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Concavo-convex
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Other Found written in a notebook owned by M., dated October 18th, 2003.
They say high school is where you're "defined", otherwise known as finding your "true" calling: who you are, what you like, who your friends are, and where you are perpetually fucked in the head. After all, high school is high school. You have your little group of friends, the teachers who either love you or hate you, yourself, and of course, the infinate number of your peers who either like you, hate you, or don't even give a shit. Not much else to say here.
For me, it's a little different. It's impossible to screw me in anywhere. And I like it that way. I really do. I'm not one of the elite, so-called "popular" crowd. I'm not in the Drama Club or the Peer Mediation program. I'm not one of the so-called "rocker" crowd, mainly consisting of Mansonites and baby bats trying to be "different" and "cool" at the same time. Nah. I'm on my own. I march to the beat of a darker drum.
I walk down the same hall everyday, same look on my face: staring straight ahead, head up high, standing straight, watching the crowd subtly part as if I had the plague. I don't mind, really. Hey, at least I can get to class faster and not get a detention for being late. But then again, there are those who would like nothing more than to make the little raincloud above my head pour all over me.
It's always them: people I don't know or the people I used to call friends. Sometimes, I'll hear the occasional "Satanist" or "freak" hissed behind my back. That's nothing. If it's not comments from the unknowns, it's always the stares from them. These big, goggling eyes and open mouths gape at whatever all-black ensemble I have on that day. Why do you stare? Because I'm different.
As far as the people I used to call friends go, well, they stare too. It's not contempt for my outward appearance. It's because they know the superficial, hollowed-out mannequin side of me, the side of me that comes out when I'm not in the mood to answer to them. They know what I've done. They know all about the relationship that just ended about 23 days ago. Naturally, in that partnership, I was glutton for punshment from day one (March 14, 2003). And they haven't quite stopped ridiculing me in their own silently sadistic way.
But all that bullshit is passing. Over and done. Don't care anymore. It's the crap that's been spewed out of everyone else that gets to me.
As you can conclude from these (so far) six paragraphs (now seven) of shit, I'm different. My individuality and aloofness has gotten my ass in a few slings. This all boils down to the fucking problems everyone seems to think I have. I've had visits and chats with the school student assistance counselor on numerous occasions. They seem to think there is something wrong with me. Nope. Nothing wrong with being me.
Let me recall an incident freshmen year. Time: 1:12 PM. Location: Outside of my friend's locker.
A group of girls walks by, all of whom I know. One of them quietly hisses my way, "Hey, gonna slit your wrists tonight?"
Blank stare from me.
(Sorry, can't fit that into my busy schedule.)
Did I do it? Not that day. Do those girls care anymore? Probably not. If another rumor about whatever is "wrong" with me gets spread around, would they do it again? Maybe. It depends on if I somehow irritated them with myself.
In my final statement, this is a little glimpse into what spins around me almost everyday. I'm a junior now. Nobody is going to matter after high school. I do my own thing. Yeah, there are those people who think I'm a freak and should die. Oh well. I don't care. I'm concavo-convex. What you see depends how you look through me.
Check it out, the number 23 showed up in your story.
You were really introspective and aware of your image in high school. That interests me because I was blissfully unaware during high school, and the funny thing is that I thought everyone else was too. Later I found out it was a hard or serious time for people.
My main concern was beer. I was thinking back that some of my peers did homework or went to dinner or a movie on a Friday or Saturday night. I never did that once, I just partied.
But I was a thinker, so I probably would have noticed you and your expression and been curious what was on your mind or what you were in to.
But I've never cared what people thought, or what kind of impression I was making. I'm terribly self-absorbed. But I would like to move outside myself a bit more and show some concern for my image.
Your story made me think of that, thanks.
high school is the shit stop in life. I wouldnt call you a freak instead Ide say your unique. not a sheep in the herd. you sound like a strong person for not giving in to there brain wash. you rock.