The post below is written by a pen pal of mine and
her friend Jenny. Kestrel van der Mark and I met on Omegle of all places from
where we swapped email ID’s and have been in touch since. In this world of
technological marvels, people like me sitting in India can connect with someone
like Kestrel in America.
So please welcome Kestrel and Jenny to the blog
everyone!
The Bilge Master
The Girl
Everyone Hated
I was the
girl that everyone hated. They were jealous of me, and I knew it. Perfect
grades, loving family, nicer calculator, you name it. But I was untouchable, both
in the caste system karma type of way and like a god. Maybe that's why they
never showed how much they despised me to my face. I didn't give them a single
reason to justify their hate, so they couldn't call me out on it. But I wish
they had. I wish they had said hateful things like I never belonged, or I
should kill myself. I wish I were the target of blatantly hateful comments.
Because if I had been, I would laugh. I would see the confusion and fear on
their face when their "victim" couldn't stop laughing like a full
blown maniac at their insults, and they would just stand there wondering why.
But I would have thought it was funny that THEY thought they were the most
hateful ones. They gave it their best effort to be hateful and they still
didn't come close to the person who hated me most. Myself. I would have thought
it hilarious that while they were building themselves up by tearing me down, it
would never come close to how each passing second, my mind tore itself apart
bit by bit until all that was left was the shell everyone saw on the outside. I
would have thought it ironic that while they saw the beautiful facade, I
couldn't find a single redeemable quality about myself. But they didn't indulge
me. Instead they gave their fake smiles and were friendly without being
friends. That was way worse than any hurtful words. Because that allowed my
mind to do what it does best. Twist reality. I could imagine what they were
thinking as I walked away. I could almost hear their mental conversations. I
knew what they thought about me, and that just fed the cycle of destruction
ripping through my mind. I was the girl everyone hated. They were jealous of
me, but they shouldn't have been.
******
The Girl
Everyone Loved
I was the
girl everyone loved. The looked up to me, and I knew it. Perfect grades, good
advice, supportive parents, you name it. But I was untouchable, in the way
people don't know if they're allowed to touch a ancient artifact or expensive
painting. For fear they might mess it up...or worse, be yelled at. Maybe that's
why no one ever was close to me. I presented myself as an open book, but so
many of the pages were stuck together and therefore illegible, that no one
bothered trying to read them.
I wish they had touched, though. I wish they had
messed me up. I wish they had pried the pages apart and tried to translate the
language that floated in my words. Because maybe then they would have
understood how imperfect everything I am was. Because if they had, I would not
have been their leader, their role model. I would not have the one they turned
to. I would have instead been looked at with pity and I would have smiled.
Because had I been closed and replaced on my shelf, I would have become dusty.
I would have become static. Had people understood the literature of my being,
and been revolted as they would, reviling me in my disgusting thoughts and
morbid curiosities and broken suicidal distortions, perhaps then I would not have been held to the
same high expectations. I would have gleefully succumbed to the dark shroud
that would accompany failure.
I would have gracefully closed my eyes and
relished the disgrace of mediocrity. I would thoroughly enjoy my stream of easy
contentment and low achievement while others, those who strived to be like me,
instead strived for their own low level dreams.
But they didn't read me. While
I climbed to the top of the stairway to heaven, I artfully used illusion to
distract those around me from the pieces of myself that I tore from within and
placed under my feet as steps. What they didn't know, but would have, was the
way I bottled my tears and drank them instead of water, the way I forced my own
blood into the ink of my pen, and the way I held my breath for fear of
disturbing the universe. As I suffocated, my cheeks gleamed, and their words
crashed in waves of delight at the porcelain statue in their presence. They
smiled glittering shards of admiration and I drank it in as one does a poison,
with knowledge enough that it would kill me, but with ignorance enough to
proceed. And as they applauded me and my efforts and my elegance, I
beatifically accepted their praise with open arms, silently begging someone to
take my hand. I brushed mistakes under a mountain-like carpet and smiled with
my mouth closed to avoid letting the secrets of my self-terrorism reveal the
cipher that my pages depicted. I was the girl everyone loved. They looked up to
me, but they shouldn't have
*****
K (@Kestrel_LAOD) and J (@Jenny_LAOD)
