My Sad Story

We all have a sad story. Not many of us go through life unscathed. Those who manage to do so, will sooner or later experience some form of trauma. This is where I tell you what my sad story is, so you can get to know me a little bit better.

Once upon a time in The Netherlands, a little baby girl was born called: Juliet Hilde Elisa Spanjaardt (yes, I have two extra names which I never use.). She had quite a normal childhood with loving parents, and nothing really seemed wrong from the outside looking in. A lot of people would actually describe her home life as ‘perfect’, because of the relationship she had (and still has) with her family.

Nothing really was wrong with her life, but then again; nothing really is ever wrong with anyone’s life, we only perceive it as wrong. Nevertheless, she was a happy, outgoing, social, and fun child. Then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.

I mean: then, everything changed when she started to go to school (doesn’t sound as dramatic though.).

See, she was a little bit overweight… Wait, was I overweight at that point in my life? To be honest, I don’t really remember. I just remember being bullied and having an awful time. Whatever the reason might’ve been, I completely lost myself and I was only in pre-kindergarten. I hadn’t even began normal school yet, and I already felt completely out of place. The dominant thing I remember about my school life is feeling really alone, misunderstood, and creating a really strong border between me and the rest of the world.

‘Little young me’

This border was— to my recollection— already firmly created in elementary school. I also believe this is where most of my anxieties started. I always felt like people were talking about me, looking at me, or (god forbid) thinking about me, and I felt watched with every step I took. I never felt safe, and the only word my brain knew was: survival.

I needed to survive somehow. But how do I? Maybe if I just started agreeing with everything everybody says, always. Yes! This seems to give me a good reaction and people suddenly seem to like me! Weird how a child so young has to worry about these things already. Prepping itself in order to survive socially, when it isn’ even an official member of society yet. But this is kind of what happens to people who feel out of place, misunderstood, and most of all: unloved. As I said, there wasn’t anything wrong with me when you looked at me from the outside looking in. But if you looked at me from the inside (ew), there were a lot of things wrong.

I remember always daydreaming (about killing certain people), always imagining (how I would take over the world and be alone in it), and about dozing off in the middle of a conversation (where I would rip the person’s tongue out and swallow it myself). All jokes aside though: I really didn’t like people for a while.

The funny thing is, that now I feel immense love for every single person. But I do still have some struggle with giving that love to myself. And it is when a person doesn’t love themselves, that they are unable to give that love to the rest of the world. I was growing in a direction I did not want to grow into, but I also knew that I had no control over it. I also had to survive this weird world somehow and I had to try fitting in. But how?

The only things important to me became: being safe, being liked, and being unnoticed. These priorities became magnified in high-school, the place of discovering who you are. Or Or: the place of almost killing who you are. This I mean, yes, in a literal sense but also in a figurative one. See, I killed who I was in many ways in high-school. I never spoke up for myself, and I always let people walk all over me. Because of this, I never really developed any faith in myself and I didn’t get to discover who I was at all.

When I look back at these experiences I can only really describe them as having 45 different personalities. There are so many details that would make this story all the more dramatic, but I do not wish to do so as it is not the point of this story. My story isn’t special, but it is mine. But, it is also not mine. It shaped who I am today, but I do not identify with it anymore whatsoever. It could have been anyone’s past, and that is how I perceive it now.

Yes, I have learned a great deal from it, but if I would identify with it and call it ‘my past,’ I’d allow it to have a great influence on my personality. ‘‘I am this way because of this and these things that happened.’’ Which I’m still kind of saying, but I only focus on the positive things that came out of it. If I let it describe me, it feels like I would be holding myself back. Like putting limitations on myself, and that is something I swore never to do again!

I can try to blame the people who bullied me, I can try to blame school, the system, my parents, or anyone other than myself, but that won’t exactly be productive. I know that the past is just a figment of the imagination and it is not at all real. The past is a thing people use in order to have an excuse to feel the way that they do. Whilst all you have is right now, and that is the only truth that’s real. The present moment in which you can change your entire life.

Thank you so much for reading my sad story! What is your sad story?