-song voice, too, as if it’s some childish joke.

Maybe I’m the joke, in your eyes, at least. You’ll disassociate yourself from me, and if I’m playing a game on the computer, it instantly becomes uncool. I’m the epitomy of uncool.

You wonder why I’m the way I am. Maybe I don’t want to change to fit in with what you all do, when you’ll only deem me a wannabe anyway. You’ll laugh behind my back and tell everyone else how pathetic I am.

I wish you’d go away, not get back into school after exams. But while you’re still in my life, I guess I’ll have to keep putting up with your shit. After all, I’ve endured nearly five years of it. Another month and a half won’t make much difference.

Anyway, I hope you find someone else to laugh at when we all leave school. Won’t be much fun without me around, I bed.

Yours,

The social outcast.

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2 Responses to Dear You (Plural)

  1. Tom Beasley says:

    Awwwwwwwwww. *hugs Sophie*

    Glad you’re over it all now anyway. 😀

  2. Kirsten Lesko says:

    High school is the pits. I’m glad you felt like you’ve come along far enough to post this.

    On the bright side, these experiences make fiction SO RICH. And the best revenge is doing terrible things to these creeps in your novels! LOL.

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