Why is it so tough to move on from the people who hurt us the most?
This Summer Sucked, August 2012
If you have been following my life from an older post, you’ll know I transferred to Westfield State in a horrid, fragile state.
That was after the summer that I tried to commit suicide, after an already failed attempt the prior fall at my old school.
Twice. Because once wasn’t good enough. Once did not satisfy the urge.
What did I hope to accomplish at my new school?
New Beginnings, September 2012
I wanted friends.
I needed friends.
Why did everyone else have so many?
Why was such a simple task becoming so immensely difficult?
In high school, I had a ton of friends.
I always had a boyfriend, or someone interested in filling that position.
I was in five music ensembles and an AP course by senior year.
I was by no means popular but I was queen of the musical-eat-your-lunch-in-the- hallway misfits.
I wasn’t the prettiest girl in school, but I was happy.
I was comfortable.
Maybe that was my first problem.
I made some really great friends at Westfield. I always have to preface that.
But what about the people that didn’t want me?
Why didn’t you want me?
End of My First Semester, December 2012
You welcomed me into your group reluctantly; I was your random transfer roommate that you had to learn to deal with.
It is amazing how small a double room in Lammers can become.
But I thought we were friends. I mean, I really thought we were cool…
Sophomore Spring, March 2013
…We used to bond over stupid shit, smelly boys, drunken nights.
What happened to the group of girls that once called me a “Westie Bestie?”
Why did I so quickly become the outsider?
The crazy one?
The only one that is still affected, still hurt?
Still putting the pieces back together of what even happened…
Spring Weekend, May 2013
Sometimes you girls were mean to each other.
People were divided. Differences in personalities were beginning to emerge.
I didn’t realize that mine was so terrible.
I wasn’t the one that shamed anyone for being different, yet I was constantly being made fun of behind my back.
That should have been my first red flag.
Halloween, October 2013
Maybe it was junior year, when boyfriends came into the picture, when friendships were more divided.
Maybe it was the fact that I devoted my friendship to the person that I trusted the most, because she also needed me the most.
Best friend: I stuck by you through so much. I watched you destroy other people. I watched it all.
How is it that present day you is back with all of them, and I am the outsider? I was just doing a duty as a friend.
Why is it like this?
Easter Weekend, April 2014
Maybe it was the girl who invited me to her house for a weekend, and then realized an hour into it she wanted nothing to do with me.
I was bullied horrendously through text messages.
You told me I didn’t know how to dress myself.
You told me you would rather be homeless than live with me.
Why is it that she was cool with everyone senior year and I wasn’t?
This should have been the second red flag. Or fourth. Or sixtieth.
Why was this happening to me???
Move-In Day, September 2014
I gave up my pride senior year to make my other two roommates happy. At that point, I felt like I could make no one happy.
I lived with two strangers. I did what I had to do to graduate and get by.
I was immersed with a cappella and dance and my other friends that made me so happy.
I avoided my broken home as much as I could.
But at the end of the day, I was lonely.
Graduation Day, May 2015
It is graduation day! Is anyone excited to see me?
Why doesn’t anyone want a photo with me?
…Can’t you see me?
June 7th, 2017
Especially now, knowing that all of you moved on, I realized the one in that group I was closest to had no actual value for my feelings; it was all a selfish act.
And here I am, still affected, still hurt, still picking up my pieces and wondering what I could have done differently to be better.
Everyone else has moved on now.
Mainly because the situation has no affect them on at all…
…And that should be the biggest red flag of all.
This piece comes from Stacy Wacks, a community member who has always written about her struggles honestly; this submission is no different. You can read Stacy’s Coping: This Is Who We Are piece, and you can also find her on Instagram. Give some love to Stacy in the comments.
Always remember you are not alone.
You are loved.
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