In my life, I have this pervasive belief that people are always out to get me. For no reason except that I'm alive. I'm sure it originated from being ruthlessly teased as a kid, for no reason apparent to me, since I was just going about my business being a kid.
I really don't know why I was teased and bullied so much. I think it just started with one mean kid and kind of snowballed; since I had no idea how to handle myself in response to being teased, it just got worse.
Because when I look back, I know I was a smart kid. I always aced everything even though I missed the maximum amount of days possible every year, just because I could. I just wouldn't get up some days, and my mom would ask me if I was going to school, and I would say "Naw", and she'd call me in sick. Since I got good grades, she didn't care if I missed days. So I wasn't being teased for being stupid.
I was only into horseback riding, not other sports, but I was fit and skinny as a rail. I did great in gym and such. So I wasn't teased for being fat.
I vividly recall some kids shouting at me that I was ugly, and I grew up thinking that, but looking back at my school pictures, I can tell I wasn't ugly at all.
The things I *can* see myself being teased for:
- Being smart/nerdy. For being a teacher's pet.
- For being a goody two-shoes. I never got in trouble for anything. Why would I?
- For being different. I liked weird stuff like horses (nobody else in school rode horses). I wasn't interested in New Kids On The Block or any of that other shit that was big in the 90's.
- For being passive. I didn't know how to handle kids teasing me, and I never stood up for myself.
- For not having the right clothes. I was a lot more interested in buying some new horse stuff than the latest fad clothing or shoes or snappy-bracelets.
- For being OK with being alone. I didn't mind being ostracized. I didn't desperately try to make friends with anyone just to have an ally. I'd sit alone at lunch and happily read a book. I didn't mind being alone at all (even though I have a sister, she's ten years older than me, and left the house early. I think I had more of an only-child experience, and I was used to having to amuse myself.) I didn't mind being alone; but I hated being teased.
I wasn't always bullied. It kind of happened overnight. I was doing fine and dandy until... in 5th grade, the most popular boy in school decided we were boyfriend and girlfriend. It didn't involve dates or even kissing or hand holding. It basically meant that you declared yourselves to be "going out". The most exciting thing you might do was awkwardly slow-dancing at the semi-annual middle school dance. Maybe passing a note in class.
I'm not sure what I did or didn't do, but he decided one day that he was "dumping" me and we were no longer boyfriend and girlfriend. OK, fine by me. But that seemed to initiate a cascade of ostracism by other classmates. I didn't really care. As I said, I didn't mind being alone. But apparently that was weird, and I should have prostrated myself for acceptance at the mercy of my ruthless little classmates. Near as I can figure, it was my inappropriate response to being shunned by a boy that snowballed into gangs of children rounding me up to be harassed. I think for the first time in my life, it had become apparent that I was an "easy target." I didn't talk back. I didn't fight back. I just kind of stood there like a doofus, unsure of what to do when kids hurled insults at me.
From that point in 5th grade until early in 8th grade, I was quite the outsider. Previous "best friends" shunned me completely. Like I said, I didn't care about being alone, and I had my own all-encompassing activities outside of school (like being thrown on the ground daily by an evil pony, until I finally learned how to bribe him into submission), but it wasn't the isolation that bothered me. It was the fact that these kids went out of their way to taunt me, insult me, corner me, bully me. They called me on my home phone after work to tease me.
Thank God there was no internet or Facebook back then, or I'm sure I would have killed myself. There was a daily escape, an "off" button; and it was the day's final school bell. How kids do it these days, I have no idea, and honestly it doesn't surprise me that young kids are committing suicide from bullying. With constant connectivity, you can't get away. I had asked my mother to transfer schools somehow, but that was impossible in our small community. Unless we actually moved out of town, which was financially impossible, I was stuck there.
Interestingly, the teachers must have noticed something was not right, because I remember being sent to the guidance counselor a few times, who asked me how I was doing, blah blah blah. She commented on the number of days I missed school. I didn't really get it. *I* was fine. It was the other kids who had the problem. THEY were causing the problem. My mother knew there was a problem with the other kids, since I talked to her about wanting to go to a different school, and missed school as much as legally possible. If they ever talked to her, I don't know about it.
To this day, I have no idea why they sent ME to counseling when I was just trying to mind my own business. Why didn't they sent the other kids to counseling, or punish them, for bullying me? I think today it would be different. There's some awareness of bullying now, thanks to the kids who killed themselves over it. But when I was a kid, the teachers and counselors and adults were in the same line of thinking as the kids. They wondered what was wrong with me and focused on me for not being able to make friends. They should have asked what was wrong with these other kids, for being compelled to gang up on one helpless child.
There was an incident, once, where I did fight back. When it got physical, I ceased to be passive. I'm not sure why I suddenly became so bold. Maybe it's because I was into horseback riding and understood something about body language and having to react when stuff is going down. I don't know, but I was glad for it. It started when a former "friend" of mine called me one night.
