Junior year of high school I thought that a way to numb the pain of being alive was to try to not feel. And so I lived as if I didn't feel a thing. I lived as if I had friends but that they'd get away from me eventually. I talked to people as if the conversation was to pass the time. My words had no marks, my thoughts were meaningless. I tried to think much at all. I thought about my studies, but on the weekends I was a different person. I associated myself with people I knew didn't do anything for me. I pretended to be careless. I lived as if I was free from any hurt and I was free of ever loving anything, or anyone.
It was New Year's Eve, and I was going to a party. I wore a stupid outfit. That's all I'm going to say about that. There was dancing, there was alcohol, there were people. I feel it useless to explain a high school party, but that's what it was. I had a decent evening. The days passed by and the pictures from the party were posted on social media. I quickly browsed them and untagged any disturbing pictures exploiting my insecurities. There was a picture of me and a few others at the party, and one of the people had commented on it. I forgot that this particular person had a Facebook, so I decided to look at his profile for a moment.
I didn't know he knew me, I didn't know he hated me, but that's what his Facebook status had implied. You see, the night of New Year's Eve, I had been talking and dancing with his friend. Harmless. The aforementioned particular person seemed to have been eyeing us all night, apparently, because his status said something like "Why were you dancing with Chewbacca" and proceeded to tag his friend. I must tell you that half of the words in the status were spelled incorrectly, so I wasn't exactly offended at first.
I was offended a few days later, probably on an anxiety kick. I never felt too much sadness from that particular status, or the comments that bullied me with "Fat" remarks and the like.
I felt misunderstood. What did I do to this guy that he felt the need to call me names? Had I insulted him the previous evening? Had I been rude to his friend? Did I really insult him with my curvy and thicker figure?
I'm not sad nor do I add this situation to my insecurities. I just feel misunderstood. But I suppose it's easy to feel misunderstood by the idiots of the world.
I like to write; point blank. This is a little piece of me that I get to share with the rest of the world, and hey, you know, maybe you'll appreciate it, maybe it'll do nothing for you. But my writing exists, and that's enough for me.
© 2019 Silvia Iorio. All rights reserved.