I’m an adult now. I’ve made it through middle, high, and college. I even managed to make it through graduate school. Just your average height girl of average prettiness, and a bit above average intelligence. So, why do I still feel stuck in time? It’s not your normal day-to-day feeling; not everyone feels this. What happened to make me feel so… stuck? How can I unstick myself?

The summer before my move to my new school. It was sort of a fun summer. I went to the pool near my current school and had sleepovers with my best friends. My school friends had all signed a shirt with their handprint so I wouldn’t forget them. I could never forget them.

The reasoning behind my move was that it didn’t make sense for me to be going to one private school across town, when my mom worked in another. Logical. Not then in my mind, because I was happy and already had an idea of how I was going to fit in until we graduated in eighth grade. I was a bit of a planner (still am).

This new school wouldn’t even offer French! My mom would be my Spanish teacher. Who would want to be friends with me?

I remember the day I was told I would be moving schools. Anger consumed me and I yelled and cried. Now that I’m older, my mother has taken the time to ask me if she made a bad judgement call. I tell her no. What does it matter now? It happened.

Fourth, fifth, and sixth grades were a blur. I adjusted and made a few friends at my new school. We would do the regular things that middle schoolers do; go to the local mall, style each other’s hair, make comments about fashion as if we knew anything about it.

Seventh and eighth grade are where things began to turn dark. In seventh grade a girl within my friend group, Taylor (not her real name), decided I wasn’t cool enough to be within the friend group anymore. I was constantly being left out, or included only when there was a job no one else wanted to be responsible for. Why I stuck around… I have no idea. It got to the point where Taylor was rude to me and almost outright told me that none of my friends wanted to be friends anymore because I wasn’t cool enough.

I wasn’t cool enough.

So I wrote her a nasty note. I did include the nasty words in it. If I’m remembering correctly, I didn’t spell them out, but I left room for interpretation with stars, just like what is used when a curse word is insinuated on TV or the internet. She made sure to turn it into the office and have her mother come in, who happened to be our new art teacher. I actually feel bad for what I had done, and even wrote an apology letter during my, for lack of a better way to describe this, time-out session during free time that whole week.

She did not feel bad, still feeling superior and like the victim she partially was. I kindly forgave her and tried to handle the cards I had been delt, but now other students in our small class we’re choosing her side and ostricizing me.

The school year ended.

Coming back to eighth grade, I figured all the summer hangouts and sleepovers were a sign that my friends were still my friends. Which was absolutely wrong. I was about to endure the worst year of my life.

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