The Devil All the Time

2

        I've never had luck with friends until recently. My definition of friends has consisted of an unending pattern of verbal abuse and personal slandering. Of course, I always tried, but there was always someone prettier or funnier or just more popular. I remember I lost my first friend to another in kindergarten. My luck hadn't been the best thus far, but I really thought that we would be inseparable. We had a group of cat heroes that would run around the playground chasing imaginary hopes and dreams, with imaginary powers in a powerless world. Sometimes, I wish that I was back there, despite the fakeness of it all. I reckon I can't believe in faux worlds anymore, because the real ones drag me down like bricks on my ankles. I am constantly trying to stay afloat. It's too much effort to do anything but kick.

        She told another girl that I wasn't pretty. I only got angry at her because I knew that everything that she said was true. It wasn't the world of cat superheroes, or saviors. It was reality. My reality. It has been every day since. I've been called ugly or fat many times after, but none of them were the first time. Much like the first instance of (good) sex is with many couples, it hit me hard and stuck. It was my rush of dopamine, only the exact opposite. I sometimes wonder if I am addicted to toxicity. I wonder if that's why after all of these years I still defend my parent's actions.

        Reality has never been something that my fickle mind has ever been attached to. It seems almost optional, like I could choose when to leave, where to go, and who to be. In my head, I could be as skinny and as pretty as anyone else. I could have an attractive personality. I could be the perfect daughter, lover, sister, friend, and so on. I used to have a fairy school that I went to in my dreams, though it was completely useless. I never learned anything, and if I did it was something I had long forgotten. Buried deep in my mind. When my parents felt like listening, I would tell them about the dreams that I had. Every night another world. I've forgotten what it feels to dream like that. To dream exactly like any child should be allowed.

        I can't remember what I dreamt about the night I realized that I wasn't good enough for even one friend.

        I've had many friends since, all of them coming and going, carried away by the winds of time and change. It's made me realize that trying to make and keep real friends is a fruitless endeavor. After time everyone leaves you, and you leave everyone. To dwell on someone is to waste valuable time that could be spent elsewhere. I never seemed to fail at making conversation though. I've always put on a silly face for everyone. It was nice to know that for just a while, no one disliked me more than I disliked myself.

        I can't remember her name. I just remember that she was a pretty little blonde girl. She had the biggest of eyes, and a face full of freckles. I remember saying that she was very pretty. She said she thought I was too. What a fool I was. At least for a time I got to believe that I had someone watching over me though. At least for a time, I had the privilege of believing that I deserved it.