Shut up Sara

I used to be funny. I mean, really funny.

Before the world chewed me up and spit me out, I was the class clown. The comedic relief. If you were having a bad day, I was the one cracking a little jokey-joke to lift the mood. I could always put a smile on someone’s face. They hated it sometimes, because some people just want to be sad. But not when I was around.

No one ever asked why I was that way. No one knew that behind closed doors, I was carrying more pain than any kid should. No one saw how that pain was morphing into battles I’d fight for the rest of my life.

The fat jokes I made about myself? I said them first so no one else could beat me to it. Behind closed doors, I was throwing up everything I ate... if I ate at all.

The comments about how I always screwed everything up and how I was just a mistake? I said them “as a joke,” but they weren’t funny. No one knew I believed those words and that they were carving scars into my arms, legs, and hips. That I was bleeding the pain away just to find some relief.

No one asked. People love to talk about pretty privilege, skinny privilege, whatever kind of privilege. They assume if others call you pretty or thin, you must believe it too. That you don’t need compliments because they might give you a big head.

But I was a lonely girl who thought she was ugly. Who hated her body. Who had grown used to being picked apart.

Everyone commented on the size of my boobs, or my crooked teeth as if I had any control over that. If I ate, it was too much. If I didn’t eat the fast food they bought against my wishes, I was wasting their money and starving myself. There was always something I shouldn’t have said. Something I could’ve done better.

My body became a battleground. And my mind? A war zone. I was falling apart. Every day felt like it might be my last. I didn't want to be alive anymore. Nobody knew how close to the edge I was. Nobody cared. One day, I was throwing up so violently that I passed out. I ended up having a neighbor drive me to the hospital because something was definitely wrong. After over an hour of scans and blood work, I was told my organs were struggling. My body was waving a white flag. I had pushed too far.

There was no rescue or tearful intervention. There was no one coming to save me. It was just me. Alone. And it was time to choose: Keep spiraling... or start climbing. So I decided to save myself.

I made them all go away. Every single person who said I was just chasing attention. Who told me I thought I was better than everyone else. I didn’t argue. I didn’t explain. I just… transformed.

I became the weird one. The scary one.

If they wanted a villain, I would be that. If they wanted someone to whisper about, I made sure they had something to say. I twisted myself into something they couldn’t understand... because understanding me was never their goal.

They didn’t want to know me. They wanted to use me. They wanted to control me. So, I became uncontrollable.

I keep those memories locked in a box inside my brain. They've made me stronger, I guess. I don’t forget little Sara. I try to forgive the ones who shoved her into that box and told her to take up less space. But it’s hard. I don’t trust people anymore.

And I’m not really funny anymore. I’m just… tired. Exhausted.