The Saints Of Mibba
Redundant.
“C’mon! Ready? One, two, three… fire!”
That was the day of the four versus one snowball fight. I was repeatedly pelted with balls of snow and ice by fellow eight-year-old girls until my bones hurt beneath my jacket, my hair was sodden and icy and my head bruised and numb. Why? I hadn’t a clue.
*
“Pfft, look at her. Top of the class again, she’s a freak! Can’t she do anything wrong? Teacher’s pet, teachers pet…”
That was the day I got my year six SAT results. Just because I got level five in Maths, English and Science, everybody else in my year decided I was too good to be treated like everyone else. In other words, I paid for my intelligence with exclusion and sneering comments. I simply thought that this was how I was meant to be treated – just as I had all through primary school. I didn’t know any better.
*
“Come on, you swot. Everyone knows you have the right answers, you always do. Let us copy your work, come on…”
When I moved up to grammar school, I was deemed to be a freak, yet again. People always used to steal my books in class to copy from them, call me names. The boys were the worst for the name-calling. I wasn’t pretty, nor was I talkative or ‘normal’. I was labelled as the minority from the moment I stepped through the school gates on that first September morning, and I paid for it.
*
“Anna doesn’t want to hang around with you. She’s our mate. Stop annoying her, she’s not your friend.”
My first new friend in Year seven – veered away from me to a larger, ‘cooler’ gang. What the hell did I do wrong? Why did she hate me all of a sudden?
*
“C’mon, Emma, stay away from her. She’s just a weirdo.”
My second new friend in Grammar school – who tried to steal away my best friend because she was more giggly, chattier and liked more socially acceptable music than I did. Incidentally, this best friend was one of the same who pelted me with snow in Year three.
*
I don’t have a quote for Alice, but I do know that she used me. Alice was bullied in years eight and nine of school for her appearance. I knew all too well how that felt, having felt unworthy next to all those tall girls with flat stomachs, sleek hair and pretty faces. I took pity on Alice and she soon became the person I could trust most in the world – simply because I had always been paranoid about the loyalty of my primary school friends. However, when Alice chose Emma over me, just like Laura did before her, I felt anger and betrayal I’d never felt before. I hated this girl for using me like that – I was picked on for siding with her, but she didn’t care. Suddenly, the person I trusted most was a fake. Who did I have in the world that I could believe in?
*
“What we’re trying to say is… we don’t want to hang around with you quite so much anymore. I mean, Dawn had you all lunchtime and – Sam?”
Dawn had me all lunchtime. Makes it sound like she was babysitting me, doesn’t it? There were a few people in my tutor group I sat with in classes, hung round with at lunchtime – although they didn’t really want me to. And at the end of Year nine, they finally dared to confess this to me. They’d been scared of hurting my feelings, apparently, but I don’t believe this. I didn’t believe in anything anymore. I sat in the art department porch and cried for the rest of lunch, jealous of all the people in the world who were likeable – Emma especially. Everybody preferred my only long-term friend over me – was she even a friend anymore? I felt so much resentment towards her for being the more popular one. She seemed to care about those other bitches more than me… they came and went and I still remained by her side, but I was just an accessory, a fall back plan. The third one, the other one. I’ve always hated the number three, because I know that I’ll always be the outsider. Would I ever find anyone who’d want me as their friend – or later on, their girlfriend?
Never in my life have I felt loved, or secure. I’ve always believed that I’m different, someone who’ll never be special. I can’t actually get my head round the idea of having a boyfriend who cares for me – honestly, what guy would go out with me? Throughout my life I’ve been rejected by everybody, why should that change now?
When I joined Mibba, I finally found somewhere where I wasn’t the academic freak. I wasn’t the goth, the emo or the weirdo. I used my love of a band that changed my entire life to let my creativity flow, and I was praised for it instead of being insulted. I’d found a man who I’d live for, who I admire, respect and love with all my heart. I’ve never met him and he’s nearly twice my age, but I write about him every day, listen to his poetry more often than anyone else’s lyrics and have seen in concert twice – both times he has given me more of a reason to live, and I thank Gerard Way for that.
If Mibbians or My Chemical Romance hadn’t given me that little scraping of confidence I desperately needed, god knows what I’d be like now. I always knew I’d never be accepted – now I know that sometimes, it’s good to be different. In a way, even though it hurt me a lot and it still does, I’m glad I didn’t stay friends with all those people. I know now that ‘it’s okay to be fucked up, because there are five dudes out there who are just as fucked up as you are.’
