What I didn't understand until a long time after is that everything I did broke the one social rule above all others - I cared too much.
I kept thinking there was some unwritten rule that I just had to figure out and then I would be the person they wanted me to be. They called me fat, they hated my hair, they called me frigid one minute and a slut the next, they walked into me on purpose, they knocked my things on the floor, they dared boys to ask me out just to see if I would believe them. So I walked around that school with a sign around my neck that said "victim" and I didn't know how to get rid of it. I didn't know how to not be weird, I didn't know what the right thing was to say, I didn't understand why it wasn't okay to put my hand up and tell the teacher I'd finished the work twenty minutes before the lesson ended. I was that special breed of socially clueless where I simply just didn't get it. I'm talking particularly about when I was aged 11-16. And I had one hell of a bad time in school. Brace yourself, fellow fiction lovers, I'm about to tell you a true story. "Don't be special." That's what I would say to my younger self if I could pinpoint the moment when I went astray.
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