So after writing that Facebook thing post, I decided to dig out my old yearbooks and refresh my memory and try to figure out some of these mysterious figures who know me from high school.
What a mistake that was.
See, I had forgotten just how bad high school was for me and reading the comments and signatures in the yearbooks really brought it all back, and in a rather intense way.
You have to understand that I was considered incredibly weird in high school (I know, *gasp*, right?). I wasn’t from the area, and most of the kids I went to school with had grown up together. Not only that, but the life I had led up to that point was unique. Most of the people from that are had no idea what an alternative school was, few people could understand having essentially lived in a VW bus for long stretches of time, the only type of kid they were familiar with who moved as much as I had were Army brats and I certainly was not one of them. I also wasn’t sheltered from reality. Granted, my perception of reality was fringey and underground, but I think that was part of it. Seeing the seedier side of life from time to time and being raised by radical activist musicians didn’t really qualify me for "normal" in the suburban-rural area that encompassed my school district.
I was also pretty self-assured, had a wide range of interests, wasn’t interested in things like makeup and social structures and fashion and I had been raised, when I was little, mostly around adults. I always related better to people who were significantly older than me than to people my own age.
I gave middle school a go out there and couldn’t function in that social environment, so I went back to the Free School for the last half of 7th grade and all of 8th. The end of my 8th grade year I also met the Dragonmaker, so upon entering high school, I wasn’t really interested in dating other boys.
To exacerbate what was already a difficult situation, I was put in a gym class with Juniors and Seniors and my one elective had entirely Juniors and Seniors in it. I didn’t really mind, since I had an easier time talking to people who were about to go out into the real world – a world where I had lived my entire life. At some point, though, probably near the end of Freshman year, it hit me… all of these people weren’t coming back… and I was.
My peers at the time… I don’t even know how to put it into words. To say I was "picked on" would be a vast understatement. I was thrust into the category of undesirable. The few friends I had made in the area abandoned me for people deemed "cool" by Freshman standards. I was left to choose from the "dregs", most of whom were very nice people, but fundamentally not all that different from the rest of the school population. Certainly nowhere near as different as I was.
I suppose that changed in my Sophomore year. Now my electives had my peers in them. The people I was thrust into spending time with were actually my age and if they weren’t accepting of me, they at least didn’t completely shun me. Early into the school year, I ran for Sophomore Class President and, stunningly, shockingly, won. I was actually qualified, having gone to a democratic school for most of my elementary and some of my middle school education, and I served on the board of directors for the National Coalition of Alternative Community Schools. I was a good public speaker and I guess they decided to go with substance over style.
I need to be honest about this, even though I know that some hearts changed… well, one did at least.
The other officers were pretty upset. Some of the most popular kids in my class were running for the offices, and they won VP and Treasurer. I, however, had beaten one of their number, and the idea that this close-knit trio wasn’t going to be able to share in this activity started my presidency with bad feelings.
But the thing was, having heard me speak, having heard me talk about a select few of the unique experiences I’d had (and at only 15), people started looking at me less like a pariah and more like a person of intrigue. I think a large part of it was that people were starting to figure out who they were and come into their own. The hippies and the stoners wanted to hear about the Dead concerts I had been attending since I was 6 months old and wanted to hear about my travels back and forth across the country. The burnouts and metalheads wanted to know more about being raised by rock musicials. The socially conscious wanted to know more about my experience protesting and the radical activists I knew. The elite popular kids, I guess, figured there must be something worthwhile about me if I beat out Amy for the Class Presidency.
Not all of them. Not by any means. It was one or two here and there who made the effort and s-l-o-w-l-y I let my guard down with some of them.
But here’s the thing… and the reason I started writing this in the first place.
I was reading the comments in my old yearbooks, and so many of them said "I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance." "I’m sorry I made fun of you at the beginning of the year." "You’re a really cool person, I’m glad I *finally* had the chance to find that out."
It still hurts, actually. I had just forgotten.
Not that I EVER had that "best years of your life" feeling about high school, but I had truly forgotten just how bad it really was. I was hurt over and over and over again. I was emotionally cut on a regular basis by people who assumed things about me, who were probably threatened by my self-confidence or world-experience or just plain difference. I was belittled and tormented by the desirables and I was lauded and praised by the bullies.
I cried, no… I sobbed so many afternoons after school, so many nights before I went to sleep in preparation for school the next day. No matter what I did or didn’t do, I couldn’t win. What friends I had were a comfort, but most of them remained a grade or two ahead of me, and the torment of my classmates was brutal. I was isolated or labeled or scorned or mocked or whatever struck their fancy that particular day…
And I had completely forgotten.
And I wonder if they all forgot, too. I wonder if there’s any remorse, not for having treated me the way they did, but for having lost out on a chance to get to know me when they had the chance. I wonder if they forgive themselves for having been that person some 15+ years ago. I wonder if they’re still like that.
I wonder if they had the same experience when they went to college, or took their first "real" job. I wonder if they ever felt the isolation, loneliness and derision that they inflicted on me.
And then I remember that I don’t actually care. What happened stays happened, and it all served to make me who I am today… and for the most part, I like who I am.
But it didn’t stop me from feeling like I had been punched in the stomach just for allowing those memories to come back… for having sought them out.
You know, for the most part, the people who have added me as a "friend" aren’t people who made me a target. Even if they were, I can forgive. That was a long time ago and I’m unwilling to revisit things that can’t be changed and happened before by adult life began.
I know, though, that inside and at my core, I’m pretty close to the same person I was in high school. If that’s typical of people in general, then probably my best stance on the wh
ole thing is pity. It’s pretty sad to have to live a life where the only way you can feel good about yourself is at the expense of other people.