Every story has a beginning but truth be told, I've never been one for beginnings. Or endings for that matter. Beginnings are often boring and tedious and endings, seems like they're almost always either cheesy or sad.
Middles though, are different. The middle is always the good bit. All the action, growth. The most interesting part of a story is almost always the middle.
My own story is no different though that may be because I lived it; but I have to start somewhere.
I was born into a family where on a good day I was invisible and on a bad day, well use your imagination. I spent a lot of days either cowering in corners or crying my eyes out so that tells you something about my past. Eventually I realized that nobody cared if I cried. If anything, crying made things worse.
'I'll give you something to cry about.' I lost count of how often I heard that phrase. As though I didn't already have a reason. I still hate those words to this day and God help me if I ever use them on another human being.
I learned early that nobody wants to hear the ugly truth so I didn't tell them. I became withdrawn. Hiding in the shadows was safer. Being noticed felt like a death sentence. Sometimes people would notice and ask me not because they cared but because they were nosey.
'I'm just tired.' I said it so often I think they got sick of it and stopped asking, so it had the desired effect.
I was labeled 'antisocial'. I wasn't really but it was better if they thought that. Some just assumed I saw myself as 'too good' for them, which couldn't have been further from the truth.
Along with everything else, of course my self esteem (not that I ever really had any) took a nosedive.
Nothing about me was okay or right. If I was just better, the things I went through never would have happened. But I could never be good enough. If I tried, I was pathetic and a failure. If I gave up, I was lazy and weak. There was no winning.
You can try to block it out but sometimes it doesn't work. Ignoring it is easy if you're not the one who has to deal with it.
There were people who weren't a part of it who did try to help (one or two) and I was grateful to them even though it did nothing for my situation. But there were also people who turned a blind eye to what I was dealing with. They weren't the cause, but I believe they were guilty in their own way. Maybe they didn't know what to do or maybe they just didn't care. Maybe they were looking out for themselves, I don't know but part of me still resents them. Not a big one because I try to see the best in people but I can't pretend that part of me doesn't exist.
I thought, growing up things would get easier. I guess every kid thinks that. Adults can do whatever they want, right?
I know now that things aren't so black and white. Being an adult is stressful too just in a different way.
Some things are the same though. I still get looked down on, I still get told by others I'm not good enough, that I'm doing everything wrong. Unfortunately my insecurities haven't gone away and probably never will. People still don't want to hear the truth when they say 'How are you?' So I tell them I'm fine. Whether they believe me isn't important because they'll never care enough to look past that flimsy, false answer.
I guess things here kind of got away from me but that's life. My story doesn't have an ending yet. I'm still working on it, but if I had to choose, I hope it's a happy one. Even if that is cheesy.
*NOTE* I wrote an article a while back called 'Inside my characters mind' I was struggling to write a story for that character and wanted to develop her better. I ended up scrapping the original story since it didn't work out but the character refused to go quietly. I knew I had to write something else for her, whatever it may be and this is what I got.