Problems

Causes

I just thought it would be different. I thought I would be okay and I thought I would be happy with myself.

I pretend everything's fine when I talk to other people, my friends, my neighbors, people my mom has introduced me to, everyone. I'm quietly falling apart. I feel like I've been ripped into thousands... no ten of thousands of pieces over the years, I feel like I'm completely lost and that I'll never be able to find myself again. It started when I was 4.

I was enrolled in a private school, the only black kid in my class. I was sane. I was a happy-no, a really happy kid. I was so confident, a literal model. I was just full of happiness and positive energy.

And that educational prison just had to come for my happiness. The one thing that held me together. Had to. I can never really be happy. Ever. I would think to myself.

I feel like I'm in shambles.

It started out small, I was best friends with this girl named Emilia, until Sierra came, and..I thought I was friends with her. Of course, as a kid, I didn't believe in evil.

"She's my friend mom, she's my friend."

But everyday, if I would do so much as look at a passerby, she would slap me, and yell at me.

Imagine what happened when I actually played with other kids.

"She's my friend mom, she's my friend..."

But I didn't know then that that wasn't the case. I was just a kid. A blind little kid. How would I know? How could I tell?

But my mom tried to tell me. She tried to convince me that my world wasn't as bright as I assumed. That there weren't only flowers, and butterflies, and rainbows.

I didn't listen, but I didn't go back to Emilia.

My school didn't do anything, no. They just sat there and let the white girl with rich parents abuse me, physically, verbally, and emotionally.

It got to a point where my mom had to tell me "If you don't hit her back..."

"I'll hit you."

I was scared of course. It wasn't the best method to use, but it worked.

It sure did.

The next day, I hit her back, and she stood staring. She must've thought back. Of course she tried to do it again, but those attempts were unsuccessful. Eventually, all the built up anger and pain was too much for me to handle, I didn't even know what it was I was feeling. I didn't even really know what anger or pain was until Sierra came along.

I started taking out my anger on the other people in my small-sized class. It started with the small stupid things... lines for the seesaw. I got cut and I pushed them off the seesaw. And to no one's surprise I got into trouble for it.

My school was devised by language, so there were 4 groups due to the humongous group of spanish kids. The other two were German and French.

I was on the French track.

Yay.

Stuff like this happened sometimes, but I would never let my anger get the best of me knowing for sure that if I did, I'd be a huge burden. Sure, I was pissed, but I never let the school have the pleasure of expelling me. I know they didn't want me there.

In 5K a girl named Isabelle came. I remember for about the first 3 or 4 days she would cry saying how she missed her parents. This day, it was in front of our music classroom. I remember Sierra approaching Isabelle, and telling her how it was going to be okay, along with all of the teachers.

Emilia also comforted her. I tried, but Sierra got in my way.

Ever since then they've been best friends, weird and all. But they support each other and they stick together.

All.

The.

Time.

Then there was Will. He was an ass. One day I was showing the kids at my table a cut that was on my middle finger, and I placed it flat on the table, pointing forward. Will was sitting across from me. He suddenly gasped and ran to the teacher saying.

"She stuck her middle finger at me."

A 5 year old isn't even supposed to know what that means. Now we know what's happening at home.

Thank goodness the teacher was black, and she always supported me and my class, no matter who it was. Her name was Ms. Raine. She ended up changing her job every year so she could stay and teach our class up until 5th grade. That's how much she loved us, no matter how many flaws and fights. I appreciated her.

There was also this girl named Tiana, who I also had problems with. In first grade I ended up telling her to "cut it out", by slicing my hand across my throat. When she told the teacher, I decided to tell the truth and said I meant for her to cut her throat off.

I was very angry. I also got into trouble for that.

I had French babysitters every year up until 4th grade. They were like my sisters. In 5th grade, I actually went to Zénégal to stay with them.

It was amazing.

In second grade, I can't remember much happening, but that's just my memory right?

Third grade, not many memories either...

Other than when my best friend Daze came in the middle of the year. We kind of drifted apart because she found friends who were...better. But now we're good friends.

In 4th grade, I know for a fact I had problems.

I guess it was almost like I put my memories behind a shield or a wall, to protect myself from my painful experiences, speaking metaphorically. I refused to open myself to the rest of the world, in fear that the pain I had previously been put through, would put me in the same place as before.

In 5th grade, a girl tried to fight me over a piece of paper. Not very sensible... I agree.

I was attacked in the middle of the schools' field. One of them jumped on my back and started to scratch me, trying to make me let go of the paper, and the other one literally dove for me. If I hadn't gotten Alex off of my back and jumped backwards,

I would've been in the hospital.

But that's not what hurts me the most. What hurts me the most is that they were from my class, people who I assumed were friends. The next worst thing is that the people who threw the paper were just sitting there watching me get hurt. And not caring as if I were at some sort of a freak show. And what's even worse, is that I didn't even fight back, I just tried to run and they chased after me. That's what I call caliginous people. People who are just...vile. For no reason.

And I thought Dorothy, one of the people watching, was my friend, but I guess not.

A few months later someone from the Spanish track barked at me and called me a dog. I pretty much dragged him, and he was one of the rich kids.

I was so relieved that the teacher actually listened to me. I didn't get into trouble.

For the first time. Ever.

I know this story may seem violent, but let me tell you, I never start a fight, I only finish it. (Except for that one time.)

A lot of things happened that I couldn't possibly control. Ever since 4K I have been excluded and teased and bullied for no absolute reason. I believed it was my fault but...

It's those people's faults and their problems.

I've got nothing to do with it.

Oh, and my name's Lola. I'm a teenager.

And I believe I have problems.

This chapter was written with the help of @OceanWagic

 Thank you for reading!