I can't remember much of my childhood,
But I remember her,
Never. I'll never forget.
There was a time we were great!
Two years. Never apart. Invincible.
But all the board games and banter couldn't save us.
From the pattern I couldn't see.
From the history she didn't predict.

Why does nobody tell a twelve-year-old?

We hit ten.
She made friends; I made friend.
I no longer mattered to her.
Childhood. History. We were in the past.
Or so I thought. 
So I moved on.
But history paved our story before it was even told.
No wonder she was always so bold. 

Why does nobody tell a twelve-year-old?

Turns out it had happened before.
But it was her sister and her friend that was ignored.
The cycle went the same.
She'd learnt from someone else.
But of course I never knew. 
And she'd never tell.
That now I had become "that friend" as well.

Why does nobody tell a twelve-year-old?

I come to school one day.
No longer ignored. My dreams had come true. 
She talked to me again!
Disgusting. Liar. Cheat.
And others I dare not repeat.
I was exiled. Rejected. My whole class.
Except one. 

Why does nobody tell a twelve-year-old?

Months passed. 
I missed her. 
Begging, I apologised. 
For what? I'll never know.
She came back. 
I had friends again!
School was normal. 
Or so I thought.

Why does nobody tell a twelve-year-old?

Back from break. 
Six weeks apart.
Excitement! Denial. Loneliness.
She had turned again.
Mocking. Taunting.
Fat. Lonely. Loser. 
I was alone again. 
My one friend gone. 

Why does nobody tell a twelve-year-old?

Repeat.
It was like a chant said over and over and over and over.
Every time the same!
One year later.
Three apologies later.
A year of coming home crying.
Of missing school "sick".
Of hating myself. 
Of blaming myself.

Why does nobody tell a twelve-year-old?

We were gathered by the pricipal.
All those in my grade.
Sat in a room by ourselves.
And told to work it out.
We were twelve! It was them against me!
Nothing was said. An hour of silence.
We were let off. 
Nothing was done. 
No justice. No resolve.
It. Just. Made. It. Worse.

Why does nobody tell a twelve-year-old?

It continued to high school.
The pool was bigger. 
More hate. More anger. More despair.
Still no help. Still no resolve.
Rumours were spread. New friendships tested. 
I had five friends one week and none the next.
And still she stood!
And I said sorry.
Again.
That's five times now.

And then she left...
No resolve. No apology. 
She just left.

Why does nobody tell a twelve-year-old?

I didn't know friendships could be abusive. 
The signs were there.
According to White Ribbon. to a therapist.
To ME. 
The signs were there!
But nobody told the twelve-year-old.
Nobody told them that.
That wanting to die wasn't ok. 
That feeling alone for five years wasn't ok. 

They just told me to say sorry.
They just told me to forgive her.
They just told me to let her come back.

So she became a scar.
Burnt into the skin of my personality.
Unsightly. Sore.
Painful, even so many years later.
A voice in my mind questioning every move I make.
Every word I say.
Every breath. Step. Friendship...
A constant reminder that I haven't escaped her.
Not yet.

And you know what?
I still want to apologise.

For what? I'll never know.