Today I gave in to the hype, and watched the new Netflix series, 13 Reasons Why. I knew it would be sad, and would possibly leave me feeling some type of way, but I felt compelled to watch it. So I did.
How the girl who killed herself felt, resonated with me to the highest degree.
You think to yourself that it’s just high school, or it’s just words being said. They’re just boys. It shouldn’t even matter. But it does.
Being wanted is something that humans cannot escape from. Humans want to be wanted.
In middle and high school, all I wanted was to be one of those girls. I’d walk in the hallways quietly, and watch a really popular girl from a distance. She was always smiling, almost carelessly. She did not have to worry about her appearance, her posture, her social life, or the words she spoke. She didn’t study her words before and after she spoke them. Instead, she just did exactly that — speak.
She walked with a confidence that I only pretended to have.
When I was sitting in Algebra class, and a guy said to me, “What do you have there? Is that even a B cup?” I glanced down at the floor, ashamed of what breasts I was born with.
He probably doesn’t remember even saying that to me. That was my freshman year of high school. But I thought about it for the rest of my life.
Those small things let me know that I was not woman enough for most guys. I was not normal. But I thought everyone else was.
When I started thinking about ending my life, it took me a while to actually act upon it, but I would think about it so much that I stopped crying when I did. It became a content feeling.
I would get angry sometimes. I would think about all the girls in Claiborne that didn’t like me. They didn’t have a reason not to like me, but they didn’t anyway. Maybe they thought I was something that I wasn’t, but they never really cared to find out.
I would think about doing exactly what Hannah did in 13 Reasons Why. I thought about leaving a video, or a note, that let everyone know who did this to me. Who made me feel so worthless that I wanted to take my life. Maybe then they’d feel bad, I thought to myself. Maybe then they’d know.
What troubled me the most about killing myself was that I was worried that the people who hurt me, would suddenly act like they cared. God, does that instill the most intense level of anger in my body and soul.
I could see it happen. The news would hit the school, and if they even had a moment of silence for me over the intercom in the morning announcements, if they even had some kind of memorial table for me, all of those mean girls would somehow feel upset. As if they actually gave a shit. They’d write their names on a card addressed to me that I would never get to read. They would write fake messages telling me that they loved me, and I was a beautiful girl and that I would be missed.
What a bunch of bullshit.
They would feel fake sorrow for my death. They wouldn’t remember the times they talked shit about me or my small frame. All the subtweets on twitter that I was never tagged in, but knew were definitely about me.
They wouldn’t know about how I always felt inferior. I didn’t have 7 other people in my group of friends. They wouldn’t know that every time I walked through the gym doors in the morning, I would hang my head until I got to my seat on the bleachers. I could almost feel their eyes on me, and the words they mumbled shortly after.
But I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for ever wanting to make those people feel guilty. I’m sorry for ever wanting to expose everyone who hurt me, just for my vengeance. Just for a little payback.
After watching this show, it really spoke to me.
Those kids’ lives were ruined. How could they live with themselves now?
If I told everyone that it was so and so’s fault, they would have to live with that forever. They would always know that they are part of the reason I killed myself.
They would think of that often, and it would take over their life.
I don’t want that.
I don’t want to pass on what I feel. To anyone. I do not want to make someone feel worthless.
And for that I am selfish. And I am sorry.
It is most difficult for me to accept that people make mistakes, even though I make some myself. I am still learning. If you’ve hurt me, don’t worry about it. It’s all forgiven.
When ever I leave this earth, I just want people to celebrate the life I did live. Not feel bad about what they did or didn’t do.
(Also — yes, I am okay! Do not worry. This is not any kind of foreshadowing, LOL.)