If You’re The Girl That Other Girls Hate, It Means You’re Hot As Fuck

Christian Acosta

When I was seven years old, Alyssa told our teacher I was bullying her and I should be punished. I was confused. All I remembered saying was, “No, I don’t want to play that game,” when she approached me during recess with some lame request to feign princesses locked away in a castle.

The teacher took us aside for a mediation. We told our sides. Mine, the truth. Hers, that I was mean and deserved immediate punishment. I couldn’t understand what exactly was mean. The truth? That I didn’t want to play her game? That I wasn’t into princesses and fictitious games about being a damsel? Alyssa sought me out. I wasn’t asking to be involved in it.

We couldn’t get to a place of compromise, so I just apologized. It was easier that way. She hungrily accepted my ‘sorry’ and I learned how to appease girls who didn’t like me.

I’d just say sorry. Even when I wasn’t sure what I was sorry about.

And so this carried. I apologized when girls were mad at me, rarely for reasons I understood.

Sometimes it was about my interactions. They didn’t like the way I carried myself or the way I interacted with the opposite sex. Slut was a nickname I earned as a virgin. Wasn’t sure what to make of it.

I dressed how I found comfortable. I was friends with lots of boys and never found discomfort in approaching them. This made me a target to other girls. This made me different, otherly, a threat.

Truth be told, I wasn’t doing anything. I was just being myself. I was making friends and talking to people and couldn’t help that my ass and tits had grown exponentially. Still, I was at fault.

Girls didn’t like me just because I was…me.

And the thing is, that kind of feeling, that alienation stays with you. I began to think I wasn’t welcome with girls. I felt I had no other option but to stay buddies with boys. They never made me feel bad for liking what I liked or talking how I talked. They were just my friends. Sometimes gross, sometimes idiotic, but they were my friends. I felt safe with them. Safe to be myself.

I have fought this feeling my entire life.

I fear I’m something women do not want. That they will find issues in my appearance or attitude or lifestyle. Even the close girlfriends I’ve gained, I have moments of wondering if it’s some high school prank despite high school being over for a long time.

I never understood what I did wrong and it’s taken me this long to realize that’s because I didn’t do anything wrong.

Often, when girls blindly hate other girls, jealousies are involved. An insecurity is being called upon. They see someone represent something they wish they could.

I spent so much of my youth desperate for female friendship. I wanted to be accepted and liked. I wanted to be normal.

But I’m not normal.

I’m loud and opinionated and not afraid to try something ridiculous. I want to wear the weird shit. I want to be a spectacle. I don’t shy away from eyes on me.

That’s taken a long time though. It’s taken a long time to recognize who I am and that others not taking the time to get to know me is their loss, not mine.

Judging a book by its cover is easy. Opening the book, even if it intimidates you, that takes guts. And that’s often when you discover the best read of your life. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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