It started in Primary school, didn't it?
I mean, not everyone's problems come from their past, but mine did. Hell, some lucky sods didn't even have problems.
But Primary school built me. Made me who I am today. The same could be said for anybody, really, but Primary school fixed me in a bad way. And the more I think about it, the less I understand. My home life was fine. Sure, my father would call me a lot of names, but I always had a new world to crawl into.
Books.
Escapism.
I can never decide if Primary school made me weaker, opened me up to all the insults, the names, the abuse that they threw at me, or if it made me stronger, and gave me something to hate.
High school is different, right? I had my heart set on the Death Weapon Meister Academy from the start. It had been made and presented to me as though it was perfect. No bullying, great lessons, friendly teachers. Different. Perfect.
On my first day, I didn't know anyone, and it was a welcome change. And then I saw another girl my age. She was all alone, sitting on the sidelines of our first P.E. class and people were pointing in her direction and snickering.
Well, father said 'be yourself and make some friends'. Right? So I did.
'Hi, my name's Death The Girl, but some people call me Girl, if that's easier to remember, and I'd like to be your friend.' I held out my hand and went red as people around laughed, and not quietly. I started getting butterflies in my stomach.
She looked at me as though I'd dumped a bucket of cold water over her head.
'I'm Kilisha...Kilisha Rung.'
And as people gaped in apparent surprise, I talked with my newest friend.
Later, I had to go and meet my form class. I had butterflies in my stomach again.
The teacher smiled as I introduced myself and she sat me next to a boy, who introduced himself as Black Star and I smiled even as we were scolded for talking.
And so with my first two friends I had managed to make the first day pass swiftly.
The next few years went by. I brought a knife to school by accident. I got bullied. A lot. I punched a girl from my previous school. In my final year I grew sick to the back teeth of people making fun of the mess that I called my hair, and I cut it off. Boy short. It was cute, but others didn't agree. I started dressing in all black and skulls and became a goth, or as Kid would jokingly say 'I dressed like death'. I scraped up a few more friends along the way, brave people, that I would die for, and that would die for me. They also announced changes to the school and declared we would stay for another two years at the D.W.M.A. Through the years I grew up, grew braver, grew different. Far from perfect. But different. Soon, I was handed a reason to hate myself more than usual. I'd grown to like a boy at school, and him and I began talking online, but he still didn't talk to me at school. On one occasion we argued for several hours as he demanded to see pictures of my chest and me giving him nothing but a firm no. He sulked and stopped talking to me. I smiled brightly when he apologized in person, explaining that he was drunk at the time and he began talking to me online again. Days after his apology, I stayed at my cousin's house. When she fell asleep, I messaged him. He immediately asked for pictures and also went on to ask me to do things, to which I reminded him of our age and asked if he was drunk again. He told me no. I told him to stop asking. He threatened me. 'How about the next time you try to talk to me I get some people over to do something to your house? How about that?' And he wished me a good night. I crawled under my covers. I swore, I screamed and I cried into one solitary pillow. I calmed down and kneeled beside my bed and said my prayer. I prayed for protection. For me. For my family. For my friends. And for my enemies. I went to school, seemingly unfazed, but my friends asked if I was OK, or if I was ill. I shrugged them off, told them I was fine and to leave me alone. Most of them listened. Black Star cornered me at lunch time and demanded to know what was upsetting me. I didn't answer at first. I was struck dumb. I just hugged him. I didn't care about people seeing, Black Star and I got asked if we went out all the time, and the answer was always no. I hugged him and there I told him everything. It felt better. My butterflies flew away. And I built up a little courage again. Got back online. Which is where I met Soul. We'd talked before, but talking to him had never felt the way it did at the time. I didn't understand. Why was it every time he said a mere hello I got butterflies, and I answered in seconds? I had a sleepover with Blue Star (Black Star's little sister) and we both talked to Soul online. He accidentally admitted that he liked me and she tried to get me to admit the same to him, but I was resilient. Yes, I liked him. I had for a while. I admitted it to him a few days later and he seemed happy to hear it. But what I never told him was that I was deadly afraid of him. Not just because of all the internet predator stories, but because I was so afraid he would be just like the boy at school. Soon, I realized that all I ever wanted to do was talk to Soul. He put a smile on my face and he had me spinning around and singing again. I trusted him. Not like I trusted Black Star, Black Star and I had confessed almost everything to each other over the years. Perhaps I never told anyone but Blue Star about Soul because I knew if it did turn out to go wrong, she wouldn't laugh at me or get mad, or remind me of past events. I had never met the guy, but he gave me more butterflies than anyone else, and I was drawn to it. I had only ever seen his profile picture, and a small part of me told me he was lying and that it wasn't really him. But a bigger part of me told me he was hot, cute, sweet, funny and actually took an interest in me, how could he be a fake when he seemed so genuine? I still have not met Soul to this day. We still talk. I still get butterflies. And I still wage war inside myself every day, still cry myself to sleep on occasion, still beat the hell out of inanimate objects. But I found an outlet, and I started venting. I vent my anger into my writing. Poetry, songs. Stories. I've never met you We never talk But are you showing me your true colors I wanna know if you really look the way you say
'Girl, I want to know, because you always said I could share my problems with you, and I want to help you.'
'Why?!' I snapped in his face 'Why do you want to help me? What are you gonna ask for pics too?'
He looked hurt at this and it was with horror I realized what I had said. I got butterflies in my stomach and I felt more awful than ever.
'Black Star...I didn't mean that...'
'Girl, get it through your head! You're the only friend I have that I can count on, that ever sticks around for me! Everyone else winds me up and you were the one that taught me how to ignore it, and I want to be able to do that for you, so who said all that stuff to you and why won't you tell me?'
But I like you
And I know I shouldn't
All of a sudden
You wanna see more than you're allowed
Or wearing the world's best mask?
'Cause butterflies are beautiful, sure
But did you know that they eat our dead?
If you listen to my music the way you say you do
If you're really all that interested in me
I wanna know why you tried to push me too far Are you just lying to me so that I'll never go So are you a butterfly, all a lie You're a butterfly, just a lie Don't ask me that question when you know the answer's yes I wrote a story once. It was an awful story, really. I wrote my own story, from someone else's point of view. I changed all the names, the faces. That story? You just finished reading it.
Did you ever really like me
Or was it all for one thing?
Or is there truly just no mask?
'Cause butterflies are beautiful, sure
When they're not eating off our dead
Do I leave you alone
And let you fly away?
No doubt about it
Why did I ever try to make you stay?
Yes yes
Is all I ever want to give to you