Change

Change. The very thought of the word scares some people and can cause changes in their psychological balance. To a few, change sounds like a chance to start over. Redemption, some might call it. Me? I see it as a blessing, but also a small curse. It's never too early or too late to experience change; I had my experience in my early teens. This is my story:

I was raised to be good, and thus went to private schools most of my life. I always did what I was told, never tried to get into trouble. Goody-two-shoes they probably called me. I guess to them it was cute in at least second grade, but not in fifth. From fifth to seventh grade, the older kids were intent on making my life a living hell.

I was always picked on: rejected, called names, however you want to put it. Snitch was their favorite of them all.

When I was in fifth grade, I saved my then best friend from getting a swirly from two of the older girls. I got help from the gym teacher, who rushed in to stop. The two girls called me a snitch, but the others commended me on my bravery and quickness. The name "snitch" caught on with most of the older kids. I then learned who were my true friends in that school.

From then on, I never trusted anyone, sometimes resulting with me being antisocial. I was popular at my school, in more ways than one. My friends respected me for surviving the incidents and the pain that followed them. The teachers saw me as a positive role model for the young ones. The junior high and high school students thought, and knew, I was sensitive and took advantage of that sweet fact.

I came home almost every day crying. No one really helped me outside of school. My parents never mentioned counseling to me. They always used the age-old sayings "Kill them with kindness", and even, "If you just ignore them, they'll leave you alone." Yeah, like that worked; thanks guys.

The crying was the effect of the pain on a good day. Bad days caused anger, denial, thoughts of suicide, or even all of the above. I always wondered how things would've been if I never decided to be the good girl, and just try to stand up for myself and not care about the ramifications of my actions.

My mother knew of the situation, but didn't, or couldn't, help much. She said she didn't want to get us into trouble with the staff of the school, risking me getting expelled. There were times where I didn't care and wanted her to do it, but she insisted on me just trying to ignore them. Of course, no matter how hard I tried, they just made matters worse.

When my mother and I moved before Christmas Break, she told me that she'd enroll me into the school of the township. I got my hopes up, and they were much too high: she told me that she thought that I should wait until the next year, so I wouldn't feel awkward there and be behind. So I had no choice but to go through the pain for another four months, and that's when it got worse.

I was at lunch with a couple friends, and went to throw my trash away. One of the high school students went up to me and asked me a sexual question. (I won't type the question since I think it would be too inappropriate.) Then on my last day at that school, the high school kids knew I was leave and decided to make my day "memorable" by reminding me of all the pain they put me through one last time. The words they said, the names they called me, and the things they did will remain in my memories and torture me until I go to my grave.