Rough ideas

**NOTE:
This is autobiographical/reflective essay rough draft for my english class. I'm typing it on here because I mention people, and also because I do not have word. It's being edited over and over and over again so don't take it too seriously until I take down this portion of the message, because IT IS NOT FINISHED. It is so gushy, and I really hate that I had to relate it to books, but its what I had to do...


Different is wrong. Different is bad. People with a different taste in music than you, people who prefer art to football. These sorts of people are people who you should avoid. Make them feel as bad as you can, or pay no attention to them at all. Beat them until they conform to what everybody else decides is important...The things people pick up. There are so many people in the world today that you would think they would realize the fact that there will be variations in personality and interests, but no, of course they do not. Sure, it is natural to be weirded out because of what is different. I myself have caught my mind from time to time being weary of people who are unlike myself, but I always try my hardest to give everybody a fair chance. Most kids nowadays, however, are taught to be afraid of, or angry at differences. To push away everything that stomps about in a fashion not familiar to them. Even from the get go, I was considered the weird kid. People decided I was too odd to be given normal attention. I was never picked, but always picked on. It was pretty normal for me from first to eighth to cry myself to sleep thanks to loneliness. I tried not to let it bother me, but at times, it did anyway. Nobody can live alone. But it was worth it in the end. It's nearly a taboo to be strange, and that is my life in a nutshell. I am no tortured soul, but I have felt this way for most of my life, and it has given me a perspective on the world that I am uniquely proud of. A view on people, society, its functions and an ability to make my own decisions... And all because I have been isolated and alone more than half of my life.

There is always this time I choose to look back on, and I smile. I was always the artsy kid. I was undoubtedly proud of this from even the tender age of five. I remember a time in second grade, I was sitting in class and everyone was colouring a picture of a dinosaur. We all had the long necked ones that were found out to not even have existed, but were really just a mis-match between two different kinds of dinosaur. Brontosaurus. We used the old broken crayolas with the paper peeled off and the tip completely rounded, barely usable. I noticed the dinosaur had no markings, it had only two legs, and was boring. Flat. So, being a creative thing, I drew on the missing legs (because honestly, from that perspective, the dinosaur would have shown four), and I drew spots on it like scales. It was fabulous. The boy next to me turned towards me, and took a nice long look at my piece. He scowled in a most disgusted fashion- I swear. Apparently it was not as great as I thought. He said to me, "why do you ALWAYS have to do that? Why do you draw what's not supposed to be there?", as if what I had done was an abomination. This was somewhat offensive to my seven year old self. I took one look at his brontosaurus: coloured all green, out of the lines, typical and boring. I realized he had no idea what he was talking about anyway, and decided he was not really worth my anger. I was too proud of my brontosaurus. However, it has been proven throughout my life that an artistic spark is something that people do not always appreciate. I guess to fit in, its unneeded and unwanted. I was weird and disliked for my creativity.

My personality was something to behold. For a kid, I was pretty mature. I was a tad flamboyant, an oddball. I got used to being alone, mostly because I was shy as well. The shyness was probably due to the fact that I was always really afraid of how I acted, but its not like I could ever hide myself. The way I projected myself threw people off most of the time, it seemed. They never knew how to interpret me. So whenever I tried to engage in a social activity, it was disappointing when nobody responded to my attempts. I was not ever interested in sports and NEVER in dolls or anything typical or respectable. I was probably one of the least typical little girls you could meet, so it was hard to start a conversation. Because of this, people often left me alone to fester in the corner of the room. I was the kid who sat on the swings by herself until another kid kicked them off. The kid who looked to the ground and shuffled her feet. I probably talked more to myself than others. This was my elementary school career. Even when middle school rolled around, it was not much better. In fact, probably because of hormones, my life got even rougher. That is the time in your life when you are beginning to be more social than you ever had, and it can be pretty cutthroat if you are not good at it. But because of my lonely elementary school experience, I went into the middle school entirely pessimistic. I did not spend lunch with the other kids, instead, I sat in the library or I helped the librarians put away books. I always hoped someone would come and talk to me but it never happened. My mom always urged me to go sit in the cafeteria and eat lunch. She smiled. She was highly optimistic, convinced that anybody will give me a chance if I myself approach them. She told me to just go up to someone and start talking. Yeah, like that would work... I did not believe it, but my mother's and father's encouragement helped me thrive every day. Even though I was doubtful, I tried it. A couple times. But alas, every time I tried, I ended up with smashed fingers or a bubble of nobody around me. Hell, I even remember being called a satanic lesbian. Even in my attempts to be social, I was weird and disliked for my awkward personality.

