When We Collide [ON HOLD]

3.3

Tazanna

I went into my bedroom — I mean, the room I slept in — and searched for my clothes or shoes. It seemed I had lost my dress, shoes, phone, and my worthy little knife. Sighing in frustration, I held my face in my hands for a moment. Gosh, how did my life turn upside down so quickly?

I wanted Mum to reassure me that everything was fine, that I would get through this. I remembered Mum telling me once, two years ago, that I was beautiful, because I believed I was truly ugly after boys in my school had said things that destroyed my self-esteem. I recalled the conversation word to word ...

I sat curled up, crying, in my cosy bed, surrounded by pillows. Mum walked in and saw me crying, and tried to say something. My head shot up and I glared at her.

"Go away!" I screamed at her.

She didn't bat an eye. Instead, she came and sat on my bed next to me, and just ... looked at me. I didn't protest, because inside, I wanted her there. I wanted her comfort, her advice, her smile. I didn't voice those thoughts, though, afraid that it would sound attention-seeking and weak. And I was weak enough at that point, my mental state demolished by the ugly words of sadistic teenagers.

"What's wrong?" she asked in an even voice. Totally normal. Devoid of pity.

And that was what made me tell her what I'd been hiding for the past year, when these boys in my class enjoyed watching me get upset when they insulted me. I spilled, telling her everything.

"... And they called me ugly, said I have a unibrow, a moustache, looked like a nerd and had ugly glasses and —"

"Darling," Mum interrupted. "Don't listen to them!"

"Easier said than done!" I snapped, tears streaming down my face, sniffling. Mum tutted.

"Well, those boys are idiots and bullies. They won't get anywhere in life, mark my words."

I stayed silent, sniffling.

"You're beautiful," Mum said quietly, sadness softening her eyes. "I don't know why they would say such things."

"You're obliged to say I'm beautiful because you're my mum," I cried, my mindset turned so negative that I couldn't believe something positive.

"No, you are. Your figure is stunning for your age, your —"

"You're only saying what you think I want to hear."

"What do you want to hear?"

"I want to know how to make them feel like I feel! I want to insult them so much that their confidence breaks and they can't talk to anyone without feeling like they're being judged on how ugly they are!" I wept fiercely. Mum paused.

"So, you'll become a bully to defeat the bullies?"

I processed the words in my head, and realised — no. No, I wouldn't. Though I had sworn at them, got angry, said rude things, I could never do it on a daily basis and mean it. I wouldn't sink as low as them.

"No, I wouldn't." I said quietly.

"Good. Because if that's what you really wanted, then we'd have to work to change that first. But now, all we have to do is figure out how we can make you love yourself so that what they say can't hurt."

'We' was the key word in that whole sentence.

As she told me what to do, how to cope and how to love myself, which wasn't easy, I slowly started believing her. Started building my confidence and self-esteem, started becoming more social. Started becoming me again.