Uncle Matt called me last night. We talked for two hours. He says that he has unearthed a multitude of home videos that he and Aunt Rory took when Renee and I lived with them. He invited me, and Mr. Sweatpants, and Wacky Jackie over for a day of video watching sometime soon.
Wow. Proof that I was once a teenager. Proof I�ll be able to copy and keep. Proof of hormonal moodiness. Proof of life.
Things that my daughter will make fun of me for.
I feel bad that I don�t remember how it was when I lived with him. I know they took us to Cardinals games, Grants Farm, the Zoo, the mall, the movies because I have ticket stubs. I save those (yet another weird habit of mine). But I can�t remember.
They gave us a good birthday and Christmas..I have pictures. But I can�t remember.
I remember Nick, sometimes. He was my first �love�. We met in Creative Writing class. He was a jock, I was so..not.
Nick and I were together every day for almost 3 � years. Maybe that was our undoing, spending too much time together. However I felt he was the only one that really knew me so I felt fine keeping mostly everybody else away. The saddest thing is that when I met Nick, I had less and less time for my friends. I�m sorry Lisa B. You know who you are. You deserved a better friend than me.
Anyway, I don�t remember a lot experiences with Nick either (except that he was hung like a hamster). Ha.
My sister Renee tells me I pulled heinous pranks on her. I don�t remember. And she tells me I also did some very mean things to her. This I believe, because we�re siblings, but yet I can�t recall doing such mean things. She told me that I hung her underwear on her doorknob and her bra on the mailbox. That was the least of it.
Sigh. It seems my mind has blocked many memories, good and bad. When I talked to my uncle, he brought up our failed attempt at being a family.
�It wasn�t your fault Uncle Matt. Renee and I had a lot of baggage, and you and Aunt Rory were only 28. You tried to give us a home��
It seems there is no reassuring him either. He feels like he failed I guess.
I can�t imagine, at 29, that I�d be equipped to handle two teenagers either. He tried to give Renee and I a home when we came back to Missouri, but it didn�t work out. No use being sad about it�it�s the past. We can�t get it back.
How scary it is to feel like you�ve forgotten most of your life! I feel so sorry for people with Alzheimer�s disease. No wonder it�s scary. How weird it would be to forget even the most familiar and mundane things in your life.
This coping mechanism helped me when I was 7, but it�s not been much use to me since then.
Thank God for my journals that I�ve kept at home�.or I wouldn�t remember San Diego, or Tijuana, or Jacksonville either.
This is where I started this entry the last time:
I�m debating about going to my 10-year class reunion. High school was not a fun experience for me, was it for you? I didn�t know who I was, but I knew I wasn�t at the same place emotionally or intellectually as my peers. I was already an old soul.
At 16, I had already lived in 4 homes, had 3 sets of parents. I had moved 9 times. I never made friends because by the time I did, it was time to move again. I�d left my first best friend in Tennessee. Her name was Debbie Gibson, and we were freshmen in High School together. I�d known her since the 8th grade..and I didn�t even get to say goodbye to her.
It was Christmas vacation. I saw Debbie the last day before the vacation, and I never came back. Never said goodbye.
When we left Darwin�s house in the middle of the night, there was no time to say goodbye to anyone. When Renee and I ran away from that hell house, we also left all of our friends, and two little cousins. We left because of the abuse at Darwin�s hands.
Now that I was safely (or so I thought) living with my uncle Matt and Aunt Rory I finally had a home. I felt it was okay to be happy, to relax a little, maybe make a friend.
But none of my peers understood me. I�m sure a lot of kids made fun of me; I liked to wear all black and the accessory de jour was spider earrings. I embraced all things dark and weird. I always wore these huge crucifixes on a silver chain around my neck.
I�d known dark things, dark feelings for so long, it was what I understood. My favorite music was Alice Cooper, Ozzy Osbourne and Aerosmith. I spent a lot of time alone in my room, holding my rats and listening to my dark music.
I was a smokin� burnout chickie.
I spent a lot of time drawing and reading. I remember many nights staying up rereading �The Diary of Anne Frank� and sobbing. After that, I checked out every book I could about the Holocaust. I was also researching slavery, the Civil Rights movement and the various riots. I studied World War 1, WW2, Korea, and Vietnam. At that time, I was also independently studying the story of Nicolas Romanov and the death of him and his children.
What was it about death that drew me to it?
To me, drawing upon my own experiences, and my studies of history, we high school kids were some really spoiled and sheltered kids. How could I be wrapped up in my own life when so many had died senselessly..had awful lives, and only knew war.
How was I to know that a kid navigating that battlefield called high school is enough to scar anyone? That high school is really rough for any kid. That you should enjoy being young while you can? That between fights, pressure to get good grades, peer pressure and relationships, you�re lucky to come out unscathed. I was really judgmental of my peers. I�m sorry about that.
There were probably a lot of kids like me, who never felt they fit it anywhere. I knew a lot of people, had friends in every �group�. I just don�t think I ever let anyone know me.
I hated PT, hated Geology, and hated Math. PT was dang horrible. I had asthma and got winded really quickly. I came to dread track, basketball and soccer. I liked softball, and I really loved my weightlifting class, which was after school. I didn�t care that I was voluntarily at school after I was required to be. I became one buff babe, but it wasn�t for any guy. I felt the more muscular I became, the more I could protect myself.
I loved my creative classes: photography, yearbook, and creative writing. Anything that afforded me an outlet for my emotions, hey, I was there. I spent a lot of time writing letters to Lisa and Dana. Both were very sweet friends. I wish I would�ve understood how wonderful my friends were, but I was too busy being judgmental of them and other people.
I do have to say that even though it doesn�t seem like it, what I really enjoyed most were my peers. People are weird! People are funny. I found this out in high school. I was more interested in the way my classmates were acting than what the teacher was saying. I loved playing practical jokes on people, but especially the ones I didn�t like. I found high school kids to be fascinating creatures.
That didn�t mean I liked them all. I smirked at them like a vampire. I couldn�t help but feel scornful of these na�ve teenagers whose only concern was about football and pep rallies and dances. Oh, I went to some of the dances, but I had no social skills. I�d end up lurking around, table to table, eavesdropping on people�s conversations and spying on others. The behavior of randy teenagers was baffling to me and I�m sure they thought I was a little off too. I couldn�t figure out the mating sequence or behavior.
If you felt something, why didn�t you just say it?
Why the coquettishness?
Why the silly twirling of the hair with your finger? Why the wearing of super short skirts and flashing cleavage? I
didn�t get it.
Sometimes I wish I could go back and relive it, if only to appreciate youth and a life ahead of me where I could do anything I wanted. Instead I wished the days away. I could�ve made friends, but I was too busy being angry, being jealous. I was jealous that I couldn�t be carefree and enjoy the moment. I couldn�t date and not be afraid. I couldn�t go to a party and just get trashed.
I was scared. I spent a lot of time being scared. Being scared afforded me a reason to not get to know people. Being scared put up a nice little barrier between them and me.
See, I can deal with it if someone hates me..but it�s very discomforting to know that someone likes me. I can�t explain it.
And still I debate going to a reunion. I�m not even the same person anymore. I�ve grown up a lot.
What if no one remembers me?
09:09 - Tuesday, Nov. 18, 2003
Recent entries:
What you missed - January 16, 2012
%%older_entries%%From hell - October 19, 2010
%%older_entries%%a rant from a few weeks ago - August 17, 2010
%%older_entries%%Tired - June 20, 2010
%%older_entries%%A beautiful lie - March 11, 2010
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