That was the day of the four versus one snowball fight. I was repeatedly pelted with balls of snow and ice by fellow eight-year-old girls until my bones hurt beneath my jacket, my hair was sodden and icy and my head bruised and numb. Why? I hadn’t a clue.
*
“Pfft, look at her. Top of the class again, she’s a freak! Can’t she do anything wrong? Teacher’s pet, teachers pet…”
That was the day I got my year six SAT results. Just because I got level five in Maths, English and Science, everybody else in my year decided I was too good to be treated like everyone else. In other words, I paid for my intelligence with exclusion and sneering comments. I simply thought that this was how I was meant to be treated – just as I had all through primary school. I didn’t know any better.
*
“Come on, you swot. Everyone knows you have the right answers, you always do. Let us copy your work, come on…”
When I moved up to grammar school, I was deemed to be a freak, yet again. People always used to steal my books in class to copy from them, call me names. The boys were the worst for the name-calling. I wasn’t pretty, nor was I talkative or ‘normal’. I was labelled as the minority from the moment I stepped through the school gates on that first September morning, and I paid for it.
*
“Anna doesn’t want to hang around with you. She’s our mate. Stop annoying her, she’s not your friend.”
My first new friend in Year seven – veered away from me to a larger, ‘cooler’ gang. What the hell did I do wrong? Why did she hate me all of a sudden?
*
“C’mon, Emma, stay away from her. She’s just a weirdo.”
My second new friend in Grammar school – who tried to steal away my best friend because she was more giggly, chattier and liked more socially acceptable music than I did. Incidentally, this best friend was one of the same who pelted me with snow in Year three.
*
I don’t have a quote for Alice, but I do know that she used me. Alice was bullied in years eight and nine of school for her appearance. I knew all too well how that felt, having felt unworthy next to all those tall girls with flat stomachs, sleek hair and pretty faces. I took pity on Alice and she soon became the person I could trust most in the world – simply because I had always been paranoid about the loyalty of my primary school friends. However, when Alice chose Emma over me, just like Laura did before her, I felt anger and betrayal I’d never felt before. I hated this girl for using me like that – I was picked on for siding with her, but she didn’t care. Suddenly, the person I trusted most was a fake. Who did I have in the world that I could believe in?
*
“What we’re trying to say is… we don’t want to hang around with you quite so much anymore. I mean, Dawn had you all lunchtime and – Sam?”
Dawn had me all lunchtime. Makes it sound like she was babysitting me, doesn’t it? There were a few people in my tutor group I sat with in classes, hung round with at lunchtime – although they didn’t really want me to. And at the end of Year nine, they finally dared to confess this to me. They’d been scared of hurting my feelings, apparently, but I don’t believe this. I didn’t believe in anything anymore. I sat in the art department porch and cried for the rest of lunch, jealous of all the people in the world who were likeable – Emma especially. Everybody preferred my only long-term friend over me – was she even a friend anymore? I felt so much resentment towards her for being the more popular one. She seemed to care about those other bitches more than me… they came and went and I still remained by her side, but I was just an accessory, a fall back plan. The third one, the other one. I’ve always hated the number three, because I know that I’ll always be the outsider. Would I ever find anyone who’d want me as their friend – or later on, their girlfriend?
Never in my life have I felt loved, or secure. I’ve always believed that I’m different, someone who’ll never be special. I can’t actually get my head round the idea of having a boyfriend who cares for me – honestly, what guy would go out with me? Throughout my life I’ve been rejected by everybody, why should that change now?
When I joined Mibba, I finally found somewhere where I wasn’t the academic freak. I wasn’t the goth, the emo or the weirdo. I used my love of a band that changed my entire life to let my creativity flow, and I was praised for it instead of being insulted. I’d found a man who I’d live for, who I admire, respect and love with all my heart. I’ve never met him and he’s nearly twice my age, but I write about him every day, listen to his poetry more often than anyone else’s lyrics and have seen in concert twice – both times he has given me more of a reason to live, and I thank Gerard Way for that.
If Mibbians or My Chemical Romance hadn’t given me that little scraping of confidence I desperately needed, god knows what I’d be like now. I always knew I’d never be accepted – now I know that sometimes, it’s good to be different. In a way, even though it hurt me a lot and it still does, I’m glad I didn’t stay friends with all those people. I know now that ‘it’s okay to be fucked up, because there are five dudes out there who are just as fucked up as you are.’
♠ ♠ ♠
by Fix_Me_In_45.