Once again I stay true to the person I am and being the beginner of many projects, yet finish none. So I guess here is to another start.
I was trying to make my blog flow like a story board but I think I will just give that up for now and post what is on my mind at the moment I am feeling the need to get it out of my system and go that route and see if I fair better on keeping up on this site.
Today I am feeling nostalgic and yet surly.
My High School Reunion is fast approaching. I have made a decision NOT to attend. My reasons are simple enough; I live in another state, far from where I grew up, I really can't afford to take all of may family with me and going alone doesn't feel right, and leaving my husband to deal with my children without me would probably be asking a lot. I also can not afford to go by myself.
While I have presented these as sound reasons to the many invitation requests I receive and continue to receive, I secretly have a deeper issue; I am scared to go.
It amazes what we endure as children and then later give away as we grow older. We move past many obstacles and find various paths in which to travel. For me moving to Kansas gave me a new start. A chance to define myself in a way I had not been able to, nor would have been able to do. while remaining where I grew up. In Kansas I was not the awkward, geeky child of my youth. I was strong, independent, easily liked, a clown, and fun to be around. I have forged many new friendships here and have endured very little social disasters. I am comfortable here.
However back in my hometown, I know the person I am now would fade and be replaced with the person I feel people believed me to be.
Being me was a horrible struggle. I simply wanted to be liked, to be accepted, to be admired by my peers. But instead how I dressed was never good enough and earned me horrible name calling. My personality was never good enough, I was too smart, I could never say anything right. In short I was picked on at every given moment and at the mercy of the people who needed to look good. While others happily cruised the halls, heads held high, giggling and laughing, I kept my head down and prayed I would make it from one class to another without the tongue lashings of the people who I felt abhorred my very existence. I never felt like I fit and my peers made sure I continued to feel that way.
I felt ugly, fat, unworthy, and just plain worthless. I don't think those kids ever realized how much time I spent crying in my mother's arms over the hurtful words, and torment that seemed to come to them as easily as breathing. I began to believe that if anything were to ever happen to me, no one would ever know I was gone - or care.
As an adult, I realize that much of what I went through made me a better person and that I know these same people are probably not at all like they once were. But the traumatized child inside of me still shakes in fear every time I even think of looking at a year book, let alone the very idea of meeting these people face to face.
Even as a mother now, my heart breaks when my children come home upset at how things went on at school for them. My son Korbyn is exactly like me when I was his age. He is very smart, more mature than his friends, but lacks the appropriate social skills to interact with kids his age without coming off as some sort of geek, nerd, or freak of nature. When he talks I hear my voice coming from him. I have to say my personal experiences have helped him develop better and improve, however I know he will need to develop some sense of self on his own.
I remember the girl, Lisa K. who would sit behind me in the classes we shared and seethingly sneer into my ear "What are you doing, Jennifer FREEEEEAAAAAKKKK?" Her voice hissing like a snake. I remember Christina K. who would slap the back of my head, pull my hair, and call me nasty names in Spanish in my English Class. I remember the kids who made fun of me for the clothes I wore. The ones who constantly told me how ugly I was and how I would never get a boyfriend. PE class was the worse for me. I was made fun of for the way my body looked or how I was too ashamed to change in front of the other girls. I even had a girl sit on my lap once and I was called a Lesbian for many months afterward. I even spent a whole school year not wearing my glasses because I was tired of being called four eyes and various other favorites.
I hated school activities where we left the school. As many people cliqued, I sat alone and longley watched the excited banter of others. I watched longingly from the sidelines as people ran off together in elation. All I ever wanted was a chance to feel that happy....just once. While others dominated the student body with their charm and pizazz, I felt like I had nothing to offer and was simply a waste of space. I had tried the clique thing. It hadn't worked out so well for me.
