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I Am Just Like Everyone Else

1077 words - 4 pages

It's 9:38 p.m.. I guess I've put this off long enough... not that I want to sound unenthusiastic, but it just feels weird. When I looked over the prompts nothing really struck me: I really don't want to drag on about my plastic trophies, or try to convince you that I am the one student that would change your school entirely. The only thing left was to write about a hardship that I had overcome... funny thing though... I couldn't think of many hardships. I mean, a lot of things have happened to me, but most of those things, like my dad dying, were things everyone has to overcome at some point. I never had to do anything... unexpected. That brings me here sitting in front of a screen typing as Chopin plays in the background at 10:00 p.m..

 

I've changed a lot since my freshmen year; I've changed a lot since breakfast, but I never knew why until just a while ago. When I was a little kid, my class mates would always make fun of me. At first I thought it was because I was stupid, then I thought it was because they were stupid, but by the time I was in eighth grade I had firmly identified the reason for my social awkwardness: I was so much better than everyone else at everything that they were all jealous of me. Why not? It was true. No matter how hard they tried they could never produce answers like me... or questions. Also, I needn't bother about trying to get good grades; that wasn't my "style." Whether by Freudian compensation or an empathic teacher's comment, I began to look at other people as being slower, less farsighted than me. Their senses were dulled while mine were too acute to pay attention to little things like assignments.

 

Entering Valhalla I looked upon the various Goths and Preps, the Retros and Punkers with lofty eyes. Everyone acted exactly alike, same hair, same speech, same interests. I simply figured these people were afraid of being rejected (something I, of course, was above fearing). I made no effort to relate, but I didn't connect this to their antagonism towards me. Why should I have? They wore black lipstick, smoked cigars, drank. They wore "Billabong" shirts, "hung out" at coffee houses, and had friends. It made me laugh. It made me cry. For all my "knowledge" I had no real friends. Only the stupid had friends. Only the stupid were happy. I alone was different, I alone had to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and...

 

So that's how I was. I don't really recall any point in time where that idea started to crumble; maybe it was because I met Cj. He had gone through just about everything I had. He could do everything I could do. Maybe it was Mr. Zeigler's history class where I first realized that the people of the past thought and felt and loved. But the time my glass house really came down was probably last year, when a freshmen...

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