Bradga-OneShots♡

My life is a story

[This story contains excerpts from the book "Channel Kindness" and are originally written by Lady Gaga aka. Stefani Germanotta]

Lady Gaga. A name that everyone knows these days. At least every second person can name a Lady Gaga song or even sing along with it. The music is on the radio all over the world, photos of the crazy outfits are discussed everywhere and meanwhile her movies are running in every cinema. A world star through and through, with success to become more and more famous and hip.
Lady Gaga, but actually only Stefani Germanotta.
She is a normal person, I am a normal person. Nothing different from you.
Many look up to me, say I'm an inspiration, an Icone, so pretty, talented, so much talent. They want to be like me, because from the outside everything looks so perfect, .... a lie. From the outside it often looks like everything is perfect, a piece of cake, but it's not, quite the opposite. I am grateful for what I have, probably what I have achieved, but sometimes all this is somehow more of a curse than a blessing.
My life started out very "normal", I grew up in New York and have wonderful parents. When I was six years old, my little sister Natali came into the world, whom I love more than anything. She is my best friend. My initial school years were also beautiful, I started playing the piano or taking dance lessons at a very early age. It's always been my thing somehow. My family is made up of proud Italian American people, where the Italian root plays a very big role. We're all very spirited, which is not necessarily a bad thing, stick together, and I would say we're all very supportive.
Accordingly, it was a total change for me when I got to high school. It wasn't as sheltered and familiar as before, rather a whole new chapter of my life began that day.

So my journey began with bullying. As soon as I got there, I was even bullied in class for writing an essay similar to the one you are reading right now. I remember one time in my senior year of high school I did an essay. I practiced all night for it; it was about shock art and representations of Christianity in art throughout history, the latter being the goal of my paper and the former being the conceptual twist I inserted to make all eighty pages of my paper interesting to me. I clearly remember a moment, one of many stories, that made me who I am. I was giving my thesis as a speech to my class, with poster boards that I had beautifully designed to show the evolution of God in art from the classical period to the present, and my teacher was called out of the room for an emergency and asked me to continue my presentation. In the middle of my speech, my classmate - in front of the entire class - loudly and rudely interrupted me and said, "Why are you still talking?" Since this is a book and not a movie or series on Netflix, I can't mimic her to really do her justice, but let's just say that her tone was the equivalent of "You're annoying and stupid and could you please spare me and the whole class your idiotic attempt to get interested in this assignment?" I got upset about doing something I hadn't done so openly before. I usually cried at home, in the school bathroom, or in the nurse's office, but this time I burst into tears in front of the whole class, sobbing uncontrollably with my hands in front of my face while everyone stared at me. When my teacher re-entered the room, I quickly calmed down and continued with my project.
The only thing worse for me at that moment than breaking down in public in front of my bully would have been my teacher catching on, asking me who bullied me, and then me having to lie or tell the truth - both of which would have gotten me in trouble, either at school or in the company of the other students.

So that was it. And even as I write this, it reminds me of how frivolously my troubles as a young person came and went without me being able to do anything about them. They were over as quickly as that last sentence. I was once thrown into a trash can on a street corner by a group of boys who were friends with my bully. I distinctly remember the laughter and the pleasure they took in humiliating me as they shouted. "That's where you belong!" When I was younger, I was also pinched in the hallway by older girls who would grip my arm tightly and whisper, "You're a slut when I go to class. They were jealous that the older boys at our fraternity school paid me a lot of attention. Oddly enough, this hit me so hard that even as I write this article for you, I feel the need to clarify that I was most certainly not a slut.