In Elementary School a girl whom I believe I was in Girl Scouts with was sort of forced by her mother to include me into her little group of friends. I felt bad that she was forced to help this mess of emotions but she did so (not sure without argument). The awkward tension that hung in the air as these girls had their personal space invaded was more than they could stand. I eventually agreed to leave and never looked back. I think the moment was horrible enough for both of us that I genuinely felt bad. So I continued to watch groups of friends from the sideline, with the other outcasts, and continue my longing. I knew then that I would never be a key which fit perfectly into the locked groups.
Before the end of Junior High, I had contemplated running away and even mulled the idea of suicide a few times. I wrote poems, and often, which seemed to allow me some outlet. I had a few sacred friends and without them I am certain things could have been worse. I was terrified of the idea of High School. It meant more kids to pick on me from other school and I knew my chances of survival were low, at best.
By High School I felt like I was never going to catch a break. While the torment lessened, it was never really gone. Despite the fact that I never really fit in, I still loved school. I would leave my house early in the morning and walk the several miles to school just so I could sit in my favorite teachers class before school started. I would leave as late as possible from school so I could sit in the band room and listen to the banter of my peers. As long as I didn't speak, I was usually allowed to feel included as they happily bantered about boyfriends/girlfriends, the newest trend, the latest styles, the upcoming school events. I felt like a deer caught in a hunter's site; I knew they saw me, but as long as I didn't move I felt like I was safe.
When most people look back with fond memories, all I see is sadness and anxiety. How I wish I could turn back the clock and just relive it with the same carefree attitude I have today.
Not every moment was bad though. I was fortunate to have a small band of friends who were kind to me. They were the one's who made school bearable. They kept me smiling and kept me feeling like I could survive another day. One of my dearest friends was Nancy J. I don't think she will ever know how her kindness was a sort of rescue for me. She took me under her wing and helped me realize I took things to seriously and I truly believe because of her, it made all the difference in my remaining school years. She and Tina H. and Eddie L. were my heroes. They gave me the tools to realize who I wanted to be and what I could do to become a better person. They were all a year ahead of me so the end of my Junior year was the saddest day for me. I was going to miss my friends. I was going to miss the people who helped me be whole. But most of all I was scared of living my Senior year without them.
I survived my Senior year. In fact I believe it was my best year. I had finished most of my major classes so I had very few classes and a lot of time. I had also joined the elite. I was a Senior and regardless of status within my own peer group, I held some sort of weight due to just being in the 12th grade. Unlike my predecessors or my peers, I chose to befriend people. I enjoyed having Juniors and sophomores as my friends. They didn't care if I was a geek or outcast, they admired me because I admired them back.
When I think back to my youth, I know a lot of what kids did was just what kids did. I know these same kids grew up to be very different people, just as I have. I am certain I have barely crossed anyone's mind over the years and I wish the same could be said for me. Instead I still bear the scars of my youth. I live with it everyday. And with my own children now experiencing growing pains, I have to live my personal experiences to help them.
I am grateful sometimes for the difficulties I went through because I am able to share my own personal experiences with them and give them tools to overcome these strains. I keep reminding my children that school is just school. Not a fashion show or a popularity contest. That the same kids that torture them today will become grown ups with children of their own someday and neither of them are going to recall this day in its entirety. How easily that lie slips from my mouth. I want to spare my children the pain I still fell today from my own experiences. I wish my own parents had consoled me better, made me believe in myself so that I could overcome so many of the things I did. I hope that my own children can come to me years later and tell me they are OK and that the kids of school didn't mess with their heads like it had happened to me.
I find kids are much more cruel these days and their never ending attacks come from far more angles than in my day. I wish I could blame it on so many factors but the end result comes down to parenting - plain and simple. Some parents are heavily involved in their kids life (to the point of being over bearing) and these are the one's who probably have some pretty decent kids. The one's who take a more care free and absent approach don't seem to know or care what their kids are doing. These are the one's who scare me.
I guess I wish I could get just one "I'm sorry" or "Hey, you know you were a pretty good person, I just was being a dumb kid. Sorry about that." I think the killer for me is just wondering was I really that unworthy of a person to you.
