Hi Guys.
I know I haven’t really been posting anything truly amazing the last week or so but I have so much going on with my business and my day job and my crazy life that it has been tough. When you have a million things you love to do it gets frustrating attempting to squeeze them all into a 24 hour day.
However…
A really good friend of mine was listening to me talk about how I was bullied in school and the incidents that I went through. (I swear that I don’t only talk about it as often as it probably seems). In fact, she brought it up. It was strange because, 25 years later, I still remember the names of every last one of my tormenters. I could, if necessary, recall every humiliating, traumatizing event from third grade on.
I was recalling a few stories (Some of the ones I can actually talk about without a dose of Haldol) and I was probably going on and on but she is a great friend and always listens. Finally, she told me that I should write it all down in a book. She said I should just put it all out there and maybe it would help somebody get through it. I told her that I wasn’t sure I would be able to stomach reliving that stuff in the painstaking detail that writing it in a book would probably entail. Besides, I don’t feel like I’m the best role model for surviving bullying. She said that my being bullied made me a stronger person. That made me laugh.
While I suppose on a very basic level this is true, it didn’t make me strong in a good way…
When I was little I was agonizingly shy. I know, I know. How is it possible that somebody like me with my big mouth and my big opinions could possibly have been shy but I was. My constant sense of embarrassment was painful. I was so neverendingly terrified of being laughed at or made fun of that I could barely string a sentence together. It made my home life rather traumatic in that I was the baby of six and I was constantly being told (jokingly of course) that I wasn’t considered human until I was at least 16. Despite the fact they were kidding, I internalized that anxiety and it just made my shyness more apparent.
My anxiety and fear only escalated in school. The only thing worse than being shy is being shy, fat, poor and having buck teeth and freckles. I know, sounds awesome right? So I was a (very large) walking target and they took a shot every chance they got. Now, did that make me tougher…eventually, sure, but it made me tougher in the way skin gets tougher after you’ve been cut open.
It’s all scar tissue.
You make yourself harden to the abuse. You don’t let people in as easily. You become funny. You become loud. You make fun of yourself before others can do it. You overeat, you cut yourself, you take pills or drink or fuck anybody who will even give you a shred of attention because you are repeatedly told that this is all you are worthy of. That you should be grateful for any scrap of attention. You should be thanking that guy who looked at you long enough to use you and throw you away, you should thank the guy who raped you because really, you are lucky somebody would even touch you in the first place.
I cried every day. I hated myself every day. I thought about killing myself at least once a day. The only thing that saved me was this sliver of a hope that things might get better someday. I couldn’t be fat and shy and lonely forever. I read all the time. I listened to music all the time. Those things saved my life a hundred times over. I could escape for hours. It’s where I started my love affair with the written word.
I don’t know how people view me. I know how I view me. It turns my stomach.
Do I have friends? Yes. I have tons of amazing, wonderful, beautiful friends and I am grateful for every single one of them. But the person they see is not necessarily who I really am. I have several nicknames at work but the most common one is Bitter Becky (at least to my face). I’m the super funny cynical girl. I am always quick to make a joke that is pessimistic. I have become a chameleon. I will blend seamlessly into almost any environment. After years of attempting to mold myself into anything that would get people to leave me alone that I am totally fluid, I can become who and what I need to at the drop of a hat.
It is almost sociopathic.
I hide the parts of me that are sensitive. I doubt people think I’m a complete automaton. They know I’m passionate about women’s rights and equality and bullying but they think I’m extremely insensitive to other people’s faults, flaws and shortcomings. (Sort of an oxymoron) I really am. I have very little tolerance for whining or anything that makes people seem weak. Just ask my daughter. Nobody would ever call me touchy feely.
The real irony is that inside I am still the same painfully shy girl. I stuff it away. I force myself to talk to anybody and everybody. Even when I am terrified I do it anyway. I cry at commercials, I cry over sappy movies. Hell, I’ve cried over youtube videos, tumblr posts, greeting cards, given the right font I might even cry over a shampoo bottle.
There are days when I cry for no reason. There are days when I’m not sure I’ll ever cry again I am so numb.
People make a lot of judgements about me because of what I project to them. Of course, that is what I want them to think. I talk way too much. I don’t keep anything about my life to myself. (What? I know right? A girl with a blog doesn’t hide her life?) I blab every detail of my life because if I’m the one to say it, then it can’t be used against me. I live my life ten steps ahead of the average person I interact with because I have no idea when they might blindside me with an insult or call me out on something and I am so desperately afraid of people thinking that I am weak or lonely or pathetic or anything other than exactly the person I project that I can never really relax.
I would rather people think I’m bitter or slutty or crazy or an attention whore or whatever than to think that I’m weak. To think that I’m a target. I, at the age of almost 37, still live my life like I’m in high school and trying to prove myself. I still get flustered when people accuse me of something even jokingly. I get pissed when I feel like people are being bullied or persecuted somehow. It is a knee jerk reaction to me.
I know that people think just get over it already but it is not something that I do on a conscious level. This is who I am. After years of psychological and physical torture (Yes, that is dramatic and 100% accurate) I am this person. There is no changing it at this point. This is what bullying made me. This is how bullying made me stronger.
It’s bullshit. Bullying will never be justified. It will never be okay. No child should ever have to endure their life because they don’t fit into somebody else’s preconceived notion of what “normal” is. Growing up to be a strong person shouldn’t have to come at the cost of one’s dignity.
This has been bothering me so much that I actually am going to get more involved in doing something to make a difference. I don’t know what or how but I need to feel like I am contributing to changing things in some small part. Whether that be by volunteering or donating money or just calling attention to the fact that this is something that does matter and that there are people out there who are suffering every single day.
Thanks for listening as always.
