The Life I Wish I Never Had but Wouldn't Trade for Anything

     Mom always said I was a fixer. And I guess for the most part that it's true. Looking back on my life, my friends were never really friends to me. It doesn't make me feel sad for me, it makes me feel bad for them. They were all broken people, either missing something in their lives or having way too much on their plate. I wanted to be the person to fill in the blanks and help carry the load. They were projects to me. It sounds sickening, but I never meant it in a bad way. I just wanted to help.

     It started in second grade, when the word "gross" stopped applying to boys, and they started being "cute" instead. I was the delivery woman of "check yes if you like me" notes. I was the shoulder to cry on if the answer was no. This did not mean at all that I was popular or well-liked. I was simply the volunteer, the brave explorer, charting unknown territory in the seas of the madness of chaos that came from playmates being driven apart by sexual orientation. While "friends" started being named "boys" by the other girls in my class, they were still just friends to me. Girls hated me for it, and so I got made fun of all the time. Bullied is a better word. Harassed. 

     Honestly, I'm not quite sure how second-graders knew the vocabulary they used towards me, in those years. I was seven years old and being branded a whore. It didn't offend me at the time, mostly because they all just had the little green monster on their shoulders, but I didn't truly know what the words meant, the weight I was put under by them, until I was much older. I get over the anger of it all now by telling myself that they didn't know what they really meant, either. 

     But despite the anger I felt at their jealousy, I continued being there for them. That's when the innocent fixing became a real problem for me. While it started with boy drama, it graduated to girl drama. The worst kind of drama, for those of you who don't know. As harsh as those girls were to me, they were meaner to others. Kids who couldn't help but be the way they were. Ones with mental disabilities, or physical disabilities (it didn't matter to those girls) were relentlessly beaten down by their everyday lives. And, though it didn't help my own situation, I made the conscious decision to be the one person to stick up for them.

Let me tell you, it wasn't like the movie Cyber-Bully, where everyone starts cheering and sticking up for themselves against the instigators. It was the exact opposite. No one stood beside me, not even the kids who were being bullied, not at that time. Instead, they started bullying me, too. The mean girls and the, well the other mean girls, started uniting together in there quest to run me into the ground. That's truly what it was like for me. 

The End

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