Daymoiea's Story

   I hate Alizah, and everyone hates her too. My Classmates insulted her, degraded her, and picked her flaws apart. Except Alizah was me. At 16 years old, I'd like to believe my heart is stronger now, but my fragile eight-year-old heart shattered when I realized my classmates around me formed an "I Hate Daymoiea" club, and the code name was Alizah.
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    Maybe I don't belong anywhere. That's what I have constantly said every day in my head since I came to this school. Whispers that I'm mean, stuck-up, and rude. However, no one has yet to see through the defensive walls I have put up. It's been my safety route since entering 3rd grade.
On my First day of school, mid-November, the room smelt like autumn and color-changing leaves, and the essence of pumpkin spice flowed through every corner and crevice. My teacher, whose room was festively decorated, welcomed me into her class and expressed how thrilled she was to meet her new student, and that was the first time I heard the whispers—scanning the classroom filled with two dozen sets of eyes analyzing and criticizing my every move. The faces conveyed confusion and curiosity about the intruder who was now being welcomed into their classroom, and instantly, I understood I did not belong.
   At the moment where the puzzle pieces fit perfectly together, all along, my classmates have been humiliating me and taunting me with a code name. The feeling of betrayal flooded my body as my only friend filled me on the secret club, third graders made in hatred of me. Part of me was confused, and I blamed myself for not understanding why. What is wrong with me? Why don't I belong? Who am I? The whispers began to spiral and consumed my thoughts. It was true; I was excluded and outcast, and my classmates ensured they kept it that way. This was my warm welcome to the town of Trumbull, and this rocky foundation supported years of discernment and social anxiety during the upcoming years.
 I held on to that feeling for the rest of the year and brought that feeling and the whispers with me every school year, then middle school, and lastly, high school. I always believed that that feeling would eventually subside. However, it has shaped me into who I am today. I've learned that even though I'm considered mean, stuck up, and rude, that doesn't matter. A sense of belonging is a myth; we're destined to roam on paths where we're not always welcomed. I'm okay with not fitting into a category; it allows me to set my own standards and rules and push social boundaries to which all my peers are confined.
Even though my social anxiety that's rooted in my elementary years weighs me down like heavy baggage every day, I've finally grown to step out of my comfort zone and be open to new experiences. I'm ready for the next chapter of my life to experience new adventures and lessen the load of my heavy baggage. Some days are more complex than others, but nothing beats the heart-shattering feeling my 8-year-old experienced. Instead, I try to redirect my baggage and energy into understanding my true self and attacking the defense mechanisms I was forced to use. I've realized that If I belong anywhere, it's not here.