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To All The Mean Girls In My Life

To you, with love.

It’s been seven years since senior year of high school and it feels like it all happened yesterday. So why am I writing this? I think it's because I never said my piece. Or more importantly, all of you never gave me a chance to speak.

I hope you all remember what you did to me then—the bullying, the public shaming. I only thought those happened to the likes of Cady Heron but never to someone like me. I never really understood why you all treated me that way considering most of us were friends since grade school. You were the people I felt the closest to and yet one day it all changed. One day you all just decided I wasn’t “cool” enough to be your friend.

Never did I see it coming. As I approached our usual lunch table, it wasn’t hard to notice your whispers and glares. It was one synchronized motion when you all turned your backs against me as I took my seat. My pathetic attempts to converse with you all were answered with either eye rolls or scoffs.


I wasn’t dense. I got the message right there and then.

But for some reason (most likely the belief that you were real friends), I still stuck around. I lingered for a while in the hopes that you’d accept me again. Remember that Fall Out Boy concert? You had the time of your lives singing along to every song. I was right there, remember, at the very edge of the row? No? Yeah, I was there and it was the first time I felt truly invisible.

You made things even worse after I stopped hanging out with all of you. All those horrible things you’d say as I walked down the halls. All of those “anonymous” Facebook posts. I don’t remember the exact words you called me (maybe I chose to forget) but I still know how it feels.

I never knew girls could be so cruel.

After high school graduation, I vowed never to set foot in that place ever again. It's been seven years; I still haven’t.

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Some of you have reached out to me since then—wanting to hang out, or maybe catch up. Thank you for doing so, but I just can’t. I’m still struggling. A part of me thinks that things will never be as they used to be. And I’m perfectly fine with that. I’ve come to accept that those things happened to me. But I’m not looking to be your friend anymore.

I guess, not yet.

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