Isolation: A Short Story

For as long as I can remember, I have spent my life in complete isolation: absent from social interaction and alienated by those around me. My solitude was brought forth at a young age. I grew up without very many friends. Looking back, I suppose it made sense. I was, in fact, unkept, unproportionate, too skinny, too different, and simply put: ugly. It was because of this unfortunate detail that those around me tended to find my presence rather displeasing. I was often bullied by my classmates due to my unsightly looks. There were numerous times in which I had been forcefully pushed to the ground or laughed at uncontrollably by my peers. Their perpetual torment became so familiar to me that, after awhile, it did not affect me. I allowed them

To me, it was the most lovely name I had ever heard. We had done practically everything side-by-side. Our most favorite activities consisted of arts and crafts, playing outside, coloring, and playing dress-up. She meant the world to me, for she was the first and only person at the time who chose other than to partake in the never-ending torture that consumed my childhood. I loved her with all of my heart. She opened my eyes to an entirely new world: a realm in which my suffering was relinquished and, at last, I was aware of the beauty and happiness that had been since hidden in my life. That was until she moved away. On the day in which she announced her departure, I clearly recall looking desperately into her eyes, pleading for her to stay: begging her to not leave me alone again. However, all I received in response was an young and innocent smile, enthused by the idea of leaving the dull and mundane Connecticut and entering the thrilling and exhilarating Florida. It felt as if before I even had the chance to conceptualize her eventual leaving, she was already gone: thousands of miles apart from a girl who had just lost the one thing in life that had kept her going: the one thing in life that allowed her to renounce her title of

I was back to being the “weird girl” without any friends by her side. However, this time it hurt me so much more than the last. After experiencing the true joys in life though my beautiful relationship with Calaya, I was unprepared to return to my terrible reality. Having known exactly what life could be like in the presence of a friend, I was emotionally unable to recommence my suffering. From then on, I spent the majority of the school-day bawling my eyes out uncontrollably during class. I familiarized myself with new and even cruder nicknames such as “leaky faucet” and “crybaby.” No longer did I possess the hope of discovering those who cared even the least bit about me. I had decided that all humans were monsters who made it their goal to terrify me with their painful fangs and hurtful roars. I neglected all instances of social interaction and avoided anyone who merely glanced in my direction. I came to terms with the fact that I did not deserve to have anyone in my life as wonderful as Calaya had been to me. I was just too hideous, too awkward, and too weird to be suitable for anyone. I did, however, find myself impressively deserving of whimsical beings I called my “imaginary friends.” Although I met countless characters in my mind, the most significant of them consisted of a penguin named G, a puppy named Spot, and a young girl named after the person who held the most meaning