Today, I looked under my bed. It's really messy and full of a bunch of old memories and junk...
For those Hetalia watchers reading this, it's kind of like when America cleans out his storage room.
I was digging under there, when I found a yearbook.
My Kindergarten Yearbook.
Kindergarten was especially hard for me, for those who never knew. I was getting bad grades in math as well as P.E. in the category of physical endurance. (I still suck at P.E. though, P.E. is currently the only subject I get B's in. Next year I'll only have to do it for one semester, luckily, and then whatever subject of my choice. I think I'll do either art or Computer Tech.) And just to add onto the stress of getting bad grades, I was constantly bullied as well as purposefully excluded.
I shall be mentioning names, however, only first names since the names of the people who hurt me are extremely common.
Grace was a girl who constantly bullied me. Called me names, excluded me on purpose, made sure my Kindergarten was miserable- especially during recess. (Who still remembers that Recess from Elementary? Feels like forever ago ;w; ) She would quite literally, take away my friends. There was this girl named Chloe that I loved hanging out with, she was one of the few friends that I could look back at and still admire how nice she treated everyone, and Grace would just force her to be friends with her. And when she would try to go over to me to play with me, Grace (the disgrace) would grab her arms and pull her back and force her to stay with her.
And Chloe, being the nice girl she is, obediently played with Grace and tried her very best being nice to that b*tch.
Grace would always hurt me when the teacher wasn't looking. When the teacher was looking? She'd pretend that she was the nicest girl in the entire world. At the end of the year, she even got a reward for "Kindness". I mean seriously. She was nothing but a f*cking bully.
And there was this other girl named Willow. We shared the exact same Birthday, and to me, as a little Kindergartner I was, I automatically wanted to befriend my "twin" (That's what I called it at the time). But Willow had a different friend named Nicole. I tried to be the best friend I could, but all day Willow would only play with Nicole. And at lunch, when I wanted to sit next to her, Nicole would always be right next her. It would always be "Oh, tomorrow" or "Sorry, I'll sit with you tomorrow." What really made me miserable was the fact that she promised. Pinky promised. That she would sit next to me on our birthday.
And I know a pinky promise nowadays seems childish. Well, I was a child back then, I believed the myth of "If you break a pinky promise you will have bad luck for 7 years" thing. And you know what? On our birthday, November 25th, guess what? She was the popular one, so of course Nicole was by her side and some other people. When I told her, "Can I sit with you? You promised, remember?"
She responded, "Sorry, I'll sit with you tomorrow."
And that really shattered that Just-turned-6-year-old heart I had at the time.
And one more thing- She'd never sit with me. I'd only come to her after she sat down. She would never voluntarily come sit with me.
And even when she did sit with me, Willow would always be too busy talking to Nicole. Every time I tried to say something it was ignored completely. That, and several other things, is why I suffered depression at a young age of 9.
And then, after looking at my class' yearbook page, I flipped to the next one.
It was an extremely nice old female teacher that was always ultra-nice to everyone- I remember talking to her once and she was really friendly...
And she died when I was in 4th Grade due to breast cancer.
I closed that yearbook right away and put it back. I continued organizing a bit until I got to an old sketchbook of mine. Mostly doodles, so I guess it was a doodle book. Kind of.
Anyways, that Sketchbook I used all through 5th Grade when I suffered a major depression- Having mood swings, lashing out at classmates, breaking down in the middle of class, etc.
And the worst part was, that in the middle of 5th Grade, I had to move and switch schools. I was leaving behind everything that I've ever earned and knew in the 7 years in that city, moving to a completely new place.
My dad got fired from his already lousy job for telling on a manager on what a horrible job the manager was doing.
And then he had to work at $10 per hour, so we could only afford a cheap, small, 2 bedroom apartment room. (The current place I call home.)
I was really upset. Additionally, I was joining the school in the middle of the year. I knew no one at all. Everyone knew each other and I didn't. It was very traumatizing for me. People soon learned my name, but I still had 26 names, not including the teacher, to learn. Very nerve-wracking.
And the worst part of all?
There was bullies.
I won't be naming anyone here because these guys' names are very distinct.
Anyways, I was being excluded, bullied, hurt, all because of the depression I was going through.
And then there was one perverted guy who kept on making remarks about my body. (For those of you who are going to comment things like "But perverted guys like France or Gilbert or Spain from Hetalia are cute!!!" Well, realize that he was nothing but a jerk and I was only in 5th Grade. He said those things because he wanted to get attention and make people think he is cool at the expense of my misery.)
I have a very low self-confidence level, and I really hate remarks like what he said to me about my body.
I tried telling the teacher, but because he was a teacher's pet and would literally bring a fancy store-bought lunch for the teacher literally every week (Or some kind of merchandise or product), so nothing was done.
And I expressed every one of my hurt and sad and abused thoughts through drawings in that sketchbook.
There was a lot of very deep thoughts in there- Including me considering the option of suicide to finally escape all my troubles of life.
All very depressing.
I was always made fun of for carrying around that sketchbook 24/7, and some people would take it away from me. That sketchbook meant just about everything to me at that time of my life. So when someone would take it away, I would give it all I got to get it back.
Including chasing, telling on them, and crying until some kind of teacher came over and they got in big trouble.
Eventually people just stopped bothering me or even talking to me at all.
It really hurt. I really needed a friend that time in my life and I had none.
And I wasn't even introduced to online social media. So I had just about no friends in any form or fashion at all.
And my younger sister was bullying me as well.
She would take advantage of me, hit me, tell lies, call me names, hurt me when I tried to care for her and be the best older sister I could, play embarrassing dolls with her, and she would just force me to play with her or else she'd hit me (whip me) with her blanket that she carried around her 24/7. If I even touched her blanket, she would yell and scream in my ears. Remember that we are living in an apartment complex so we have neighbors both left and right of us, and below us. So I would have no choice but to give it back, and then she would hit me.
You'd think I could stop her, like hurt her back or something. But I've tried before and then I'd get yelled at by my mom. "Be a good example! Get good grades so your younger sister will follow your example!"
I get almost all A's and my younger sister gets D-'s all the time.
If I even get a B- I get yelled at.
Why should I even try when my younger sister doesn't even follow my f*cking example?
(This still happens all the time by the way, not just when I was in 5th Grade. It was just really getting to me in 5th grade because I was suffering a major depression. I would have killed myself if the guns in the house were not right under my parents' beds)
Anyways, when I looked into that Doodle book, it really made me feel horrible all of a sudden.
The truth will always be there. Whether you forget it or not, it will always remain the same and there isn't a thing you can do to change the past.
All those sad emotions were drawn in that book.
I re-drew some less depressing drawings I drew to reflect on improvement, but after that, i just closed the book and put it away. I put back everything, my cleaning unfinished (Just like America from Hetalia when he was cleaning out his storage closet), and just put it all back under my bed. I decided that it was enough memories returning to me all at once...
Memories hurt, don't they?