History, Part 1
What do I blame this on? My parents are nice. Seeing me in this situation breaks their hearts, but they have stopped trying to talk me out of it. My dad sends me sad, confused emails saying how much he loves me, and hopes I am getting something out of this. He does not know how bad it is. My mom used to scream at me, pressure me to leave. Now she just listens quietly when I tell her everything is fine. She has glaucoma. Her bones are brittle. She had back surgery and was not sure she would be able to walk for a couple of days. She can't yell anymore. She rides with me in my car and perches in the passenger seat, peering carefully at me, missing exits because she's hoping to say the right helpful word. I have never liked her helping me. I could really use her help.
Personally, I think this is somehow connected to the shitty time I had in elementary school. I was the pariah of six entire grades. I don't know why. I look at pictures of myself and I was cute. I responded to teasing, that was the thing. I cried easily so people made me cry. By the end of first grade I was known throughout the school, even to sixth graders, by my nickname. Kids are mean. Kids are not human. I used to sit in the bus with my head down as they screamed abuse at me. Screamed. Abuse. In my ear. I pretended I could not hear them and/or it did not bother me. I tried to make wisecracks like in the movies. Word to the wise: don't make wisecracks to school bullies.
Once I stood at the bus stop and waited for the bus. I could always hear it coming because the kids on it would scream, "Go, go, go, go, GO! GO! GO!" as the driver neared my stop. The driver knew to stop and they would all scream "AWWW!" and curse him out. Then one day there was a substitute driver. He followed orders. He hit the gas and went right past me. I heard them scream, "Go, go, go, do, GO! GO! GO! YEAAAAAHHHH!" I stood there for a moment, then went back up to my house. I told my mom the bus went past me. I did not tell her about the kids. She was annoyed but if I told her she'd have raised a fuss and I'd have felt more embarrassed. I didn't elaborate. I didn't want her to know how bad it was.
I always pictured myself in dramatic situations. I was not naturally reticent. I was outgoing, too much so. I annoyed my parents. But at school I just – I've managed to forget most of it. I'm going to leave it where it is for now.
By high school I managed to get funny, and also had a cute body, and also the school was bigger, so I could find misfits to fit in with. But before too long I found a boyfriend. He was fine. He had dropped out. He dressed like John Taylor from Duran Duran and had that same fashion-mullet. He was slowly going crazy with schizophrenia, but I did not know that at the time. I just thought he was a little weird like me. He wasn't mean to me. Just a little weird and suffocating.
My college boyfriend was brilliant and distant. He would make fun of me with cutting remarks. He expected me to respond with obnoxious comments right back at him, like I did when we first met. I couldn't. I felt too hurt when he said those things. I had spent my childhood hearing those things. I couldn't explain why I took everything to heart. Nobody else took things as hard as I did. Well, some people did: Danielle did. Danielle would start crying and refuse to go out because someone said something she took amiss. I kept as far away from Danielle as I could. I saw too much that was familiar in her.
Personally, I think this is somehow connected to the shitty time I had in elementary school. I was the pariah of six entire grades. I don't know why. I look at pictures of myself and I was cute. I responded to teasing, that was the thing. I cried easily so people made me cry. By the end of first grade I was known throughout the school, even to sixth graders, by my nickname. Kids are mean. Kids are not human. I used to sit in the bus with my head down as they screamed abuse at me. Screamed. Abuse. In my ear. I pretended I could not hear them and/or it did not bother me. I tried to make wisecracks like in the movies. Word to the wise: don't make wisecracks to school bullies.
Once I stood at the bus stop and waited for the bus. I could always hear it coming because the kids on it would scream, "Go, go, go, go, GO! GO! GO!" as the driver neared my stop. The driver knew to stop and they would all scream "AWWW!" and curse him out. Then one day there was a substitute driver. He followed orders. He hit the gas and went right past me. I heard them scream, "Go, go, go, do, GO! GO! GO! YEAAAAAHHHH!" I stood there for a moment, then went back up to my house. I told my mom the bus went past me. I did not tell her about the kids. She was annoyed but if I told her she'd have raised a fuss and I'd have felt more embarrassed. I didn't elaborate. I didn't want her to know how bad it was.
I always pictured myself in dramatic situations. I was not naturally reticent. I was outgoing, too much so. I annoyed my parents. But at school I just – I've managed to forget most of it. I'm going to leave it where it is for now.
By high school I managed to get funny, and also had a cute body, and also the school was bigger, so I could find misfits to fit in with. But before too long I found a boyfriend. He was fine. He had dropped out. He dressed like John Taylor from Duran Duran and had that same fashion-mullet. He was slowly going crazy with schizophrenia, but I did not know that at the time. I just thought he was a little weird like me. He wasn't mean to me. Just a little weird and suffocating.
My college boyfriend was brilliant and distant. He would make fun of me with cutting remarks. He expected me to respond with obnoxious comments right back at him, like I did when we first met. I couldn't. I felt too hurt when he said those things. I had spent my childhood hearing those things. I couldn't explain why I took everything to heart. Nobody else took things as hard as I did. Well, some people did: Danielle did. Danielle would start crying and refuse to go out because someone said something she took amiss. I kept as far away from Danielle as I could. I saw too much that was familiar in her.
posted by OutOfAbuse at 9:50 PM
1 Comments:
It sounds like the secrecy started early in childhood. Pretending that everything was fine and good when it so obviously wasn't. I did that too, and I continued to do it throughout my marriage. I didn't think people would understand or believe me. I thought I was alone, than no one else could possibly relate. I was wrong. It just took talking about it and reaching out for and accepting much needed help. People want to help, if we would just let them. Let your parents help. Help yourself, you're worth it.
Beverly
Post a Comment
<< Home