I was never a teenage dirt bag. I did what I needed to do in order to survive. A 20-30 year old dumpster fire yes. But I can’t get on board with this trend and it hurts my heart to see how many others feel the need to make fun of their younger selves.

They were always coming for me. The demons that always seemed to wonder around aimlessly and started to remember to chant and call out my name. They wanted me to fail. They wanted me to fall 6 feet into a hole I could never get out of. When most teens were celebrating their youth I was just too scared to let the world find out I was me. I was hated for all the wrong reasons but it kept my secrets safe. I couldn’t let others get exposed to the feelings that I felt so I just kept to myself.

If I drank I drank into oblivion so I would enter my own darkness where nobody could see or find me. I didn’t want anybody to know who I was on the inside. I was quiet. Nauseating so. With bouts of rage to fuel me and keep others from finding out my pain.

How embarrassing it was for me to always be on the outside but it was easier than having to try and explain. The reason why I was the way that I am now is from years of systemic abuse stemming from when I was only 13. You know my College professor told my I did bring on negative attention by the way that I was dressed. He took one look at my skirt and basically told me what did I expect. I have you know I was a 90’s grunge teen. Baggy jeans and plaid flannel shirts to the nines. I even had a pair of 9 hole Doc Marten’s which was signature footwear for teenagers during those times.

I didn’t want to fit in anywhere so I did what came easiest and got an older boyfriend to help take me away. I didn’t have to participate in activities in a school that was just out to torment me all because they couldn’t even stop to think for second what actually had happened to me. All my childhood dreams taken away because another older teenage boy decided he wanted to take what he thought was his. Why would anybody care about lil old me when life was hard enough for everybody and all we were trying to do was catch our breath and breathe.

This teenage dirtbag trend hurts so much. It reminds me of all the people I missed connecting with and how different my life could have been. I think I want friends but my adolescence makes it almost impossible for me to relate. I am always playing the victim it seems trying to carry on this wonton misery that is me.

I do play a very sensitive childhood victim almost like I became stunted from all the abuse. When I think about the life that I had to endure I wonder if it is possible to just run away to the woods somewhere and become a recluse. If somebody teased my son like the way that I was I don’t know if I can contain all this rage. I am scared that the demons are still out there waiting in the shadows somewhere trying to take away any little bit of happiness away from me. They have done so before and they will do so before so why not live with a little bit of misery until the bitter end?

Why do we have to make fun of who we once were like we have somehow became an embarrassment in our own eyes? If I allow the whole world to make fun of me for who I was I don’t think I could have the courage to live another day. When most of your family hates you for the choices you have made you become a little bit undone. See it is one thing to have those closest to you hate you, but a stranger? No, not possible. I don’t think I would ever feel ok with having something like that done.

I am already hated the most for just being me. I am so confused on where I am going and how I got here and if I am ever going to be strong enough to stop this bleed. This disillusion of sorts is what is making me insane and I am just finding it hard to do the simple tasks that most are required to do on the day to day.

They always say be weary of the ones who smile the most because they are the ones that are shouldering the most pain. We don’t want to burden anybody else with the weight that we have been feeling so we just turn our backs to the sunset and begin to leave. You think I like feeling hated in my own house but for the most part I am. I hate being called all these names under the rainbow. It makes me so sad that I just want to leave this all behind but I don’t. I have become a creature of sort that is judged and ridiculed for just being me. Every time I show up there is a troll waiting in the wings waiting to spit on my good name. Well I don’t know if it is good anymore but it used to be at one time when my Grandparents were children and ran free.

So why do we need to be so judgmental and make fun of the being we were trying to be. I know what I was doing was out of a desire to fit in at the time how I could of benefited from truly knowing all that was me. At a time when I thought it was best that I fit in I had no idea the Universe had something else for me in mind. When the rest of the world was getting their barring’s I was getting my innocence stripped away from the world.