The Plague of Popularity

”You’re done for in this school; if you think that for one second you’re going to regain what you were this morning, you’re mistaken. You’re one of them now. Surely you didn’t think we were really friends?”

I remember that day like it was yesterday—the day my life fell apart. I remember going home, tears streaming down my face, ignoring my family members and hiding in my bedroom. I didn’t emerge from my room till Monday when I returned to the hell hole called school. I had on a long sleeved shirt and a jacket on top.

I had done something stupid, I knew that much. I hadhurt myself. I’d heard of a few kids doing it, saying it made them feel something when they couldn’t feel anything. Pain; from that day on, it was something I knew like the back of my hand. My scars litter my flesh, not just on my arms either; no they spread to my chest, my abdomen, my thigh, even my ankles. I never understood how I could be afraid of something that would cause so much less than what I inflicted upon myself.

I didn’t know how to be myself because for the longest time I didn’t know who I was. It took me a while to figure out who I was and what I stood for—turning into the boy I am today. I’ve tried to kill myself, once and only once. Two months after the day my life fell apart I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted it all to stop—the names, the beatings, the jokes, the attention—I wanted it to end.

I remember sitting in my room, just like I am now—except then I was alone—I had a gun held in my hands. I admired its sleek beauty. How something so small could be so lethal, so powerful too. I had made my mind up, I was going to do this—show them what they do to me. How much it hurts that I couldn’t stand being their puppet and when I couldn’t do that, how much it hurts to be myself; I knew they wouldn’t care though.

I looked around my room, admiring the things I’ve done and the things I have on my walls. Smiling at certain memories that came to mind and then crying over how few those good ones were in number. I took a deep breath and put the gun to my head; putting my finger on the trigger. I remember whispering a small ‘goodbye’ before I pulled the trigger. I didn’t even flinch when I did so—that’s how badly I wanted out.

When I realized I was still alive and there was no resounding BANG I threw turned the gun in my hand and realized I forgot to take the safety off. I just sat there staring at it; I couldn’t even kill myself properly. I heard footsteps coming to my room and my door flying open—I didn’t look at who intruded, I didn’t care. I felt them snatch the gun out of my hand and wrap their arms around me—I knew then who it was.

Since that night I haven’t thought about that again. I woke up the next day with a new found life. I was still alive, I only had a few more months of dealing with the idiots I went to school with, the idiots I tried for so long to please; I’d never have to see them again if I didn’t want to. I walked into school with my head held high and I haven’t let it down since—well only when I’m in the hall alone. I’m only human; I’m allowed to have my weak moments.

I’ve only had one true friend since as long as I can remember—he’s always been there, even when I haven’t wanted him to be. He’s still there for me, even now, he’s the one that found me the night I wanted to die and he’s so intelligent. He loves learning and I look up to him. He doesn’t know this; I think it’d freak him out how unfit I feel as a role model for him.

I can add one more person to my list of friends. I’ve been in his position before; I know what he’s going through and this time, he won’t be dealing with this alone. I’m not sure how I’m going to be there for him, but I’m going to do my best. I’ve known who he is for four months now, never aware there was more to him than meets the eye. I had misjudged him and I regret that now.

His world fell apart today and he doesn’t know what to do. I was amazed at the display at school this morning, just sitting on the bench, watching in awe as I saw my brother walk up to the most popular kid in school and chew him out. He earned great respect from me today—I could never do that. I just let them have their say and move on with it.

I watched in horror when he was struck in the face by the same kid and the only thing he wanted from the person he defended was a ‘thanks’. The boy he defended, this past weekend was an eye-opening experience for me. I got to know him, the boy he really is. The boy he hides from everyone else—you could call it love at first site if you will.

I had been in the middle of dreaming about the first time I realized I had liked boys when I felt something warm touch my arm and then start to fiddle with my hand. It wasn’t until I felt a soft hand touch my cheek and brush my hair behind my ear when I freaked out and opened my eyes and saw the most beautiful eyes in the entire world right in front of me.

To see those eyes so full of happiness as they touched me and then to have that change from happiness to pure despair tore me in two. I wasn’t the nicest; I knew that, I just, well it happens when you’ve dealt with things as I have for so long. He didn’t know what to feel and he was utterly confused about what was going to happen tomorrow at school.

I did the only thing I could think of, I opened my arms, beckoning him to come to me—he did. I pulled him onto my lap as his tears fell; as his mind went through turmoil—processing thoughts I wish I knew so I could help him. He was hiding something from me and my brother, I could tell that much. It terrified me how well I could read him—it was like he was an open book to me. I only hoped the one emotion he did portray reflected itself in my own eyes—that I was as open a book as he was.