As if I were not already horrible enough in the eyes of my peers,my appearance was like icing on the cake. She thinks for herself, she is an artist, she is socially inept and a weirdo. Oh, also, she is really ugly and fat. People are horribly judgmental. They always find something wrong in everything. There was nothing wrong with how I looked. I was a really typical little girl, when it came to my looks. I used to wear normal clothes- teeshirts and jeans and tennis shoes. I had shoulder length sandy blond hair, blue eyes and a cute smile. There was nothing wrong with me, and yet, I was convinced I was ugly thanks to my peers. This was always the thing that really broke me and made me upset, the thing that made me tear up when I got home every day. There is one time in particular. I was at an all time low in how I viewed myself. I was rubbish... even in my own eyes. My sixth grade class... I remember during one of the last days of school, this boy I really adored came up to me. We were talking, I do not even remember what about. He laughed and told me, "You know you're like the ugliest, fattest girl in class right?" I smiled and laughed with him, I told him, "Hah, yeah, I know", because I was told this often. I guess you begin to believe things if you are told them enough. Defending myself was not something that I was able to do since I agreed with what everybody said. Comments like these occurred so often and they only got worse. In seventh grade, I had cut my hair super short for the first time. People cannot help but make dumb comments, it seems, but as I walked past this group of girls in my art class, they whispered loudly: "boy, I HATE girls who have short hair! They're so stupid!" Even in a class that I called home? You had to be kidding me. It never seemed to end. I was weird and disliked for my imperfect physique.

My isolation as a young kid made me view the world in a very pessimistic way, yet, it was also useful. It made me never follow a crowd to fit in. It made me the black sheep, and I was proud, as little confidence I had in it around people. I was able to make mature decisions. I had opinions formed by my own brain, and not just ones about which bands I liked and which ones I did not. I was someone who was ready to grow up and learn about the world and make my life even better than it had ever been, all by myself, completely independent and able. It also improved my art, seeing as all I ever did was sit in the corner of a room and scribble things down on paper, almost obsessively. My notepad was taken away from me periodically by my teachers so I would pay attention in class, not that I did not have a desk to write on. I, of course, was not isolated or alienated artistically, though it was pretty close, excluding advertisements, books, films and television shows. Artistically, isolation is something to behold, as seen in Orson Scott Card's short story, Unaccompanied Sonata. The story's futuristic society kept artistic prodigies from looking at or hearing other peoples art, for fear it would influence them and make them unoriginal. I look at this and I appreciate this rule set in this futuristic society, as you can only express you feel if its from yourself, uninfluenced by others and their works. Its one of my favourite ideals or ideas about art, however, its not always true especially for myself...

I find that I am able to relate to Gregor Samsa in Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis. Gregor was overworked to the breaking point. He did not talk to his family, all he did was work and keep to himself, often hiding himself in his room, only coming out to eat. Once he reached his breaking point, he was no longer useful, and thus even more shunned from everybody than before. This isolation turned him into (whether metaphorically, mentally, or for real) an inferior, useless bug- the trash of the earth.I believe Kafka used the visual of a bug because that is how Kafka himself felt, being an extremely isolated man, and this book being something like an autobiography. When people shun you so, a bug is what you feel like. So, even with my confidence without confidence socially, I needed some help. Despite how horribly lonely my earlier years were, I was not always alone. I did have a friend or two off and on. In fact, I have had a few friends for quite a long time. We have had a few ups and downs and periods of not speaking, so only recently have I truly grown attached to these people to the point of being inseparable. These tight bonds I have created have morphed my unique mind into something even better. They have turned me into a confident, self reliant, able and overall stronger person.

