I think too deeply about everything, and I’m still not sure if this has helped me or not. One thing I think about particularly often is what I could’ve been. I shouldn’t, it’s impractical and doesn’t matter because I’ll never know. But still, I like to think I would be better. I wouldn’t faint at the sight of blood, I wouldn’t shiver at the thought of going somewhere by myself, I wouldn’t cry when I have to speak in front of people; I wouldn’t do a lot of things. I want to blame all of this on the kids in my elementary school, to tell them it’s all their fault. I want them to know how they made me feel in such vulnerable years, how much pain they caused me then and now. I want them to know how deeply I think about this. But they aren’t bad people, they were just eight years old. 

During my years in primary school, I learned that people can be cruel. People will tease and laugh, talk and leave. But, they made me realize you have to love and lose, and still be kind. When they called me names and left, I learned to lose. When they offered to play with me on the playground I learned to love. And when they tried to come back after they hurt me, I learned to be kind. Maybe I’m too kind. People tell me that it is a problem now. They tell me I need to stand up for myself more, make sure people know they can’t mess with me. They tell me I need to stop complimenting people, it’s weird and they might not deserve it. But I won’t stop. I won’t because oh how I wish I could’ve been taught earlier that it’s not funny or cool to be mean. It doesn’t make people like you when you don’t care about your school work. I won’t stop because I wish that someone would have treated me that way when I was younger. When I really needed it the most.

Then, I got to sixth grade- I thought I was over it, I really did. But then I got time by myself. I did what I always do and I thought too deeply. I thought about why they would do that to a little girl, why me? And suddenly it all came back to me. I felt like the helpless little girl I was in the 3rd grade- I was crying in my bedroom waiting for the weekend so I didn’t have to see those awful kids again. And then, it changed and all of a sudden I was crying in my bedroom wishing I was at school so I didn’t have to think about how much they hated me, think about how much they made me hate myself. Suddenly, I was in the bathroom covered in red because “I just wanted to see what it felt like.” 

I thought too deeply again. 

As I got older, I began to tell myself that if they hated me, everyone else must too. I thought there was no way anyone could like me. Kindness didn’t work for me before so I must have done something wrong. I started being mean. I started reflecting my hatred for myself back at other people. I treated them so poorly. I said things I was told as a kid. Things I promised I would never say. The same things that started this hatred for the world. Now I didn’t have any friends, nobody wanted to be around me anymore. And then, all over again, I begin to think too deeply. Why do they not like me? I’m more like them now so they should like me, I should finally fit in. I thought too deeply and it all came out.

My mom was there to catch me, like she always is. And that day, during the summer before 8th grade, my mom caught me as I fell to my knees. Shaking, and sobbing, and telling her all the things I thought too deeply about. All the things I wish I never thought about to begin with. The way I hurt others.The way I hurt myself- physically and emotionally. That was the day I was glad I thought too deeply about something. The day I wouldn’t have gotten through if I didn’t think too deeply. That day I think thinking saved my life. 

I accepted help that day. I saw a therapist and I told her all the things I thought about. I let my mom hug me for the first time in months. I started eating full meals again. The most important thing I did that day was compliment someone. It was small but it made them smile. For the first time in a long time, I had made someone smile. I will never forget that day but I have come to peace with it. Sure, sometimes I still think about what it would be like if I wasn’t afraid to be by myself. What it would be like if I didn’t let blood seep into my soul every time I see it. But I know now that I wasn’t a bad person, I was just ten, and twelve, and thirteen. Now, I know that I will always be kind. I will never allow myself to treat someone the way I was treated again. I will be kind no matter how many times they tell me not to be. I will be kind no matter what kind of a day I’m having and I will be kind no matter how “weird it may be”. I will love and lose but no matter what, I will be kind.