^ACACIA^MANNIX^D11^ {FINISH}

^A G E~ 18
^D I S T R I C T~ 11
^G E N D E R~ FEMALE

^A P P E A R A N C E

"What a freak." Whispers everywhere, surrounding, drowning, destroying. I walk quickly ignoring them, trying not to have a breakdown like I usually would. I push my lanky 6" 1' form forward, each step becoming more and more of a challenge. My hair is neatly tucked behind my large ears, it splashes behind me, a brown mane. I stumble on my twig-like legs, almost collapsing from the tremendous weight of their laughs. I blink back tears and scramble for the door, a light at the end of a never ending tunnel. A boy steps in front of it and I take a detour into the bathroom, a safe haven when I lock the door. I turn to mirror as I push my hair back again. I play with my hair as I wait for the mob to move on, contemplating my face.

I never understood why they whispered You're ugly because I don't see it. I have pretty green eyes that hide beneath glasses that magnify them tenfold. I have long flowing brown hair, and a small petite face. I am not ugly. Yes you are. the hideous voice of everyone whispers into my head. I blink and suddenly all I can see is my hideousness. My large nose, large ears, crooked teeth, flat chest, my gigantic glasses. All of it put onto just a hideous girl. A girl who should just go die. I blink and I'm the normal me, not the hideous me. I realize I just spent an hour here... how long were those blinks? I stumble my way to the door, the mirror flashing between a hideous girl and a normal one. I let out a horse sob and close the door behind me, more confused then ever. What am I?

^P E R S O N A L I T Y

I'm a creep. Thats what everyone says, but I'm not. Are you sure? No, I mean yes. I am not a creep. I am a girl. A lonely girl. I get small doses of enjoyment from sketching my feelings underneath an apple tree. But as soon as I zone out I'm drawing scenes so dark that I wouldn't dare describe them to you. There are gaps in my memories, and often I wake up in a completely different spot. Alone, staring at some form of self harm. These gaps often occur when the voices of insults are too much for me to bear. It wasn't always this way, I remember times of joy. When I was seven, I used to be happy go lucky and bound around laughing. I would swing from tree to tree. I didn't mind that I was alone. I enjoyed it.

I still enjoy being by myself, but now it is from isolation, not solitude. I am outcasted by others, not by myself. It's sad, but true. I don't know why, I try to be kind. I try to be humorous. What is it that makes me so horrible? Maybe it's my quirks. Like my tendency to blank out, or to say things completely irrelevant, or my nail biting, or my hideousness. Maybe I just don't matter, maybe I should just jump off the roof. Yeah. That'll end it.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

I-I-I look at the fresh cut on my wrist. Its not deep this time. I put some paper towel and cry. Now. Where was I? I guess you could say I'm strong. Most people who had to deal with this would be dead by now. I've been dealing with it for years. I am able keep the overflow to a minimum of once a week. I work hard. I've learned to only digest a handful of insults at a time. I almost never have breakdowns in public anymore. But I just can't continue. I just can't deal with the constant fear of losing control. I need to figure out how to get it completely under control. The others ignore me, laugh when I zone out, when I blurt out in the middle of science. I never did anything to them though, I never attacked anyone, I never did anything. Why do they hate me though? Did I do something wrong?

^H I S T O R Y

I run from the school. From the insults. Towards the safety of my home. "Momma. Momma?" "I'm here sweetie." She will always be there for me, no matter how strange I am. Her name is Gaea Mannix, she had me when she was 16, with a man she met the day before. She only got a first name, Barney. She says that sleeping with her is the best mistake of her life. "I wouldn't change a thing." I couldn't be happier when I'm with her. She is my everything. I owe everything to her. But a small part of me whispers late at night, She could have gone so much further without you. If I hadn't be born she wouldn't be a berry picker, working 9 hours a day to support us. I know she loves me, but no one else does. If there is only one person who loves you, and she can go further without you, is your life worth it? I ask myself that question every day. And most days the answer frightens me.

It all began when I was seven. I was talking to a girl and blurted out something about how the sky was green. She stared at me for a second, and I look back dazed, not realizing what I said. She laughed, thinking I was joking, but I really was confused. We brushed it off and then continued with our conversation, when I dazed off, only to return five minutes later. The girl was whispering to her friends across the room. They laughed and for the first time I heard the word drift it's way across the room. "...Freak." I didn't comprehend what it meant until I got home and told Momma. She said to just ignore them, but I still did not recognize the insult. When the dazing off continues, and my quirks continue to appear, the insult became clearer. The whispers eventually make their way to my face. As it becomes clear the insults are real, they began to hurt. To take an impact on me. The first time I ran home crying was when I was ten, a girl screamed at me to get lost because I was too ugly to live. I stumbled into my meager home, into my mothers bed. She came hours later. She held me whispering. "You are beautiful. You are beautiful. You are beautiful. You are kind. You are kind. You are kind." I woke up that morning with a smile. Only to have it disappear with the first words I heard during school.

As time progressed I ran home almost every day. I would lie in Momma's bed, on her light blue sheets that smell like raspberries and blueberries, until she would come home and bring me into her warm embrace. She would coax me out of the bed for dinner, and then we would lie together until we drifted off. And when I woke up she would be gone. I grew up and yet me and my mom never gave up. The first time I zoned out and woke with a cut was when I was fourteen. I remember lying on the bed, listening to the rotating insults. "Freak. Creep. Monster. Die bitch. Kill yourself. Creep. Freak. Die. Kill. Freak. Creep." I lie there and things begin to go dark, I slowly disappear beneath a blanket of anger, depression, angst, and sadness. I awoke in the bathroom. A small line of red line on my wrist. I scream. "MOMMA!" She runs in and lets out a small scream. She grabs a rag screaming asking me what was I thinking. Eventually I learn what happened and panic

Ever since then I fear losing control of my body. It is always there, a small chance. Once it happened in school, and the kids laughed as I brought the scissor through my wrist. The teacher wasn't sure how to react, eventually bringing me down to the nurse and returning to the classroom. The nurse patches me up as I stare into the distance. When I return to the classroom the kids throw paper and insults at me. I make a decision that I will always be an outcast. I will never have friends, or some form of person to look up to. The only one who will help me is my mother, who fears for my life more than I do. What I fear is zoning out and never waking up. It has become a serious possibility because, although the blanks are less frequent they are lasting longer and longer. Momma and I spend five minutes everyday praying for my safety and for something to help us out of our situation, but in secret I pray for my mother, that she will be strong enough if I never get out of the daze.