I was trying to make my blog flow like a story board but I think I will just give that up for now and post what is on my mind at the moment I am feeling the need to get it out of my system and go that route and see if I fair better on keeping up on this site.
Today I am feeling nostalgic and yet surly.
My High School Reunion is fast approaching. I have made a decision NOT to attend. My reasons are simple enough; I live in another state, far from where I grew up, I really can't afford to take all of may family with me and going alone doesn't feel right, and leaving my husband to deal with my children without me would probably be asking a lot. I also can not afford to go by myself.
While I have presented these as sound reasons to the many invitation requests I receive and continue to receive, I secretly have a deeper issue; I am scared to go.
It amazes what we endure as children and then later give away as we grow older. We move past many obstacles and find various paths in which to travel. For me moving to Kansas gave me a new start. A chance to define myself in a way I had not been able to, nor would have been able to do. while remaining where I grew up. In Kansas I was not the awkward, geeky child of my youth. I was strong, independent, easily liked, a clown, and fun to be around. I have forged many new friendships here and have endured very little social disasters. I am comfortable here.
However back in my hometown, I know the person I am now would fade and be replaced with the person I feel people believed me to be.
Being me was a horrible struggle. I simply wanted to be liked, to be accepted, to be admired by my peers. But instead how I dressed was never good enough and earned me horrible name calling. My personality was never good enough, I was too smart, I could never say anything right. In short I was picked on at every given moment and at the mercy of the people who needed to look good. While others happily cruised the halls, heads held high, giggling and laughing, I kept my head down and prayed I would make it from one class to another without the tongue lashings of the people who I felt abhorred my very existence. I never felt like I fit and my peers made sure I continued to feel that way.
I felt ugly, fat, unworthy, and just plain worthless. I don't think those kids ever realized how much time I spent crying in my mother's arms over the hurtful words, and torment that seemed to come to them as easily as breathing. I began to believe that if anything were to ever happen to me, no one would ever know I was gone - or care.
As an adult, I realize that much of what I went through made me a better person and that I know these same people are probably not at all like they once were. But the traumatized child inside of me still shakes in fear every time I even think of looking at a year book, let alone the very idea of meeting these people face to face.
Even as a mother now, my heart breaks when my children come home upset at how things went on at school for them. My son Korbyn is exactly like me when I was his age. He is very smart, more mature than his friends, but lacks the appropriate social skills to interact with kids his age without coming off as some sort of geek, nerd, or freak of nature. When he talks I hear my voice coming from him. I have to say my personal experiences have helped him develop better and improve, however I know he will need to develop some sense of self on his own.
I remember the girl, Lisa K. who would sit behind me in the classes we shared and seethingly sneer into my ear "What are you doing, Jennifer FREEEEEAAAAAKKKK?" Her voice hissing like a snake. I remember Christina K. who would slap the back of my head, pull my hair, and call me nasty names in Spanish in my English Class. I remember the kids who made fun of me for the clothes I wore. The ones who constantly told me how ugly I was and how I would never get a boyfriend. PE class was the worse for me. I was made fun of for the way my body looked or how I was too ashamed to change in front of the other girls. I even had a girl sit on my lap once and I was called a Lesbian for many months afterward. I even spent a whole school year not wearing my glasses because I was tired of being called four eyes and various other favorites.
I hated school activities where we left the school. As many people cliqued, I sat alone and longley watched the excited banter of others. I watched longingly from the sidelines as people ran off together in elation. All I ever wanted was a chance to feel that happy....just once. While others dominated the student body with their charm and pizazz, I felt like I had nothing to offer and was simply a waste of space. I had tried the clique thing. It hadn't worked out so well for me.
