I stopped writing about my story for a few specific reasons. But I'm just going to outline what I learned from this experience and my thoughts on wondering if it will ever stop the hurtful comments, ridicule, and obsession over hurting my character.
I guess I should start out by saying this: I loved writing those stories. I loved being able to relive the good parts of my life in the beginning, just for a few moments, all over again. To just be able to remember how it felt to be surrounded by such good friends and start my life over new again made me feel just a bit better about my life in its current state.
I have lost myself over a single word: manipulative. The word has wracked around in my brain for months now—something that never stops cycling into my thoughts after conversations with people. But I have stopped letting it eat at my character. I realized that throughout every conflict in my life, you can never make people choose a specific action; they are the master of their own choices at the end.
I can not make people hate others, I can not bend peoples perceptions of others, and I can not make people like me. That word can not define who I am. It doesn't define any piece of my character, nor will it ever. But what those who have called me by that word have failed to realized is that it's easier to blame your internal issues on another than it is to ever accept the truth for what it is.
To give this wild, far-out story that I "planned" for things to happen a specific way is outrageous. Life is a thing you cannot control. The only thing in life you can control is yourself—and even then, barely.
Every single day for me is a struggle to get out of bed, to even put on clothing, or do my homework. For me to make an elaborate scheme to mess with others' lives doesn't make sense to my narrative because I can barely function as a human being on a day to day basis.
I miss all of the friends I had, but were they really friends in the first place if they believed things that were not true about me? Is it ever really friendship if it can be demolished so easily? I don't think it was.
At times, I can always remember having to keep a edge to myself—as if, if I said something wrong or out of key, nobody would want to be around me. It turned out to be a true narrative in the end of story: you should always be able to embarrass yourself, make jokes, or just be a complete person.
I realized that some people are always willing to follow the crowd regardless of their own feelings—even if it means destroying friendships with others to fit in. You should never leave a room knowing your friends say terrible things about you when you leave, or leave their home knowing they will not say a nice word about you until your return.
I realized that you can't let others' perceptions of you change who you are, you can't let it eat at you, and you can't let it stop you from doing things. I have finally decided to not let what has happened to me stop me, no matter if that means getting help or talking to the proper authorities. I will continue my life, no matter who is against it or not.
