Stop talking to the people who are not worth your time, who cause you unnecessary drama, and make you feel worse about yourself.
Be honest with yourself.
You have fewer friends than you thought. Your cafeteria table slowly decreases in size, as do your social commitments, but you do not have any drama, no shallow or fake nonsense. Slowly, everyone starts to seem annoying, and irritating, and you do not want to converse with any of them, ever again.
Do not have many friends, and sway between feeling sorry for yourself and feeling like you are superior.
When the one friend you do have does not come to school because she has to take a driving test, eat your lunch alone, and listen to music on your iPod so you do not appear as alone as you feel. Realize your condition has gotten much worse.
People talk to you. You feel ecstatic, even though you won’t admit that to yourself.
You get a shot of adrenaline when you feel as if you’ve breached their walls.
You try to say something—an opinion, an agreement, anything.
They ignore you.
You walk away, and think: you are above them anyways.
Do not get invited to parties. Think it is because no one likes you. Be sad; be resentful. Think about all the things you are missing at a dumb party thrown by a sophomore—which is bound to fail, and bound to get broken up by the cops. Realize that the reason you are not invited is more likely because you have never show any interest in parties. Force yourself to feel grateful for the lack of an invitation; no cops will come knocking on your door, asking questions.
Plus, you have to go to work tomorrow, and that is much more important.
When the party does get broken up, pretend that you knew it was a bad idea and that you had never wanted to go. Listen to the stories of running from the police, through thorn bushes, with a twinge of jealousy.
Not only do you not go to parties; you do not have any plans for the weekends at all.
Never have sleepovers. Instead, wake up at 12:00 in the afternoon, stay in your pajamas, and have a Netflix marathon of Supernatural. Eat a lot of junk food and think, “**** it!” and then immediately regret it, you are trying to lose weight.
If you lose weight, you won’t be a loser anymore.
If you lose weight, people will still remain the same.
You cry, because you think it’s what you should do.
You feel pathetic.
The tears running down your cheeks do not do justice for the raw, uncomfortable feeling making your stomach clench.
You are stronger than all of that.
You sit on your bed and think about a better time, a better place, when you felt accepted, loved, and even popular.
Think about the time you weighed a good fifty pounds less. You were on top of the world.
Talk about your future, because at least you have them beat there. You will go all the way.
Think about your straight A’s. Get on the scale. 145, 160, 194 pounds; why do those numbers matter? The 98’s are the ones that are going to get you into a good college.
College…
High school.
Present.
Walk through the double doors with staggering confidence.
Talk about how you are a loser—it makes people believe that you do not actually see yourself that way. Losers would never admit that they are a loser. Plus, the people you are talking to are obligated to deny the fact that you a loser, no matter their opinion. It’s common courtesy. Sometimes you want them to deny it, and sometimes you want to prove to them, and to yourself, that it is okay to be a loser.
You define yourself as one because sometimes you are proud of it.
Why?
You think: I do not want to be friends with these people; they are annoying, petty, and shallow. I am much more independent and mature. I’m off to better, bigger things.
Later
You think: it would be nice to have a few more friends, people to talk to, people who care.
Get assigned a creative essay titled, “How to Become a…”
Choose: “How to Become a Loser”
Plan on the piece being light, funny, and paradoxical, ending it with a sarcastic, but optimistic line.
Realize that you are not the loser; everyone else is.
Doubt yourself.
Realize this is no longer a humorous essay.
not a poem. i apologize.