Chapter contains dark content, including mentions of self-harm. You have been warned.
Impact Statement of Kirby of the Stars
Drafted by: Kirby of the Stars
Revised by: Tiffany Ebrum, Terrence Ebrum, Olyphant Kawasaki & HRM King Dedede of Dreamland
Delivered by: Tiffany Ebrum on October 17, 2016
…
Imagine waking up one morning and being told that you're nothing. That none of your contributions matter. That you're an insipid little speck that nobody likes. And the reason for this is because of some piece of paper. Well, nearly fifteen years ago, something similar to that happened to me.
I was so thrilled to return to the Smash Mansion for Super Smash Bros Melee after our successful first endeavor in 1999. Although there was some drama, which you'll hear about later, I had nothing but positive memories. When Master Hand announced Melee, I anticipated reuniting with the old friends I'd made and possibly making new ones. Initially, that's what happened. It was as if we'd never left. We fell back into our old routines and had a lot of fun showing the newcomers the ropes.
And then—the tier list happened.
The warning signs, for me, were present before that fateful afternoon. I wasn't doing too well in my early matches, and my first assumption was that I was a little rusty following a 2-year absence. But then, my poor performance continued, and I could feel the sharks swimming around me, smelling blood and ready to strike.
When the tier list was put up, it was just as I'd feared. I was ranked 26th on Melee's tier list—last place. Seeing my ranking was almost like being caught in an earthquake. I didn't know what was happening and why it was happening, but I knew it was very bad. And as soon as word got out, the sharks pounced.
These sharks were vicious and relentless. They didn't care that I was considered a child by Star Warrior standards. All they wanted was to stroke their own egos, to make themselves feel good. And so—all of my heroics, from standing up to Dreamland's monarch to fighting off imposing monsters, were cruelly discarded in favor of viewing me as a useless ball of pink fluff. I quickly became known in the annals of competitive Melee as a "filthy casual". Low-tier trash. Insignificant. Pathetic. A loser. A baby. The sharks took big bites out of me, laughing as I bled. They wanted to destroy me, and they nearly did.
To make things worse, the sharks were led by someone who was supposed to be a hero and a leader. Fox McCloud—proud defender of the Lylat System and leader of the honorable mercenary team Star Fox—was considered the best Smasher in Melee, and he decided to rub it in the faces of the lower-ranked fighters. However, I got the worst of it. He made disparaging comments about me, humiliated me, demeaned me, encouraged the vitriol thrown at me—and he even brutally attacked me when I tried to call him out on his behavior. And the more he said those awful things to me, the more I began to believe them. I started seeing myself as weak, naïve, childish and greedy. I began beating myself up over the mistakes I made, such as going on a rampage over some cake or accidentally summoning Nightmare due to my mistrust of King DDD. I doubted my abilities as a Star Warrior. And I started to punish myself.
After punching a mirror in anger in frustration, I took a shard of glass and used it to cut into my skin. Night after night, I cut and cut and cut, stewing in self-loathing, telling myself that I deserved the pain. At first, I was able to be discreet. Nobody knew about what I was doing. Until one night, when I was pushed to the edge.
Before I get to that, however, let me tell you a little more about the sharks attacking me. In addition to Fox, there was his wingman, Falco Lombardi, who already had a reputation as a cocky guy. Then, there was the exiled Altean prince, Marth Lowell, who I now have reason to believe was exiled for a d—n good reason. Rounding out this macabre cast of characters were two vile villains, the Koopa King and the King of Evil, Ganondorf. They threw food and drinks at me in the cafeteria, beat me up every chance they got and shoved me into trash cans. And worst of all—someone who claimed to be very close to me abandoned me to face the sharks alone, in favor of some petty grudge.
The spectators were even worse, heckling me and throwing objects at me, slowly wrecking me from the inside and wounding my spirit. I didn't know if I could take anymore, and I was struggling not to fall apart at the seams. The fact that my significant other did next to nothing to stick up for me made it infinitesimally worse.
This torture and torment culminated in a savage assault at a lake near the Smash Mansion, where I was cornered by Fox, Koopa and Dorf. I was severely beaten and nearly drowned, and that night, I snapped. Instead of the glass shard, I used my Final Cutter to self-harm. I cut again and again and again and again until I passed out.
Those sharks ate away at me until there was barely any of me left.
In my darkest hour, however, a light emerged, in the form of Luigi Mario. He'd endured what I'd endured, so we were able to relate to each other. Throughout that madness, he stood by my side and tried to defend me from the worst of it. And on the night I reached my lowest point and almost drowned, he dove into the water and pulled me ashore. His words pulled me back from the brink of self-destruction. And after he talked a little bit about how he coped with his own experience, he helped me realize that I was better than I think I was. With Luigi's help, I built myself up and taught myself how to tune out my hecklers. It clicked that what they said about me was wrong, that despite my low ranking, I was still Dreamland's savior. While I made mistakes, I learned from them. And a piece of paper has no right to dictate how I view myself.
Nonetheless, things haven't been the same in the fifteen years since Melee. I still carry faint scars from the ordeal, both physical and mental. The pain seeps through sometimes. And while most of the sharks have changed their ways and apologized, I don't know if I can truly forgive them for what they've done.
Imagine waking up one morning and being told that you're "low-tier trash". That you're an insignificant, pathetic nobody. That people can care less about your heroic deeds. And the reason for this is because of some piece of paper. Fifteen years ago, that's exactly what happened to me. I was spat upon, called vile names, physically assaulted and driven to inflict massive amounts of agony upon myself. I was saved only by the intervention of one of the most reliable, selfless individuals I've ever met.
And for the life of me, I don't know if I can ever forget.
Please R&R.
