One time this classmate told me I had no personality.

It wasn't my fault that I couldn't hold a conversation for more than two minutes without feeling jolts of anxiety run through my body.

As if talking to another human being was worse than public speaking, right?

But I let it go,

Let it go enough that it took me back to the first time I got teased for the way that I looked,

Back to when they snickered and cackled at my features that God took his precious time molding with his hands,

Back to when my inner butterfly went through reverse metamorphosis and took shelter in my stomach every time I spoke.

It took me to a time when my laughs became tears that clouded my judgement of life.

My trance was over.

My thoughts only lifted me to that moment where I promised to always keep to myself in worries that I would get criticized, yet again. 

Little did I know that made it worse.

Grins became chuckles,

Chuckles became laughs,

Laughs became a poor excuse to not confront the source of my discomposure.

Where sleepless nights turned into rage-infested sessions as my Demons lashed at every ounce of sanity I still had left.

They pulled me down, taking my confidence along for the ride.

Where my hair covered the entrance to my turning point,

Where my hand restricted from being raised in class in fear that the sound of my voice was worse than nails on a chalkboard

When all I wanted was to scream the right answer in hopes that my intelligence could make me feel content.

As if my silence implied that I was "too good" for anyone to come near me,

As if I didn't need any source of aid when my insides screamed otherwise.

Little did they know

That all I ever wanted was to join hands with my butterfly again.