I'm Bullied4:33 AM
Even though I'm as homeschooled as the rest of them, I still know this one bully who's set purpose is to make my life miserable. I wake up hearing her sarcastic critique of my morning wardrobe. I go to bed feeling her sting of how nobody, in the end, really cares about me at all. She doesn't come outright and say that I'm ugly, weird, wrong and useless, but a couple slashes of her perfected regime and I'm down cold.
I've tried to throw her out of my life -- because honestly, she doesn't do me any good. But she's grown on me. Her opinion of me has, anyway. It sucks the lifeblood out of me -- His Life-blood, even. Generally I try to ignore her. I dodge her when we bump into each other, smile grimly. I hold my chin up high in defiance so she won't see my tears.
The worst of her taunts hit hardest when I'm hit hard. She knows it, too. She loves to point out how often I cry at her insults. She makes light of the pain. She taunts me to do better -- grow up -- get over it. She doesn't let me think of me as anything but the lowest of the low, lest, in her words, "You become vain."
I can't figure out if she thinks she's my devil in the side or my angel of mercy, getting me ready for the real world where everybody really will hate me.
I tell my mom about her, how much she hates me, how much I hate her. Mama tells me I am loved -- to ignore her. I tell my best friends, my best sisters: they stare at me hollowly, eaten up inside that I've got this fiend riding on my soul. I beg them to take away her barbs and her stabs and her constant drumming about in my heart. I can't write some days without fearing she'll rip it to shreds. I can't live some days.
It's just she and I. My life in a nutshell.
Who's this bully, this critic, this chilling wet blanket?
I am. And that means I can do something about it.