Personal Essay

Sidney Williamson

Ms. Pahomov

English 2- Band

9/18/11

 

“Hahaha” They laughed.

 

…..This was normal, the usual, nothing special.

It’s more or less become a routine. I sit down and take my seat.

 

I sit there, looking over all of them, six "happy" faces.

They all sat there, each one defeated at one time or another; I'd seen it all happen. Arthur and Quentin, sitting there laughing at his ever rude and unforgivably offensive jokes...Worshiping him in a sense. As if he'd given them all life again. What I never understood was, how these boys, who deemed themselves so strong and tough, never stood up to him…

 

 I sat next to my supposed best friends.

 

 It was like...watching the Titanic sink. The cold ocean water engulfing the large ship and anything it could take with it, That’s how it was. Anything he could take, he would. We all knew it was fake. He knew it was fake, but then again did he?

 

I sat there in my seat, wondering what kind of joy this brought to him. I looked him up and down. I knew why they all acted as if they hated me, it was his fault. He never liked me, he noticed when I looked at him and his followers in disgust, and that was when he attacked, the jokes about my clothes, my hair, anything that he thought would hurt me emotionally he did.

 

 I sat there, no real friends, just me, myself and my pride.

 

It wasn’t like this had all happened out of the blue though, I knew why he hated me, we all did. Everyone had heard the story, different versions, but it to him, we all had to deal with his over inflated ego, and I guess I just got

tired of it. It wasn’t even me who he was attacking, when I did it, it was my friend. He was being mean to her, not because she had done something to him, because he could. I just guess I just got fed up. After that he never really “attacked” me per say again, he’d hit me several times before, even though he “didn’t hit girls”. I guess I just hadn’t counted at those times.

 

I had a really hard time in the last few years of Middle School, and it was primarily because I was myself, instead of being someone that someone else wanted me to be. 7^th grade was the first time I told a guy I liked him, and he was probably one of the best guy friends I ever had, but I was just really embarrassed when he said no. I hadn’t wanted to tell him in the first place…but my friends got my hopes up so high, that that was all there was

 

really nothing else left to do. After that I sort of fell into a…black hole per say. I just started ignoring everyone, and having a hard time being happy.

My “best friend” started flirting with the guy I liked, and I was eventually diagnosed with Clinical Depression.

 

I don’t think I have it as bad these days, but I get weeks where I will be suicidal or just hate everyone and my life, and I’m just overall unhappy the majority of the time…But if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing, because everyone goes through struggles in their life, but I think the tough things are what make us who we are. If life was easy, and everything was handed to you, it wouldn’t be any fun.

 

 

So In 8^th grade, it wasn’t too bad in the beginning, but being separated from my class for half of the last year, you do start to notice things, because your more an observer than anything else. Oh and did I notice things…my eighth

 

grade class was a dictatorship, no question about it. You were not to stand out, you were to be exactly as normal as possible and if you weren’t you

were not accepted. I was the weird one. I always have been, and I most likely always will be, I don’t mind though. I actually have learned to embrace

it in the last few years between 8^th grade and now. I think I’m absolutely as crazy and complicated as I need to be right now, because if I were meant to be “normal” I would be.