Conversations with my thirteen year old self
Conversations with my thirteen year old self

You're angry
I know this
The world couldn't care less
You're lonely
I feel this
And you wish you were the best
No teachers
Or guidance
And you always walk alone
You're crying
At night when
Nobody else is home

Come over here and let me hold your hand and hug you darling
I promise you that it won't always feel this bad
There are so many things I want to say to you
You're the girl I used to be
You little heartbroken thirteen year old me

You're laughing
But you're hiding
God I know that trick too well
You forget
That I've been you
And now I'm just the shell
I promise
I love you and
Everything will work out fine
Don't try to
Grow up yet
Oh just give it some time

The pain you feel is real you're not asleep but it's a nightmare
But you can wake up anytime
Oh don't lose your passion or the fighter that's inside of you
You're the girl I used to be
The pissed off complicated thirteen year old me

Conversations with my thirteen year old self
Conversations with my thirteen year old self

Until we meet again
Oh I wish you well oh
I wish you well
Little girl
Until we meet again
Oh
I wish you well
Little girl
I wish you well
Until we meet again
My little thirteen year old me

-Pink

Thats what inspired this pic. And since then, ive regressed back and i have been talking to that old me.
And it scares me how that song is me.
It's still painful to return to that. I did in year 11. For a short time. relatively. a Year is still a long desert to cross. But anyone who has been in the situation of having absolutely no friends and being degraded on a daily basis for being something they are that they cant help will understand.

The bitterness is still strong. Ive never really let anyone know just how jaded and bitter inside it left me. Even now with all these friends who, when i was 13, thought me nothing more than the freak who talked to trees. The friends i thought i'de lost in year five were never actually my friends. They hung with me because i could draw. I was a novelty, a fascination. Nothing more. I only understood that when i reached year 7. As if that realisation wasn't bad enough. I'de been rejected in the last years of primary school as i began to enter puberty and gain an identity. Unfortunately, that identity was one of a freak.

And back then, age 13, that was what everyone rejected.
I was the reject. It took them four years to realise there was a lot more to me than drawing and talking to trees (which i never did. That was a product of their alienation, ive always talked to myself, they just assumed i was talking to the tree i hapened to sit under. My excuse for talking to myself was the lack of better conversation with those present )
And while i was finally relieved of the life of the loner who had to answer every question about friends with my lack thereof. I was angry that it had taken them so long to realise. But how were they to know how deep their flippant teenage politics could cut. And the scars are layered, it happened more than once.

But what doesn't kill me... gives me a very odd nickname
In the end, i know the game better than many others. Ive had to play it enough times. And the Irony is, they've all realised that i'm one of the few loyal friends around. The group i used to know as one big unit has split since we all first met, and im pretty much the only one in about 20 something of us never to have had a bitch fight with any of them. In my eyes, they're all still one big group. The end months of Year 8.

I still remember who made my life hell. Ive forgiven, but ive never forgotten. I wonder if they have.
And i wonder who that tree gets its good conversation from now?

The only difference to the song is i had no Guidance. Councellors were never a well used thing at that time.

All three art signatures i used from age 13 to now are on there. You no steal. But why would you? You don't know that fence. The times sitting alone, lost in the world you had to build yourself over two years. Waiting for the crappy westbus that would come to pick you up that you would miss once or twice and end up having to walk the Kilometres to your grandma's house with a bag bigger than you on your back.
You have your own memories of rejection most likely, so you go draw them and relieve them on a world that probably thinks your emo and whinny and couldn't give a fuck, like most of those who have read this are probably thinking

i dont think my watchers would really say they don't give a fuck, but im sure someone who sees it will think that. Well Fuck, i think four years internalising all this shit is long enough. It's vent time.