ELEMENTARY
I was an awkward child. I was clueless on how to be social. I always had trouble making friends. My father was in the military so we were stationed on a military base in Germany. The school I went to was of decent size. I remember my classrooms being about 20 students total. I was teased constantly because I’d read books or draw in a notebook.
Bus rides home. Gum thrown in my hair. Boys trying to trip me in the aisles. Girls pointing at me and calling me a nerd, a weirdo. I clutch my books tighter.
Lunch hour is spent sitting in the corner most table, alone. I eat. I read. I look over all the kids and wonder why I’m different.
Third grade. I have an evil teacher. She uses a chart system to track her student’s behavior. Behave well and you get a gold star for the day. Have 4 or more gold stars each week, get a prize. She also uses a punishment system. A card holder on each desk with 4 colored cards: green, yellow, orange, black. Each time a transgression is committed, a card is taken. She doesn’t like me. I do not know why. I pay attention. I do well on my assignments. She calls me out for things that she does not on others. She takes several of my cards each day. Each day I am looking at orange, or at black. I feel like a bad child. I never get a prize the entire school year. I watch the other kids as they pick out little, worthless toys and wonder why I am so awful.
Fourth grade. Counselor tells me to try harder to make friends. At recess, I approach a group of kids and try to talk to them. They look at me like I’m diseased. I ignore it and continue to talk, try to make conversation. Perhaps they’ll warm up. No success. A boy calls me a freak and pushes me down. Everyone laughs. Inside, I’m crying.
My parents inform me that dad has been requested to transfer to Texas. I consider it a blessing. A new country. A great country. AMERICA! I am excited for a new start and the amazing life I’ll have. Little did I know how wrong I was.
Fifth Grade. New school. New faces. Completely new ideas of what is cool. I still don’t fit those ideals. Sadly, I am immediately outcasted. From my out of style clothes, my library books I carry around, my weird accent. I am told by a boy I am ugly. I am told I am a Nazi. What am I doing wrong?
JUNIOR HIGH AND HIGH SCHOOL
The hell years. The worst years of my existence.
13. I am growing taller. I am no longer wearing clothes from the children’s section. My mother takes me to the mall. I see outfits that are considered “cool” by my age group, what Seventeen magazine tells me I should dress to be a happy, sociable teenager. I instead fall in love with Converse high-tops and band T-shirts. Another new obsession is music, especially rock music. I relate to the angsty lyrics.
P.E. A class I hate. I hate undressing in front of all the girls. They make fun of my scrawny body. No curves. How are these other 13 year old so developed? I do well in athletic events. I outrun almost everybody. I can kick a ball very well. I can shoot balls into a basket effortlessly. Teacher tells us to divide into two teams for kick ball. She picks two leaders, the leaders take turns picking for their teams. Everyone is getting their name called. I am the last one standing. The teams have been evened out. I am 21st student in this gym class. I can play well, but no one wants me. Teacher tells me I can keep score and help referee. I accept, but would rather be playing. I go home that day in a fog. I go the bathroom and discover a red stain on my panties. I am a woman.
14. I meet Tom, Emily, Tara, Josh, and Kim. They become my friends. My only friends. For the first time in my life, I know what it’s like to be liked, to be wanted. We talk late into the night on Instant Messenger (no texting cellphones then). The beeping booping of incoming messages drive my mother crazy. She comes in every night and tells me to go to bed NOW. I feel on top of the world. I am loving life. I am loving high school. My grades are doing well. I take part in after school activities. I have many acquaintances. I still get picked on for reading books, for being too smart, for being a nerd, but I wear it like a crown.
15. We celebrate Tom’s 17th birthday with a bang. Tom plays football, but has friends in every social group at school. A true floater. A charmer. Everyone’s friend. But, he likes me. I am one of his best friends, he tells me. Tom’s parents are out of town on their second honeymoon. Tom invites me over to his house to hang out. We watch a movie and pig out on snacks. Something happens. Tom tries to make out with me. I push him away. I tell him no, you’re my friend, that’s it. I get up from the couch. He follows. He grabs me and throws me to the floor. I am in complete shock. I do not know exactly what is happening. He tries to pull my pants down. I kick. I squirm. He slaps me. I continue to fight, he continues to fight back. In desperation, I bite him. I taste blood. He screams and loses his hold on me. I run away from him. I run away from the house. I run and run and run. My home is 5 miles away and I run the whole way home. My mom cradles me for hours. She lets me cry. She holds me and rocks me. I am taken to a hospital. I am still a virgin. A therapist attempts to talk to me. I don’t say much. I just want to go home. That night, I take a scalding hot shower. I try to erase the pain with more pain.
The next week at school, people are point at me. I hear names being called out to me; “whore”, “slut”, “skank”, “Hey Babe, are you free tonight?”. Tom is laughing with them. My other friends are not sure what to think. I tell them my side of the story. They make me feel like its my fault for agreeing to go to Tom’s alone. I trusted Tom. I considered him a best friend. He lost my trust. He violated me. He ripped my heart out of my chest and crushed it. I lost not just Tom, but all my friends. What I have I done to deserve this? All I wanted was some true friends and to be content with life. I never spoke to Tom again, but his presence haunted me the rest of high school. I could wish curses on him. I’m sure he’s married with children of his own now.
16 and 17. Oh, sweet 16. Or so it should have been. My grades begin to drop. I sleep in class. I lash out at my teachers. I eat lunch in the library. I don’t even try to make friends anymore. I continue to read. I listen to darker and darker music. I get my driver’s license. More freedom. But, I use it to go to the library at my own leisure. To go to record shops and discover new music.
In class on day, a boy turns around from the desk in front of me. He looks straight at me and says I am the ugliest girl he has ever seen. I should just kill myself because would ever want to touch me. I tell him to fuck off. Inside, I seethe. My hands shake. An image pops in my head of me crashing my car into a brick wall at a high speed. I shake it away.
I meet Taz. He is sweet. He likes me. We begin dating. He pushes for sex. At first, I say no. Finally, one night I give in. I agree. I believe I am love. He tells me so. I enjoy it. Perhaps I am what they call me behind my back. Our relationship becomes based around sex. We stop talking to get to know each other. All we do is fuck. We go to a house party. He gets drunk. When I find him passed out drunk on the patio floor, I decide I’ve had enough. I end it with him.
I sleep less and less each week. Everything irritates me. I begin to lash out at my parents. My mom the most. Our fights are chaotic. The walls shake. Our dogs cower and hide. I am so angry, but I just want to be loved. I don’t how to tell my mom this because back then my emotions were so confusing.
Somehow I graduate. I am so happy. I continue to have hope that life will be better now. From here on out, I’ll be in more control of what happens, what people I deal with.