Everyone has an idea of their own personal hell. For some people it may be performing to a large audience, for others it could include being nude in public or even having your journal read aloud on national TV. However for yours truly I get to live mine almost every single day of my dull miserable life. Now, although I'd like to say that I don't complain about my life as there are always other people worse off than you, I can't. Call me a brat, call me ungrateful, you could even go as far as to call me self centred but sometimes nothing beats feeling sorry for your ungrateful, bratty, self centred arse. Sitting in one's room, wallowing in self pity and disgust. It's just human nature if you ask me. It wouldn't matter if you did insult me with names like those though, I'm called worse on a daily basis.
No I'm not trying to gain sympathy points this is just my sad excuse for a life. I'm 16 years old and for the past 2 and a half years I have lived through torture in the form of Forks high school. Yes I know high school is considered the worst part of any teenager's life however my first experience was a walk in the park in comparison to the danger I face just by attending this wretched hell hole. Although my parents were originally from this ancient isolated town, after tying the knot they decided to ditch the harsh climate of dreary Forks and head to the sunny state of Arizona. A few years down the line spent soaking up the sun then Little Old Me came bounding out. Growing up I couldn't have asked for a better upbringing. We lived contently in our quaint community, everyone's kids hanging out together like one oversized foster family. Almost entire town barbecues where anyone that could come did. Everybody was friends with everybody they just welcomed newcomers in with open arms.
Oddly enough I looked forward to the right of passage called high school, finally being surrounded by peers who could hold an intelligent conversation, people who had read more than Charlotte ' s Web and had a thirst for knowledge just like me. And yes I know that sounds incredibly nerdy and naive but that's just how I am by nature. A curiosity that could rival that mischievous monkey Curious George my Mom always says. When I finally got my wish fulfilled, well let's just say it left a lot to be desired. Conversions filled with intellectual ideas and opinions were replaced by gossip about who was dating who and why all the seniors were covered in love bites. Pupils indulging in heated debates about their interpretations of poetry were swapped in favour of one unenthused teacher endlessly droning on about the importance of practicing safe sex to a classroom full of hormone pumped kids practically dry humping each other's legs.
Nevertheless I was determined to make it work I was satisfied with the life I had. I had friends sure, although none that I considered close. At school I wasn't unpopular I just prefered to keep a distance from the never ending cycle of drama that gravitated around my fellow peers. I hid in the shadows finding solace in the warm and welcoming environment of the school library with all the other poor souls who couldn't take hearing about how two juniors were caught sneaking out from behind the bleachers again. We were delighted to be smothered by an infinite amount of books away from prying eyes, comforted by each word we read and each page turned.
It was only a few easily forgettable months in when my parents were informed that My Dad's Mother Isabella (who I was named after in an unsuccessful bid to regain some chance of a reconciliation between my Grandmother and my parents ) had unfortunately passed away. Strangely My Dad had be never been too fond of My Grandmother I had detected that this was because she despised My Mother and took great pleasure in reminding My Father that getting married that young would only result in divorce. It was soon announced that the Swan family would make their grand return to Forks only this time a companied by their clumsy shrew of a daughter. This was only meant to be a temporary arrangement but in typical Swan fashion plans are rarely followed through. My parents wanted to recreate all their childhood memories of how they fell in love. Who was I to stand in the way? Maybe this was what I had been waiting for, the chance to finally achieve my goal of a conversation with actually substance. Of course I misplaced my trust in the humanity (and intelligence) of the residents of Forks.
My parents are what can only be described as hippies. As Swans we do things the only way we know how: alternatively. We grow our own food, make our own clothes and most importantly stick it to the man (Whoever he is) by not following convention. My parents married straight out of school, ran away choosing not to attend college, instead making their dream become reality by creating art and selling it. They also broke all convention by not getting divorced when they grew older but only further defied it by falling more and more in love each passing day. Another essential trademark Swan feature is not fitting in. I followed in my parent's footsteps, they were also outcasts at Forks decided to not partake what seemed to be the traditional Forks resident pass time: gossip. We both would much rather camp outside like the wild ones we are, sitting round a camp fire listening to My Dad retell the tribal legends he was lucky enough to hear from his old friend. Moments like those seem like single time I don't have to constantly check over my shoulder for any passing danger.
