My Absolute Worst

(OM’s post about Bullying has inspired this post, however it will probably not address bullying directly)

A lot of people currently in my life have not known me at my absolute worst. They haven’t seen me in actual depression. They haven’t seen me attempt self-destruction. They haven’t seen me violent or suicidal. I think that for the most part not even my mom and my brothers know how far I have descended at one point in my younger days. I kept it from them; I am very, very, good at that.

We all know that’s the truth, don’t we ladies? ^.-

People who say that you need to be able to handle them at their worst to deserve their best and mean it exactly like that, no ifs or buts about it, are morons. Yes, I’ve used that line (in writing, mind you), but I didn’t take it to heart. When I say ‘my worst’ to someone, it never really means that; it means I have a chance of being bitchy that day for whatever reason.

When you love someone you want to give them your best, because you want to give them your best and the more you care about someone the more you worry that what is too much for you to handle will inevitably drive them away. If you, yourself, had the option to escape it you would without a second thought; so why wouldn’t they? People who use that quote don’t know what their worst really looks like. They don’t know what it is to break down to a point where you look at yourself in the mirror and you honestly can’t remember a time when you didn’t see a stranger looking back at you and hating everything you are.

That’s not something you will proudly dump on your loved ones and say: “This is me: Deal with it.”

The reason OM’s post brought this on for me was that it brought very vivid memories of when I was at my worst. I wasn’t bullied much in high school because I was in such a shit state of mind on my first couple of years that I honestly frightened people. Often times I used that to get in the way when someone decided to target one of my friends or simply someone who was nice to me. It didn’t need to get physical 80% of the time, but when it did I could do some serious damage simply because I wasn’t afraid to get hurt and I was so unbelievably angry all the time that I didn’t care if I hurt someone in return.

I thought about getting hurt quite frequently and I constantly thought about hurting others. If it weren’t for those people I wanted, so desperately, to keep ignorant as to what was going on with me… I could have done some horrible things. I could have been something else other than who I am today. I never had access to guns, and I never truly liked them to be honest, but I did have access to a lot of knives, and I have brought one to school on more than one occasion. They never saw the outside of my backpack. However I won’t say I never thought about it.

On my third year things got better. I had gotten help over the summer under my sister’s advisement; the only member of my family to know absolutely everything about this, and I had started writing, and taking joy in writing. It was a long journey for me, but I managed to climb my way out of this abyss I had willingly dived into. I was lucky, and a lot of the people who gave me shit at that time were lucky, because I was born into a great family, because I wasn’t pushed too far over any edges. I don’t know what would have happened if those circumstances had been any different. I don’t want to find out, ever.



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