Not All Stories Can Be Summed Up With A Title

Hi. I’ve never really done this sort of thing before, so I don’t know what I’m doing really, but I can just wing it as I go along. I do that a lot.

I’ve been bullied since day two of kindergarten (I made myself throw up on day one so that I would be able to go home. I can throw up on command, it comes in handy more than you think), and it’s changed who I am. I used to not care what people thought, but then again, that’s a little kid thing. But for me, that’s everything. There was this girl in kindergarten named Andrea. She wasn’t exactly horrible, just made me feel bad about myself but not once did I stand down to her, despite my new sense of anxiety of being picked on.

In second grade, a new school, things were mostly fine, if you excluded the scenario in which I asked a popular girl if I could play with her and, please read this with the snootiest voice you can manage, her response was, “You better not.” The mostly okay-ness ended when two girls named Emily and Chloe transferred into my class and tormented me. Emily stole a friend from me and Chloe kicked me down further on the social ladder simply because she could and because we had the same first and last name. By fifth grade, I told a girl by the name of Aubrey how I wished I could just get back at Emily for everything she’s done and everything she’s said. Something about sometimes wishing I could just throw a rock at her slipped my mind, so she picked up a rock and so it began. Humans, in general, usually try to make themselves look perfect to keep up their image, but there you go. There’s that.

As years went by, kids got meaner, as you would naturally expect, and I found myself feeling lost and helpless. Girls stole my shoes, boys would push me onto the ground any chance they got, and anything I said was ignored. I still had most of the same old friends, although one of which decided I wasn’t worth their time and joined the “cool” group with his brother following his lead (although he didn’t become cool).
I’m not going to lie and make my life sadder than what it was, because I had friends, but sometimes people are just sad. I’ve been wondering why I’ve been sad for a long time now and I have a partial answer:

You see, I’m what you would call genderfluid. Of course, my default friends (kids of parent’s friends, there’s two of them and they live right next to me) are religious therefore I can’t tell them. I can’t tell anybody, really, it’s not an easy thing to accept. It feels like I’m being pulled literally into two parts, the long way. I wish I could tell my mom, but have you ever tried telling your mom that everything that she’s ever known about you is pretty much wrong? Just imagine it, “Oh by the way, you only have a daughter, sorry. And bisexual. Oops, right?”

More recently, I was online and a girl spoke to me about wanting to know what killing herself felt like. I couldn’t save her, and her friends were well aware that I was the last one to speak to her, so it was my fault. They told me to kill myself. The funny thing is, that the whole thing started with them accusing one of my friends for telling one of their friends to kill himself and they were all screaming about how you don’t tell someone to kill themselves, ever. Funny how that worked out, isn’t it?

Of course, I won’t try to kill myself because I tried to last year and since then my eyes have been opened so much. There’s so much to do in so little time and I have so little opportunity to do any of it, but I still have my dreams. I want to see the stars, I want to save a species or two, I want to be famous but at the same time just a little nobody living a nobody life with a nobody family that has mountains of potential dreams like mine of their own. I’m a bit of a dreamer, but it leaves me heartbroken. I can dream that I age a few years and marry David Tennant, but that doesn’t make it happen or that it ever will. But still, I refuse to stop dreaming of being on Doctor Who, because sometimes, just sometimes, a dream comes true. I sound a bit obsessed, but those were just two coincidental dreams, one of which impossible and the one just really, really unlikely. Also, I’ve been binge watching Doctor Who for a few weeks.

There wasn’t really a point to this, but there you go. The terribly written life story of Ashe Wood, the sometimes boy who’s scared of being forgotten, and at the same time afraid of being known.

Bye, whoever you are.