I think it was fall, or maybe early winter. She lived two streets over from me. She asked me to come hang out in the field behind our houses. Being naive, I thought that sounded great. It was after dark, but back then, kids could roam around their neighborhood at any hour and parents didn't care. We met on a hillside overlooking the field. The moon was bright and lit everything up with a cold glow.
Unfortunately my "friend" showed up with her brother, who proceeded to push me down onto the ground. When I tried to get up, he pushed me back down again.
I grabbed a stray branch laying near me and when I tried to get up again, and he came towards me, I lashed his shins with the branch. It was thin and flexible, and made a perfect whip. (And in my dealings with the evilest of ponies, I knew how to wield a whip.) He yelped and continued towards me, so I whipped his legs again, harder. I don't remember how many times I lashed his legs, but all I remember is that I did it several times, as hard as I could. His sister, my "friend", was screaming in panic, and yelled at me for hurting him. I thought that was awfully ironic and I just remember laughing in triumph. (I'm quite sure that was my first evil laugh.) My feelings were hurt, for sure, that they had gone to such lengths to set this twilight trap for me, but I had won.
In early 8th grade, I met a new classmate who also seemed smart but sort of awkward, and we banded together to scare the other kids into leaving us alone. We started dressing in black, and metal-band t-shirts, and random cheap jewelry. Like the single snake-wrapped-around-a-cross earring I favored. We bestowed confidence in each other's bad-assery and while we never broke rules or did anything bad, we did talk about hanging out with boys after dark, going to concerts, drinking and shoplifting. We never actually did any of that stuff (well, not most of it), but it seemed to convince the other students that we were dark rebels and they promptly left us alone. I don't think those tricks would work today; the kids would probably just be bullied even harder for being goth or emo. But it worked, for that short time it worked, and it felt good and powerful.
I left to go to a small private high school on scholarship, which was the most wonderful 4 years of my life, filled with amazing friendships and support and happy experiences. But I faltered as I entered adulthood. The specter of low self-esteem and fearfulness of strangers often paralyzed me. A string of loser boyfriends and stupid jobs left me feeling hopeless.
In my poorly paid jobs, I encountered so many angry people. People who were probably angry about things out of my control, angry at the company, but who took out their frustrations on me. It felt, and still feels, as though it's personal. I can feel my hands start to shake and my blood begin to boil when I get into an uncomfortable conversation with an unhappy customer. I am not the kind of person who has a thick skin, or who can just leave all their worries at the workplace when they walk out at 5 pm. I end up taking it all in. I've tried my best to convert this feeling that I'm being personally attacked into a belief that people are just stupid and uncivilized, and I try to just laugh it off. But it sticks.
It permeates everything in my life. This belief that people are mean, and they will suddenly be mean to you for no good reason. Even when you're just going about your business.
Although most of my life has been blessed, I spent several of my formative years being ostracized, bullied and harassed. It left a lasting psychological mark. It cut deep, and it seems as though no amount of ointment can ever heal those scars. I tend to focus on the negative. I remember vividly every negative remark, every insult, every slight.
I remember the day I moved to NYC. I was 18 or 19. I was wearing a black outfit which included a close-fitting jacket, and my hair was short and black with a red streak in it. I thought I looked pretty sharp. I decided to go out and walk to the grocery store to get some supplies for my empty apartment. On my way out, my gay RA told me I should try an eyelash curler. Three minutes later as I walking down the street, somebody in a car drove by and yelled "FREAK!" out the window. I didn't stay long in NYC. I don't remember much besides that initial day and the insults. That's how my memory works. It does overtime on filing and backing up the bad memories, and essentially forgets all compliments and other positive experiences.
It doesn't matter how many times my fiance tells me I am beautiful. It doesn't matter how many times I'm hit on by strangers. It really doesn't seem to matter how much validation I receive from anyone or any source. I still FEEL, deep down, as though I am ugly.
Thanks, kids.
In reality, I do OK. I have friends, and I can manage to be surprisingly charming with strangers if I have some booze to help me along. But the dark passenger lingers (Dexter joke). I often interpret innocent encounters in an excessively negative way. I will presume that someone is insulting me, but if my fiance was there to witness it, he interprets the situation completely differently and makes it clear to me that the person in question was not slighting me in the least. This has both comforted me (ok, they weren't talking down to me) and confounded me (why do I keep interpreting things like that???)
The internet doesn't help, oddly enough. The internet is supposed to be this faceless place where you can make friends with other misfits. But places like Youtube comments continues to bolster my belief in random hatefulness. (Like when people thumbs-down a vaguely complimentary comment, or reply things like "UR GAY" for no discernible reason.)
And so that is why I fear the internet. Why I feel compelled to post my most personal thoughts and experiences for everyone to read.... well, I really don't know why.
