It felt like no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I begged for them to see me, that—that hell—was all I'd ever be. And god, I was so scared it would follow me. Forever.
I actually believed I'd escaped it, though. Growing up, I thought once I got taller and slimmer, I'd stop being the disgusting overweight kid.
But the truth is, shame stuck to me. Childhood ghosts just don't vanish—they cling tighter than my bangs, tighter than those awful thick glasses I wore like a mask.
Even when I wasn't fat anymore, I still felt it. My insecurities were thick and heavy, like a layer of fat—except no one else could see it. I was still the little girl craving affection, still envious of Ginny's effortless charm.
I remember, one day, I got home, and the moment I stepped through the doorway, guess what? Dad threw a cup at me. He literally just hurled it straight at my face, and it hit me hard, right on the forehead. I didn't even have time to react before I felt blood dripping down. God, he was furious!
"What the hell were you thinking?! Why did you put a dead mouse in Ginny's lunch?" he roared.