The Ugly Duckling

It's about January, 2014, I remember the day I met them the first time, my college seniors. I joined the graduation school for studying literature, a subject that was my passion, I had dreamed of becoming a poet since sanity.  I had colored my hair blonde that caught their attention; god! why did I ever do that? They found it funny and played with my bag and belongings like a football. First day.. a monumental disappointment. I went to the principal to lodge complaints against these people, a guy completely negligent to my existence. 

The next day was worse, they made me strip every inch of my clothes till I utterly shattered and gave in. The incident broke me, I had no friends, not even a shoulder to cry my miseries onto. Things got worse and nothing changed. They constantly abused me, my stuff, even hit me with things like matchsticks. I kept enduring. One day, it all finally ended. I think they were bored with me not reacting and had found their new prey. I made friends with one of their classmates, Rahul. He was good, warm, he protected me and I liked him, not romantically though. The sessions of torments started, yet again. Severe this time, till I figured out it was Riya, Rahul's ex girlfriend. I immediately apologized and stopped hanging with him, but the things didn't change. They hit me, abused me, I complained! The police was in force and they got jailed and a suspension for two months. It was a great relief and I remember partying blind to the after effects.

It was 2nd November 2014, the exact date and morning 8.30 a.m. when I went on a walk and felt something extreme hot on my face, neck, I was shaking in pain. Every atom of my visage I felt distorting and I was in a trauma that won't go. I fainted and found my heart beating and blood in my nerves propelling after two days when I got up to senses as the doctors and some relatives told me. They also said I was a sufferer of vitriolage where I saw my life despaired and there was no way out of it! Sympathy, motivation and condolences was what my life became. 

A week later I attempted suicide but failed. No surgeries or treatments, prayers, could bring my face back, my confidence back, and most importantly, my older self back. I tried living again but saw pity and rejections everywhere, home, jobs I tried for, everywhere. Since then I have been trying to live and to die, and have been dumped by both life and death. So yes, I am a struggler, that's all I could use to define myself. Not strong, brave, neither weak, just bored. I am tired and done of failing and thinking. It's just a bad dream and I am better than this. I say that to myself before every time I sleep and am still on it.