In Elementary School a girl whom I believe I was in Girl Scouts with was sort of forced by her mother to include me into her little group of friends. I felt bad that she was forced to help this mess of emotions but she did so (not sure without argument). The awkward tension that hung in the air as these girls had their personal space invaded was more than they could stand. I eventually agreed to leave and never looked back. I think the moment was horrible enough for both of us that I genuinely felt bad. So I continued to watch groups of friends from the sideline, with the other outcasts, and continue my longing. I knew then that I would never be a key which fit perfectly into the locked groups.
Before the end of Junior High, I had contemplated running away and even mulled the idea of suicide a few times. I wrote poems, and often, which seemed to allow me some outlet. I had a few sacred friends and without them I am certain things could have been worse. I was terrified of the idea of High School. It meant more kids to pick on me from other school and I knew my chances of survival were low, at best.
By High School I felt like I was never going to catch a break. While the torment lessened, it was never really gone. Despite the fact that I never really fit in, I still loved school. I would leave my house early in the morning and walk the several miles to school just so I could sit in my favorite teachers class before school started. I would leave as late as possible from school so I could sit in the band room and listen to the banter of my peers. As long as I didn't speak, I was usually allowed to feel included as they happily bantered about boyfriends/girlfriends, the newest trend, the latest styles, the upcoming school events. I felt like a deer caught in a hunter's site; I knew they saw me, but as long as I didn't move I felt like I was safe.
When most people look back with fond memories, all I see is sadness and anxiety. How I wish I could turn back the clock and just relive it with the same carefree attitude I have today.
Not every moment was bad though. I was fortunate to have a small band of friends who were kind to me. They were the one's who made school bearable. They kept me smiling and kept me feeling like I could survive another day. One of my dearest friends was Nancy J. I don't think she will ever know how her kindness was a sort of rescue for me. She took me under her wing and helped me realize I took things to seriously and I truly believe because of her, it made all the difference in my remaining school years. She and Tina H. and Eddie L. were my heroes. They gave me the tools to realize who I wanted to be and what I could do to become a better person. They were all a year ahead of me so the end of my Junior year was the saddest day for me. I was going to miss my friends. I was going to miss the people who helped me be whole. But most of all I was scared of living my Senior year without them.
I survived my Senior year. In fact I believe it was my best year. I had finished most of my major classes so I had very few classes and a lot of time. I had also joined the elite. I was a Senior and regardless of status within my own peer group, I held some sort of weight due to just being in the 12th grade. Unlike my predecessors or my peers, I chose to befriend people. I enjoyed having Juniors and sophomores as my friends. They didn't care if I was a geek or outcast, they admired me because I admired them back.
When I think back to my youth, I know a lot of what kids did was just what kids did. I know these same kids grew up to be very different people, just as I have. I am certain I have barely crossed anyone's mind over the years and I wish the same could be said for me. Instead I still bear the scars of my youth. I live with it everyday. And with my own children now experiencing growing pains, I have to live my personal experiences to help them.
I am grateful sometimes for the difficulties I went through because I am able to share my own personal experiences with them and give them tools to overcome these strains. I keep reminding my children that school is just school. Not a fashion show or a popularity contest. That the same kids that torture them today will become grown ups with children of their own someday and neither of them are going to recall this day in its entirety. How easily that lie slips from my mouth. I want to spare my children the pain I still fell today from my own experiences. I wish my own parents had consoled me better, made me believe in myself so that I could overcome so many of the things I did. I hope that my own children can come to me years later and tell me they are OK and that the kids of school didn't mess with their heads like it had happened to me.
I find kids are much more cruel these days and their never ending attacks come from far more angles than in my day. I wish I could blame it on so many factors but the end result comes down to parenting - plain and simple. Some parents are heavily involved in their kids life (to the point of being over bearing) and these are the one's who probably have some pretty decent kids. The one's who take a more care free and absent approach don't seem to know or care what their kids are doing. These are the one's who scare me.
I guess I wish I could get just one "I'm sorry" or "Hey, you know you were a pretty good person, I just was being a dumb kid. Sorry about that." I think the killer for me is just wondering was I really that unworthy of a person to you.
