Hurt

It's so easy to be on the other side.

If I were someone else, it would be very easy for me to say, "Honey, they don't matter.  The only people who matter are the ones who love you."

This is as much strength as it is truth.

However, when you're on the receiving end of the hurt, it's very hard to just 'let it go' and heed the words of sweet security from friends and loved ones.

I'm just like anyone else.

I can't be loved by all.

I am well aware of those who hate me, because they make it very clear.  Those are the people I can 'let go'.

Yet, there are ones I can't do this with.

They are in my community, in my circle, all around me, all the time.

They don't make it clear, they just exude the energy of disapproval.

No, I'm not politically correct enough.

No, I'm not popular enough.

No, I'm not cool enough.

Yes.

I'm honest, and no totalitarian wants to hear honesty that could challenge the fascist who say, "Follow us or be the outcast!"  You must never speak your candor, nor may you ever show tears or fears.

I could never be good enough for 'them'; those who are dictated by the political, popular and cool kids.

if you think high school ended in grade 12, try being in the gay community

I stay hidden, invisible to those who stand in my scarred sight, as they look everywhere but into my eyes.  They feel my deprived reach for their gaze.  They repel this option by averting and giving a half grin.

don't bother, andréa, you're not one of us ...

I am only a visitor.

Only 9 months ago, they spoke words of false love and tried to connect with me.

Now, I don't exist.

I have social anxiety for a reason.

Here lies the biggest fear: I'm not good enough.

My foreboding fears were earnestly validated.

The pain killers were roaming my blood, searching for a place to lie, waiting to change my chemical balance.

Those little poison pills found their site to incite affliction; my sensitivity to hate.

Walking body after body I witnessed were part of the malevolent mass.

I counted them in my mind, "One, two, three ..." until finally I couldn't handle the pain anymore, and my biggest enemy appeared: my tears.

Of course, with those who love me, I used my truth for a lie, "Yeah, I'm in a fair amount of pain right now."

It was a great cover up of the reality, that those who attempted to hurt me, succeeded.

I closed my eyes and listened to the readers.

i am not here ...

The readers would take me away in their story and I would emotionally vanish, the way some hope I would forever.

poof! i'm gone.

I am still the weakest chicken in the coup.

They broke my skin with their pecking, and even today, I'm still bleeding.

I'm not ready for the big world yet.  I still need to stay with my grass floor, eggs that other hens have laid, and the smell of the stench from a fowl who has laid their feces in my home.

I still my Trust List.