I liked to sharpen my skills in peculiarity. I often did this by dressing oddly. Nobody ever talked to me or commented me unless I was dressed weird or acting outrageous. I liked this attention, sometimes, because it was all I ever got. Like "anyone" (anyone lived in a pretty how town, e.e. cummings), I was not appreciated. I was bouncy, bubbly, I 'sang my didn't and danced my did'. I tended to dress strangely, especially in seventh and to this day. I realized though that people always grouped in with people who looked or acted like themselves. Because of this, I also kept developing my weirdness so maybe one day, someone similar to my bizarre self would talk to me, and I would have a friend. It was like a flag. I looked forward to the day that person would finally come, too. This person was Rhiannon, the person who cared for me, my "no-one". She is a very long time friend, also the rockiest friend I have had, but probably one of the most worthwhile. She is a French-speaking, totally original, super opinionated self described 'lofty' artist. She was not always like this, though. She used to be a soccer player with a mouth full of punk rock and a head of fire engine red hair. The woman for me. Early in our friendship, we would do crazy things, such as go to see Hellboy and eat at Red Robins with her dressed as a psycho futuristic mis-matched bride and me as some sort of deformed dragon woman. She would drag me to fantasy conventions and throw me on the stage in full costume- I was Lulu from Final Fantasy X, her as Yuna from the same. Such big happenings really pushed me further into the world. It made me comfortable just dressing the way I wanted to for myself, not for others, and to be a weirdo and just not care what others had to say about it. She loved me. She loved my look and she still does. She gave me that confidence and made me feel like a much freer person. I was and am loved for my spirit and dynamic personality.

For as long as I can remember, I have also had an amazing long-distance (North Carolina) friend I like to call Muse. Her real name is JaLisa, and I can never really figure out whether or not I want to keep calling her what I always do, or by her real name...She says she does not mind, but it always makes me feel guilty. She is probably the best friend I have ever had. Ever since our Sonic the Hedgehog role plays in the depths of the Neopets website, we have been amazing friends. We have watched each other grow as writers and artists for over six years. For each other, we are inspiration to keep improving artistically, and we are emotional toilets. What I meant by that last part was that she lets me puke emotions and thoughts at her, and she is always willing to take it and help me, and she knows she is always welcome to do the same to me. She is someone I can always be honest with, someone I am always able to bounce ideas off of. I adore her with almost every ounce of passion in my being, that talented, wonderful person. While I have never met her in real life, I still have fond memories of us writing together on messengers, creating characters and creatures, and drawing together on internet art boards. Muse has truly honed my skills and made me realize just how much I adore art and has made me see beauty in many things I probably would never have before. I am loved for my creativity and my inner beauty.

The person who has probably altered me the most, however, is my dear friend Atticus, or, Atti. I have only known him for six months. Compared to the six years I had known my two best friends, this is pretty dainty, but it is astounding how influential he is, and he probably does not realize how much he actually has made me think. Having known him for such a short amount of time, I do not have too many memories of him. Falling asleep on the couch together, taking the metro for the first time, listening to him speak typography language as I laid on the bench in the McCleod Residence, watching him shake pathetically in the freakish Spring snow underneath his pink paisley umbrella, tackling and hugging him so hard that it scared the wits out of both of us. These are the things I think of when I think of Atticus, but its what we talk about that is most important. Some of it may have been me trying to impress, but he has given me a straw so I may drink from my mind and the depths of my soul. He has allowed me to really let myself get out and be who I am. He is a genius. An artist. An emotional, well-dressed, wonderful man with the best set of morales and ideas about life I have encountered. He has made me see things to adore in anything I probably would have been repulsed by previously. He has made me realize the importance of traits such as honesty and eloquence. He has shown me platonic love. He has made me unafraid of myself and my opinions. He has given me the self confidence boost I needed to become one hundred percent me. Best of all...He is the first person I ever believed when they said that I was gorgeous. I am weird and loved for ME.

Overall, since people did not like me, I had to work for what I wanted in life from an early age. I was not considered pretty, people would never help a person who repulsed them. I was not normal, people would not even consider helping someone they thought might be crazy. Aside from my loving parents, nobody was by my side to help me figure life out. I had to work, I had to think, I had to push away loneliness and conquer myself. I viewed the world as working against me. I could never figure out why nobody understood me, but my disadvantages in the social area always made me fight for the little guy, because that was what I understood. It empowered me and enabled me to speak out for the insects and the cats and the dogs and the other lonely, different kids nobody loved. My isolation has influenced me in the ways of independence and artistic style. The relationships I have had have only improved myself and has allowed me to accept who I am and the people around me. People were never beautiful- only horrible creatures that did not deserve my attention. But now, because of my relationships, I am accepting, appreciative, and I see the beauty in so many new things. The alienation and the relationships I have experienced have truly formed my views and way of thinking and acting- my whole being, my soul and everything I am and ever will be.