In the loosest term possible I'm bullied. I prefer to use the terms tortured, antagonised, tormented or persecuted. Bullied seems to make it sound like the occasional teasing, a slight light hearted shove in the corridor or something that only occurs as a joke. It presents it as something that you should expect to witness or be some part of rather than daily abuse hurled at you for purely existing. Undeserved hostility that shadows you like a dark storm cloud, unwarranted anger from people who don't even know your first name. As I said this has been my life for the past two and a half years. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was going to come face to pitiful face to in this seemly unnoticeable town.
As much as it pains me I believe I should begin my treacherous tale with the supposed cause of why tormentors feel they have reason to treat me like this. I was new, I was different, I wasn't like them so therefore I was worthy of their hate. I will let you imagine how my first day of school went. An innocent fresh faced fourteen year old girl who up until that point had lead a fairly sheltered life meets the diabolical Cullens. The Cullens, all five of them are to me Satan in carnet. Two lessons of awkward introductions and curious stares fixated on my every movements ready and waiting to report back to their leaders.
At lunch they surrounded me like vultures scouting out the fresh meat. Each of them sat with perfect posture around the table I had commandeered. One by one they took their turns assessing if I was anything special or worthy of their precious attention. They then chose to finally speak and demanded answers, firing questions at me.
When they asked if I was interested in the same bands as them and I answered with the bands that my parents brought me up on like Velvet Underground and Lou Reed, they shared looks of shock.
When they asked me where I got my clothes and if I brought from the same brands as them and I answered that I had never heard of D&G, Super dry or Jack Wills and that my Mother made all my clothes, they all had looks of disgust on their perfect faces.
When they asked what T.V shows I watched and I answered honesty stating that we didn't have a T.V, they each formed a sinister smirk a companied by despicable glint that appeared in their eyes.
And finally when they asked if I had ever had a boyfriend and if not why and all I said was that I never wanted one, they passed a single whisper between them in a line then swiftly picked their trays up and dispersed.
By the end of the day no one dare speak to me ,only harsh whispers followed me down the halls complete with stares filled with pity or revolt. I think then was when it hit me that Forks was going to be an experience I was never going to forget whether I wanted to or not. Up until this day it has only worsened. It build up from cruel comments about how my parents and I were backwards freaks who were more like animals than humans to having my clothes stolen in gym and having to wait like a sitting duck for the pity of one of the older girls like Angela Webber who would bring them to me when no one was looking. I'm not even safe from the rage of the boys either, Emmett, Jasper and Edward tend to stick to less physical abuse , I think their favourite game is to see how worthless and unwanted they can make me feel each day. Snide comments about how no one in their right mind would date me or how much of a disappointment I must have been to my parents.
Alice and Rosalie each have their own personal way to torture me on a daily basis. Alice being a complete fashioneasta that she is takes the responsibility of making sure that if I didn't already hate myself I do after she's spoken to me. I say spoken to me but that would sound to much like we're equal, no she talks down to me as if I'm worst than the dirt on her shoes which she loves to remind me probably cost more than what my life is worth. With Mom and Dad being artists and Forks not being known for its artistic prestige, they had to get regular jobs. My Dad works at the local garage with his old friend Billy Black, my Mom was able to get a job helping out at the community college with their art course. Neither job is very well paid but we make do, with no T.V , computer or need to buy new clothes money is spent on what we really need. So fancy designer clothing is the last thing on our list.
Rosalie is a whole new level of monstrous ungodly rage. Able to manipulate every simple mind at Forks High School to follow her around like mindless sheep this is her domain and she wants you to know that. She is the exemplary example of the perfect amount of emotional trauma and physical violence to inflict on one person to make them see only one option. No injuries have got to the point where I have to seek medical attention yet but I don't doubt I will soon.
I've been pushed, shoved , kicked, poked and thrust toward this and now I can't see a way out. Every day is just one terrified ordeal after the next. My mind is a cyclone of hate towards them and myself, worries that maybe this will be the day they take it too far or what ifs, what if I had made more of an effort to fit in and change myself for them like everyone else in the emotionless town. I know for certain that if I am forced to live through another year of this it will end in me taking a life with a high chance of it not being my own.
That's why it has to end, that's why. I need the words of self hate and disappointment to stop stalking me, they follow me ready to pounce on their prey so I need to finally take the power back. I've come to the conclusion that the only solution is to end my life myself that way it's my choice and I finally have something they have no control over. They didn't throw me too the sharks I dived in head first.