Truth, at Last

I'm always lying; to my friends, to my family, and even to myself.  I've been through some tough times in my life, and I always fins that it's helpful to speak about them, and yet, I never tell anyone the whole truth of my life.  I always find myself twisting the truth some way or another about half way through out of fear or guilt.  Lying has always been something of a reflex for me, so much so that my parents barely know of anything that happened to me, personally, through my years in education.  I think that it's time I say something, and that I stay away from lying about it.  I'm not afraid anymore and, honestly, I don't know why I ever was.

Let's flash back to 2002, when I was four years old and attending pre-school.  Already, I had become an outcast.  I was a bigger girl than all the rest, born with genes from some bigger families.  Because of this, and no fault of my own, I was ridiculed by all of the other kids throughout my pre-school experience.  They bullied and teased me because I was fat; because my legs were a little bigger than theirs, because my stomach protruded a little further than theirs, and because my cheeks were a little chubbier than theirs.  Let's look at the facts, here - I was only four years old and enduring my first experience of bullying.  I had, before that year, only three years to to love myself, and I wasn't even aware of those years.  I know that I sound like I'm trying to gather pity, but I assure you that I'm not.  I'm trying to gather pity for society, today - for the diminished, broken and twisted thing that we call society, today.  To prey on a four year-old for being fat - well, I guess we just have to get used to this society. 

Back to my story - I had no friends in pre-school because of the fact that I was fat, and others ignored me.  I was cast to the corner of the room, living a fake reality in my head where I was the one showing all of my friends how to glue the popsicle sticks together, and where I stood upon a mountain of happiness and gumdrops.  I lived in this reality because I couldn't live in the one I'd been given.  I realize that I am not the only one who grew up this way, and I also realize that I had an excellent childhood compared to others', but this is not a comparison.  This is a life that I lived, and one that I would like to share with you.

Pre-school ended on a low note, and I didn't tell my parents much of what I had endured, because I believed that it would get much better once kindergarten came around.  And it did - but only for a little while.  I met a girl, Rachel, with whom I became fast friends.  To this day, Rachel is still my best friend.  She helped me through my days in kindergarten - the days where people laughed at me, teased me, and, once again, turned a little girl into the class joke.  I was an outcast, but I wasn't alone this time.  Rachel was there for me, living the same life as I was, suffering alongside me.  We walked arm-in-arm around the schoolyard, relying on strength from each other as we were laughed at, teased and bullied.  All throughout kindergarten, first-grade and second-grade, Rachel and I were inseparable.  And it felt good - really good.

Right before third-grade, I moved schools because my family was moving out of our quaint little house in a nice little neighborhood.  It was devastating to be separated from Rachel, but it had to be done.  We were both sad - we'd each lost the companionship of the friend that helped us keep our chins up.  Rachel had more friends at her school, but I knew nobody at a school that I had yet to attend for even a day yet.  I was terrified.  I was used to a school of people that, at the very least, looked at me weird as I walked through the playground. 

Fi