It was only three weeks ago.
I was lying in my bed listening to Radiohead.
Sulking to depressing music probably doesn't help, but Creep had always been my go-to on such days - well, so basically almost every day.
I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here
No matter how many times I listened to this song, those words always hit me hard.
Just when I thought my heart was hardened enough, or already been broken enough times not to matter, I felt it getting torn to pieces again.
One week had passed since the beginning of the high school. I, a girl of doom and gloom, put in real hard effort during the spring break before the new year started. I wasn't particularly fat or anything, but I exercised every day and went on a diet. I got a new haircut and bought contact lenses. I spent hours each day looking into a mirror and talking to myself. Carefully observing my own reflection, studying what was wrong with me, and trying to improve.
Toward the end of the break, I had become rather fluent. I could hold a full five minutes of conversation with myself. I think I even managed to learn how to smile without looking creepy.
I was set and ready to go.
This was going to be the final three years of my school life. The last leg of my teenage. I was desperate. I didn't even set my goal high. I just wanted a normal, happy school life. Nothing too fancy. Just having some friends to talk to during breaks. Someone to have lunch together. Someone I can lend my homework to (not that anybody would copy MY answers). Someone that I could - perhaps, even in my wildest dreams - walk back home with after the school's over.
I even entertained the thought of joining some sort of a club. I watched Bochi the Rock a year ago. Well, Bochi didn't really get to 'become popular' by learning guitar, but it helped her make friends, although obviously it had a lot to do with her luck too.
Still, I even bought a guitar for myself and practiced, which annoyed my family greatly. I never got to be as good as Bochi, of course, and I hadn't touched the guitar for a few months, but that was the extent of effort I was putting into changing myself so I could have a shot at having a decent school life.
On the first day of high school, I entered the campus with my head held high. I imagined myself to be like Saki Yoshida of Metamorphosis, although obviously, I didn't want to end up in the same fate as her - but that's beside the point.
But alas, it was all for nothing.
Even from the first day, I couldn't say anything. I barely managed to say my name when it became my turn to introduce myself to the class, but other than that, I couldn't even bring myself to say simple 'Good morning' and 'Hi' to my classmates.
And no one - I mean NO ONE - came to talk to me either.
That's when I started to feel really bad.
I was still going through my usual winter depression, although I thought I was at the end of that phase. I thought spring had finally come, both literally and metaphorically. Exercising probably helped too. My shrink had been telling me for ages that I should exercise and I never listened, but I had to admit that it did have a positive effect on my mood.
But why…?
Why couldn't I do the normal things that other normal kids of my age could do so effortlessly?
Then something triggered me.
I don't really want to think about that for now, but some tiny, trivial thing flipped the switch off in my heart again.
By the third day of school, having failed to talk to anyone yet, I went back to my Radiohead.
I remember laying back on my bed with the tears flowing down from the corner of my eyes. I went straight to bed after coming back home from school. I skipped the dinner. Nobody cared. Mom, Dad, my brother - none of them came to ask me why I wasn't coming downstairs for dinner, or just checking if I was OK. It was as if it wouldn't have mattered at all if I died.
If my own family's like this… what chance did I have that other people at school would care for me?
I was sure I couldn't be the only one who was eager to make new friends and have a good start to high school life. The classroom was full of teenagers willing to embark on the final journey of their youth and seek travel companions.
And I was there - ready and willing to accept anybody's invitation to join.
And perhaps I should have been the one to extend my hand first.
It was all too much for me though.
I just couldn't do it.
Every time I felt like I should join in on a conversation that I was overhearing from nearby, something held me back.
Fear?
Fear of being rejected? Fear of failing myself? Fear of being made fun of?
I didn't know what it was. But the anxiety drove me mad. And the more anxious I got, the more I procrastinated.
OK, I will try to talk to someone during the next break.
And when the next break came, it was "OK, I will do it in the NEXT break."
After that, it was 'during lunchtime', and after that, it was 'when school's over.'
But as the school finished and the students started to leave the classroom, I found myself just sitting in my seat, bent forward with my head buried between my arms on my desk.
God, I must have looked so pathetic.
By the time I chalked up the courage to look around again, everybody was gone.
I was alone - alone again.
Fast forward three weeks, and now, these memories still hurt me.
Actually it hurts me more nowadays that the same kids who shunned me before were all flocking around me with their lunch boxes in their hands trying to sit with me and eat together.
Although I don't say much while we eat together (finally), I never feel left out. They accept me as a girl who doesn't speak much, but I get the friendly glances and smiles that assure me that I am involved.
I was grateful initially. My wish had come true - I made friends and I was adored for who I was.
But then… why did it feel so empty?
Perhaps because deep inside I knew -
I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here