‘Pasta face’ that was my name.

 

It became my identity, the name a seventh grader gave me from the red bumps that appeared on the top layer of my skin. Oh how I dreaded that name, but I never had the strength to stand up to her, after all that was what made me an easy target. I was weak, so weak I couldn't even stand up to a moron.

 

And she was a moron. 

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I’d never be perfect for this world. No one is ever 100% satisfied with themselves whether they admit it or not. Whenever you feel like you finally are accepted it will never be enough for everyone. The moment you attempt to cover up your insecurity you are labeled as "fake." And these are the reasons why people are dragged into these awful situations like depression and anxiety but the worst part about this, is how people tend to romanticize or make a serious issue into a video pre-teens watch after school.

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“Pasta Face. Turn around,” she said.   

 

My throat tightened.I felt like my stomach was about to drop.

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That high pitched voice still taunts me with mocks and body shaming remarks followed by laughter from bystanders that feel the need to fit in. I’ve never been able to get used to it and by all means, I never will. 

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A line of profanities left her mouth and passed right into my ear and out the other.

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“Did you not hear me, you’re seriously deaf or something” she says.

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“Who knows what’s inside that siko mind of hers,” said another voice.

 

I tried to ignore it just like how everyone ignores me everyday. I was lost in deep thought, drowning in every word of my surroundings, besides my stop was only a few sentimental moments away. I started shuffling through my bag trying to find my house key so I coule quickly leave the bus misery. Just before I left I heard those eleven words emanating from the back of the bus that shattered my heart in a matter of seconds.

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“No wonder your dad left you, you really are a disgrace.”

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My breathing hitched, the world seemed to turn, and huge lump started to churn in the back of my throat as tears brimmed my eyes.

 

I couldn’t take it anymore.

 

I tugged my backpack and scurried my way to the front of the bus and out the door. Luckily for me, it was my stop. Slamming the door behind me all my emotions that I’ve bottled up over the years seemed to explode. It felt like that moment when you shake a closed soda bottle and when you open it all that foam fizzles out.

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I ran my nails through my hair as the world became blurred by the tears. It hurt to inhale and it was even more agonising to stop the stream of water falling every second down to my cheeks. It felt like everything I had looked forward to collapsed into a mist.

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****

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Sniffling away the tears and looking up,  I spotted something glimmering on my vanity. It seemed to be calling my name. Wiping away the tears, I got up wobbling my way to the object. There it stood, the necklace. The same necklace my father bought for my twelth birthday before he passed on.

 

I held the cold silver charm in my hands. The embellished details in gold and the cursive writing that was hardly visible unless you squint.

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"Strength will forever be in your heart.”

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In that moment I felt powerful. All the dead weight lifted off my shoulders. I felt like I could breathe again. Like all the problems I faced has been wiped off the face of earth.

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For once, I felt the littlest ache of happiness . No not that fake generic expression that people feel for only a certain amount of time, but true happiness.

 

When he gave the chain to me, I took it for granted. I could care less. The world now seemed brighter, I could breathe in peace without feeling like someone was after me. I put the chain around my neck, securing the strand around my neck, the charm resting right under my collarbones.

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"Inhale, and Exhale" I told myself. What would dad do?

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****

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  I sat there in the hospital room. The lights were dimmed and the air was cold. Bags were under my eyes as an array of dark purple covered them. 4am still sick. His chest rose up and down, breathing in jagged motions. So lifeless, my father has been in a coma for over 5 weeks, yes 5 weeks. 5 weeks of tears,5 weeks of suspension basically 5 weeks of my life being hell.

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 My lips were starting to crack and my throat was dry. The air conditioner was blasting cold air causing me to shiver. There was a knot telling me he’s gonna die anytime soon and that feeling just wouldn't escape. I mean, he was my dad. I can't live without him.

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Just as my eyes were drooping I heard a groan coming from the bed. He was pale, it almost seemed like he was lifeless, a walking zombie. Coughing, he still managed to smile while staring at me.

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“Eleanor” he croaked out, his voice hardly audible. I ran over to him as fast as possible, gripping his hands in mine. They were cold and his skin was translucent, blue veins were visible and I could feel bones.

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 “Yes father,” I whispered. He took a long breath before pointing to the envelope on the side of his bed. Helping him, I put the small folded paper in his hands but he declined.

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Taking my hand he put the paper in the palm of them and clenched them together before laying back down closing his eyes. That was the last time I saw him awake.

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 A few days after, he passed away. I never opened that small brown envelope in fear that some bad memory of his death will haunt me. Sooner or later I ended up opening it and all I saw was a necklace. Immediately in that moment I decided to completely shut everyone out but right now I had realised his gift was the thing that would cause me conflict but solve them as well. it helped me face my fears.

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 By now I was starting to cry

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“Face his fears,” I said softly.

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 Taking a deep breath I finally opened my eyes and faced the one thing I've never been able to look at,myself. Staring into that long mirror made me realize the beauty that I've been covering with self- cautiousness.

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Though my dark long hair was in tangles, dark circles were under my brown eyes and my translucent skin revealed a snitch of vein that hid under my pale complexion I thought I looked...well...beautiful. I had perfectly shaped eyebrows that were the color of dark chocolate and light freckles that sprinkled across my cheeks. I resembled Lilly Collins a little bit if I say so myself. And for once in my life I smiled.