I’m fat. I have ugly hair. I have too many freckles. I have a nose the size of Mount. Everest and I have pudgy feet. Tommy reminds me of this personal horror everyday. This sucks. I wonder if you know what it feels like to be an outcast of every clique in school. Made to feel like an underachiever for always achieving and being the core of everyone’s jokes which adds to my humiliation. My life is a great big humiliation. Even my name is humiliating. Edna. Now try and tell me you didn’t laugh when you read that. I have this weird smile. My face looks all pulled. Kind of like someone has put little holes on the end of my skin, tied string to it and has it connected to a wheel and is slowly pulling the wheel so that my skin is so stretched that my oily red flesh turns to an oily white. I even have weird teeth. They all cross over and some are really big while others have gum hanging over them. I’m continuously reminded of my ghastly appearances. Usually by Tommy. But if it’s not Tommy, it’s Sandra. She’s been at me ever since I wrote a letter to Tommy telling him that I loved him. What a mistake. Now my most common nick-name from her is ‘reject’

After a while though, you learn. You learn not to be so weak, so now instead of crying or running away, I just sit there and amuse myself by wondering how long this person would last if they were in my position. I know Sandra wouldn’t last long. I bet she’s never had anyone pick on her in her whole entire beautiful life. I have been picked on in my whole entire ugly life. I remember going to my locker once and having a sign pinned to it. Do you know what that sign read? It read, Beauty is only skin deep but Edna’s ugly goes to the bone. I cried. We have this thing at school where the year sevens go to a primary school and be buddies with preps for a day. These are preps I am talking about. Little innocent children who do not care about looks, intelligence, names, family background or really anything. The school had organised it so that there would be enough people to pair up without any leftovers and the preps were to choose who they wanted to be with. I was last chosen and my prep was offering his lunch to anyone who wanted to swap buddies and when they said no he ran over behind his teacher’s long floral skirt and cried so I cried too as I ran out of the class room and when I went back to school I got a detention. Go figure.

I don’t really know the point in writing this. What will it achieve? World understanding of the ugliness? I doubt it very much. All it is doing is making myself fell worse. What makes it harder for me is the fact that I have a pestiferous little brother. I can even remember the first time I came to the conclusion that he was pestiferous. He was about 4 years old and he stole my pyjamas. I cried. I know a lot of people have little annoying brothers but this personal reflection would not have been the same without it. This is for English and I know that Miss. Jayde will end up reading it out to the class but what do I care any more? I don’t. I know that the whole class will just laugh and make more fun of me but I really don’t care any more. They can’t break me any more, they can just eliminate any chances of me gaining my confidence but no longer can they break my heart for it is already broken and far beyond repair. So, I guess that this personal reflection is on my ugliness. Other people write about when their parents got remarried, or they will write about the wonderful birthday and Christmas presents that they have recieved, but I am writing about my ugliness. My ugliness that goes all the way to the bone.

Miss Jayde told me that whatever I wrote about in a personal reflection will help me to have a more indepth understanding of myself. It hasn’t. It’s made myself realise what a waste I am in this world. Hey......maybe I could write a book and call it ‘Edna’s Malformation’. I’m sure it will sell over a million copies and I would be a millionaire. I expressed this thought to my brother a few months ago, and he told me that if my photo was on the cover of it, the only million copies that would be sold would be to myself and that doesn’t count. This time I didn’t cry. I just picked on him for wetting the bed the night before and then mum screamed at me. I don’t like being ugly. Is there an ugly anonymous I could join. Actually, on second thoughts, I don’t think I could because I would go there only to find that I was the ugliest and that would diminish any respectful thoughts I had left of myself, knowing that I was the ugliest of an ugly support group.

While I was writing my draft of this for Miss Jayde to read, there was ‘Live’ playing on the radio. The song they were playing was ‘freaks’ and I thought to myself that it was so well suited. Of course, I’m not incest and that’s what this song is about but doesn’t incest cause deformation. Maybe I am incest, I’ll make a mental note to ask mum. Writing this really hasn’t solved anything I just feel like crying, but I wrote before that I no longer cry so I am holding my ugly tears back. How’s that? Even my tears are ugly...........................