thinking you aren't worth fighting for is wildly different to knowing that you aren't. one has you gasping, one has you sobbing. and you remember potential, red hair and dangerous words. you remember how the world was in your hands until you threw it away for a chance to be good, to be loved, to be valued.
and you know that you never believed in regret or hindsight, but maybe maybe maybe another shot at all this, and you wouldn't mess it up so badly. maybe you'd be different.
the words stopped. they stopped and they stuttered. a giant blockage that made me think maybe this wasn't what i wanted. a fat girl told me i was ugly. a french boy used his fingers in ways that should have been illegal, and whatever it was that i took in amsterdam, it damaged me. i wanted to be a child again, even though i knew i couldn't. i wore dresses, party dresses, coloured dresses and hoped that my small stature would have me mistaken for a three year old, and someone would hold me until the universe stopped hurting. when we were younger, everything was easier because we were deaf, blind and dumb. the innocence rolled off us in waves, in hurricanes, in kisses. now when i look outside myself, the world seems stupid, seems doomed and crazed and like nothing i do will make a difference. i never wanted this, i never asked but it is what it is and once i would have said i'd fight it tooth and nail. now though, i'm much more inclined to button my lip and say nothing.
because now i am a joke. i am a jester. a fool. people look through me with eyes of scorn. i have failed, spectacularly so, and they want to make sure i never forget it. recovery is not an option. i threw myself off my pedestal, caught my limbs in thorns and still refused to lower my head. there is no room for people like me. for heretics, for intellectuals, for academics, for dreamers. people laugh at me when i open my mouth and fanciful ideas come out. i am surrounded by the self conscious insecure awkward, and i am the easiest target available. because now i am i a joke, i am a jester. but they forget that i was always a fool.
it's becoming apparent that i don't like anyone i know, and that they don't like me. so i'm getting vicious, i'm getting nasty and i'm tearing myself a new hole in the world. i spend hours sobbing on my own, and no one ever comes to stroke my hair. so i'm getting vicious, i'm getting nasty. i'm getting single minded. i'm getting back up and i'm getting stronger. every wall i put up has been knocked down - by me. because no matter how bruised i get, or how sad, or how hopeless, i still want to win. more than anything.