Diary of a Nerd

Two pigtails; one on each side of my head, long overalls; folded up to the tips of my shoes, worn out running shoes, a tie-die colored t-shirt and glasses with painfully thick lenses. Everyday, the same style haunted me. I was the brainiac of sixth grade. Just about the only brainiac. 

I knew a lot about the other girls. They were all pretty much the same. Hair curled to perfection that rested on their shoulders, tight-fitting shirts with brand names splayed across them, skinny jeans that made them look even more emaciated, make-up overpowering their faces,  expensive shoes that had to be uncomfortable, but most of all- stuck up and careless. None of that was anything close to me. 

So, I could ace tests without a problem. But, any other part of my life was extremely challanging. Up until sixth grade, I thought that being extra smart was a good thing. Regrets, regrets. Never had I felt so destroyed, so useless. Is it true that if you wear tight clothes and have no skills, that you are better?

A friend? I've never known one of those. How does it feel to have a friend? The dictionary doesn't describe that part very well. Well, there was this one girl... in pre-school. Except, she never answered when I called her name and she teased me with the other girls. But, one day she said "Hi" to me and so I considered her a friend, for a few days. Actually, she was the first girl (well, kid in general) to ever say that "Hi" word to me. I guess that feeling of care kind of took over all of my sense for that small moment. 

Since then, I have found it more effective to just leave the other kids alone. My books are more reliable than any of them these days. I must tell you, I do go "home" crying a lot. All of the name-calling and pushing me away and dumping my stuff on the floor does get to you after a while. Even the little comments like "Have you ever heard of 'fashion'?" can cause a flood for me. 

I hate it. The word "nerd". "A single-minded person obsessed with a nonsocial hobby." It kills me every time. Who says that I'm obsessed? Maybe I actually HATE being who I am. Maybe I'm truly just as COOL as any of the other idiots around. And, maybe the whole "nonsocial" thing comes from all of those people who feel like I'm there for their entertainment. 

Sorry, I didn't mean to lose it on you. But... hang on. I'll come back later. I need to read this all off.