I took my first breath of air at 1:18am on July 4th, 1990. My mom was a single parent raising three older boys. Her first husband was a pathetic excuse. He wasn’t my father, but my brothers’ father. My mom’s husband usually wasn’t home and wasn’t father material, so my mom left him. Then, my uncle introduced my mom to my dad. Though unmarried, they were together for years before I was born.
We lived in a very small house on Center Street. Since the day I came home from the hospital, my brothers had me listening to classic 80’s rock music. By age 3, they managed to get me head-banging to Metallica. By kindergarten, I wasn’t the average little girl who liked wearing dresses. I was a Tom Boy at heart and I absolutely hated the color pink.
Disapproving looks of disgust were shot at me every day. Usually a girl would decide to joke about me for laughter. I didn’t understand why they saw me as abnormal. Why did they feed on the enjoyment from the torment? I had no explanation for their reasoning seven years ago.
Now that I go back to my past, I realize that my classmates didn’t question my diversity until the 6th grade. Through most of middle school, I endured the torment from the kids. My 7th grade year I decided I wasn’t going to take anyone’s B.S. anymore. I began to not give a damn what people thought of me. If they were kind to me, I’d show them kindness in return. If not, I gave them a taste of their own medicine.
“You laugh at me because I’m different; I laugh at you because you’re all the same” – (Jonathan Davis). I wasn’t meant to follow the crowd of sheep. I was the black sheep. My 8th grade year, I began wearing dark-colored clothes. I immersed myself more into heavy metal music. Music was a gateway from reality to me. Then my classmates tried even harder to break my mental barriers. They only failed miserably in their attempt to drag me down.
High school wasn’t bad, but that was because I got used to people staring with disgust. Even some faculty implied that the ‘Gothic’ kids were trouble and always the first blamed for everything. Most of my old principals hated that we were different. It was all expression of individuality. We refused to conform to the norm.
Seven years later, I formed my own beliefs about those who judge by appearance. We fear to witness abnormality around us. We hate differences in everything that isn’t justified by our standards. However, we shouldn’t dwell upon that we cannot change because too much time and effort is wasted. So what if we’re not perfect in the eyes of society? “I am perfect. No one is perfect. Therefore, I am no one” – (Anonymous). Eventually, each one of us will be perfect in the eyes of someone who sees beauty in the dark side.
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