Wow. I am speechless. Honestly.
Yesterday I spent most of the day a nervous wreck.
I called my mom 3 times.
If you know me well, you KNOW I don't call my parents that often.
I was so afraid that something I said was going to upset them.
I also received messages and emails from people who I grew up with...and heard that they had a lot of the same things going on in their lives growing up.
Isn't it funny how we get so transfixed on ME and can't or don't see anyone else?
If only we knew how to reach out and share instead of putting on a mask. Maybe we could have avoided all that unnecessary insecurity.
Yesterday was a trip through elementary school. Almost.
I forgot to mention that we moved in the middle of my 5th grade year.
It was big news. We moved into an apartment complex. Get this...it had running water and air conditioning.
While it was sad for me to leave the only home I'd known for 12 years, I was overjoyed to be living "like the other kids."
The down side? I had to change schools. Smack dab in the middle of the year.
So, there I was now in a bigger school (there was MORE than one 5th grade!) and they changed classrooms for a few classes. That was totally new to me.
A down side to this new move? The socioeconomic barriers only grew. This was a 'city' school and most of the kids' parents were white collar workers. That meant more name brands, labels, and popular items that I didn't have. (Cue the violin)
It's okay though. I did pretty well academically and excelled in reading. I entered so many contests that year...and won. Mostly essay contests. I also entered the school talent show and felt like a star for the first time ever.
I danced to Dokken, Heartless Heart.
Okay, so there's no accounting for taste. It was my older sister's cassette.
I also joined Just Say No. I was the president (I think) for one year. We made up skits and cliqued up as to who was in whose skits. Awww the politics of 5th grade.
I ended up missing a lot of school my 5th & 6th grade years. Mostly because I was not adjusting well to the move. I also had quite the boom dropped on me by a neighbor.
I don't even remember all the details. I just know I was standing outside of the apartment building and a neighbor was chatting me up. She said something like, "I just feel bad that you live here." I said, "Why?" And she told me she felt bad because our complex was low-income housing.
Talk about taking the wind out of someone's sails.
From that point on I no longer felt that pride or excitement for the AC or the running water. I was 12 almost 13 and everything hinged on my happiness. If even the slightest thing went wrong, it sent me into a tail spin. So, I was just like pretty much every other 12 almost 13 year old.
Sure, I knew we had low income, but to find out that the rest of the world knew that just by where we lived? Unthinkable.
The next hurdle...middle school.
Oh how I wish I could have just skipped middle school. I think middle school/junior high is what hell must be like.
All gawky knees and elbows, flat chests, boatloads of insecurity and cliques. Horrible.
There was a certain group of guys who hated my guts for some reason that I still have not figured out. Just HATED me. There were a few other girls lucky enough to be targetd too.
I was tormented. Called names. Made fun of. Picked on. Mercilessly.
One time, one of them even grabbed the painting I was working on in art class and smeared it all over my head and in my hair. And then tried to get ME in trouble for grabbing his wrist to stop him from doing it again.
I wanted to die. Literally.
I had a good friend who I'll call Kay. She had her own stuff going on at home and was also being bullied by these thugs. We'd known each other from elementary, but grew really close in middle school. We had a huge commonality: we hated ourselves.
We would sit together in class with rubber bands around our wrists and snap them over and over again.
We tried to venture into cutting but I was too chicken. Although I really wanted to do it. Just to feel the pain. There's something I can't explain about that pain. It overcomes and supercedes the pain that everything else is causing. And it's YOUR decision how much and when to administer that pain. No one else's.
Kay jumped ahead of me in that department, though. She took to erasing her skin until it broke open and scabbed over. Honestly...where WERE our teachers?? This is how we spent most of our class time. Well, THIS and writing angst- filled poetry and notes to each other.
Everyone is miserable during those years. I think the stuff that was already bothering me only added to my misery.
I did manage to have friends during this time. Some really great ones too. I even went to school dances and had a couple of boyfriends. Looking back, I think my life probably wasn't as dire as I remember.
But Middle school was awful none-the-less.
Those boys? The ones who kept picking on me?
I finally went to the guidance counselor and talked with him about these wretched guys. He had a chat with them and after one final tormenting session, they let me off the hook. I remember the day, the moment.
Jason came over to me and said, "Why'd you have to go and talk to Mr. So-and-so?"
I said, "I told him not to talk to you because it won't do any good anyway."
He paused and then said, "Okay, Mandy, you're off the hook."
And that was it.
I'll never know if they decided to leave me alone because of what Mr. So-and-so said or if it was by their choice. And I guess, who cares, right?
So, fast forward on to High school. Freshman year.
Awful. Just awful. (Seems to be a theme, right?)
Not too much has changed. I'm still scrawny, ugly, snaggle toothed, and miserable.
The misery from middle school transferred right along with me to high school.
I was so caught up in the drama of it all that I very nearly failed 9th grade.
I was madly in love with a boy from my church, but didn't feel good enough for him. I also did what so many other distraught, overwrought girls at the tender age of 14 do and I acted all ridiculous and ga ga over him. I forced him to kiss me behind the church one night (Just a peck!). I'm sure I humiliated him to no end. I know I'm humiliated just thinking about it.
And we actually went on a date. Unfortunately, when he came to pick me up (at the dreaded apartment) my dad had just burned something he was cooking. It filled the apartment with smoke and that smoke billowed out the door when I answered it. He didn't make a big deal of it at the time, but I later heard from a mutual friend that this boy thought it was cigarette smoke and said how disgusting it was.
I, quite naturally, was mortified. Mor-ti-fied. Even after the fact.
It wasn't long after that we broke up in dramatic fashion with a note written in school and delivered to me between classes. (Folded all origami-like) I bawled and went home early.
I resorted to writing love-struck poetry for months about it. I used to fall asleep saying his name. (If he's reading this, I'm pretty sure he's just filed a restraining order.) I was pathetic. Pathetic.
I hated (and was probably mean to) everyone he liked and or dated. No girl was good enough.
I actually ended up dating a couple of his friends. And by 'dating' I mean phone calls, maybe group dates, but NOTHING more.
You see, I was the VERY DEFINITION of good girl.
I was active in my youth group. In fact I was the treasurer.
I attended church whenever the doors were open. Sunday morning, Sunday night & Wednesday night.
Sure, it was all so I could see this boy, but I also managed to meet another guy along the way: Jesus.
Thank God--quite literally-- I did. Of course, my relationship with God was wrapped up in a boy who was soooooo cool and couldn't give me the time of day, but I was okay with that. Sadly. I look back now and want to scream at my younger self: "HAVE SOME SELF RESPECT, SOME DIGNITY! AND FOR PETE'S SAKE, LEAVE THAT BOY ALONE!" *sigh*
I also met another guy at church at the most depressing and vulnerable time in my life. He was the youth pastor. And he wanted to help me.
But that's enough for now. I'm not sure I'm ready to tackle the next part. I think it may be one of the hardest parts for me to talk about. And maybe hard for some others to read. I'm scared to death, but if I cop out now and skim over it, then I consider that a failure. Give me 24 hours or so and I'll be back.
