Disclaimer: I don't own Megatokyo; it belongs to Fred Gallagher and Rodney Caston. This piece of fictional work was not made for profit.
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Conversations With Myself
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It was when I was eight that I was faced with a problem much too big for a girl my age.When I was younger, such things didn't matter; I was much too involved with the thoughts of childhood and paste and glitter and watching TV. Eight seemed different; somehow we were all much more grown up, and ultimately much more cruel.
I was told I was fat, and some very uncreative jokes followed after, along with a chant that, looking back, didn't make much sense. But it had hurt me; as such things would hurt someone my age. I went home, tears stinging my eyes, plodding to my room, and sobbing into a pillow.
Really, the sobs had been more for theatrics than anything else. Like most children, what I really wanted was attention, for someone to pity my pain and give me affection in helping me feel better for myself. My mother was the one I was mostly looking for in this kind of therapeutic help; my father spoiled me, but it was she of whom I always tried to live up to.
She came into my room with concern written upon her face, much to my delight. With a tear stained face I told her of my troubles at school, and waiting for her to comfort me and offer to take me to the ice cream parlor, or to a movie. Instead, she looked me over and said the worst possible thing, the exact opposite of what I wanted;
"I can see what they mean. Miho, dear, you are a bit on the pudgy side."
It was not what a mother should say to a child, and a sat on my bed, looking at her with shock. She patted me on the head and left, telling me to wipe my tears. That was when I stared pulling myself away from others, dissolving into things that barley required human contact, such as sessions with my Nintendo and books too thick for me. It wasn't until later, when I started Middle School, that I really started hurting myself.
That was when I started wearing the ribbons. It was when I started with the dark eye shadow and clothing, and when I started getting into games played on-line, games that required faces others, but in fantasy worlds were you could control the situations.
It was also when I started eating little and throwing up most of what I did eat.
I was sick. Mentally and physically, I suppose. But I didn't care. The twisted logic was that what I was doing, it was for other people. People of whose opinions no longer mattered to me. But it was something I kept up anyway, tearing me apart from the outside in both mind and body.
A few years later I started cheating at Neverquest.
It was my way of revenge. Taking other people's emotions and using them for my will; it was my way of getting back at those children all those years ago, who used me for their own sick amusement. At least, that's how I saw it. My defeat by a stupid fanboy from America still makes me sick to this day.
I hate myself. For so many reasons. I'm not perfect. I don't think I ever will be. All I have to look to now is myself, and I'm not someone I want to respect or care for.
But I'm all I have left, in a world full of so many strangers.
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