Post by Lauren on Oct 6, 2014 20:10:15 GMT -5
Cleaning my bedroom the other day, I came across two of my high school yearbooks—freshman and junior years. First thing that came to mind: Boy, were we ugly! And immediately felt horrible for the thought. Some have passed away, never having the chance to live their lives to the fullest. I could be wrong. Maybe they did? Maybe they are, wherever they are? Nevertheless, glancing back at the yearbooks led down Nostalgia Lane. I held hands with the past.
I was your typical lost soul who had no idea where she stood or how to figure it all out. I was also a typical target; bullies and asinine jocks trying to destroy her. Back then, a way of stopping them was impossible. I was weak and unable to stand tall—even though growth had stunted at 5’1”.
High school meant everything. I say this because those four short years seem to be the longest of a person’s life. Think about it. Time creeps at adolescence. We are held inside an institution for eight hours a day, seeing the same people day in and day out. Personally speaking, these were the same seventy people I went to kindergarten, elementary and middle school with. And some, I’d known since pre-school. In a distorted sense, these people were a second family—a very dysfunctional one, but alas, they were my family. I’d come to care what they thought, because let’s face it we all care what others think to a certain extent. It was like a surveillance camera on at all times. We were being watched and we were being judged. For some, their actions were either accepted or expected. And for others, their actions were deemed, no matter if they were expected or not.
We were all living in the present moment. Sure, our futures were thought about. They were waiting for us. Realistically, the present moment was what mattered. Social events, like dances and pep rallies were things to look forward to, not necessarily college. For a loser like me, social events weren’t a highlight. They were required. I was one of the few that were anticipating college quicker than it came.
Preparing for social events was often just as stressful as taking a test. It meant hoping somebody would ask me to the dance let alone dance at all, buying a dress that would make me look somewhat presentable, and most off all, it meant scrutiny.
Scrutiny came in many forms; however, most of it was self-indulged. It usually began with the one individual who made it a personal gain to denote me as anything other than a human being. This person had a following of five who held their reign. With monikers and images committed to memory, I was led to believe I was one of the ugliest creatures known to man.
The mirror reflected dreadful eyes, unsightly hair, and repugnant skin. There was no comparison with the other girls most guys were after. These were the more popular, more outgoing girls who flaunted their egos. And let’s not restrict this to one gender; those cocky females also had their fair share. Main grounds were held in gym class, also known as the battlefield. If it wasn’t a War Ball slamming into me (which was a red rubber ball) or a volley ball spiked at my head, it was daggering looks and blatant laughter. So when it came time to face the music and walk into the church hall where dances were held (dateless, need I remind the reader) or into the auditorium for a pep rally, my heart rate sky-rocketed. It was an open outlet for them to seek out the loser. I felt small and alienated.
As awful as these experiences were, they meant everything to me. As a teenager, all I knew was my household, the school I went to, and the little town I roamed around. The names, the cliques, the hierarchy went straight to my heart and left imprints.
It was everything.
I wanted out so bad that I could feel it in my teeth. It was that tickling feeling that causes tongue to rub up against teeth. Rub, rub, rub, they eventually started to throb, along with the yearning sensation to get the hell out of Dodge.
High school graduation was a breeze. I did my thing—received my diploma and told everyone, “See ya at the reunion!” I really wanted to say “Good riddance,” but I didn’t have a mean bone in my body.
Today I carry those memories as reminders. The world is a vicious place and many individuals could care less about sensitivity. It’s every woman and man for themselves. But we cannot let this defeat us. We must not allow insecurity to dominate. I understand, easier said than done, which is why I created this lovely place—this safe, safe haven. The title of the forum says it all: YOUR creative release. Please, please, please…pretty please, with a cherry on top, feel absolutely free to write about your personal experiences with bullying and the affects or whatever else is bothering you. When I say safe haven I truly mean it. Nobody will judge you based on how “good” your writing is. Perfect grammar isn’t a requirement. No, this isn’t school, my friends. This is a creative outlet to express the emotions—the aspects of life that you may be holding in or having difficulty in expressing to anyone else. Or just another outlet to express yourself, no matter how expressive you are in everyday life. The only requirement here is to be open minded and accepting of others. Otherwise, let the creativity flow!
I welcome all of you and hope we can create an amazing place together.
I was your typical lost soul who had no idea where she stood or how to figure it all out. I was also a typical target; bullies and asinine jocks trying to destroy her. Back then, a way of stopping them was impossible. I was weak and unable to stand tall—even though growth had stunted at 5’1”.
High school meant everything. I say this because those four short years seem to be the longest of a person’s life. Think about it. Time creeps at adolescence. We are held inside an institution for eight hours a day, seeing the same people day in and day out. Personally speaking, these were the same seventy people I went to kindergarten, elementary and middle school with. And some, I’d known since pre-school. In a distorted sense, these people were a second family—a very dysfunctional one, but alas, they were my family. I’d come to care what they thought, because let’s face it we all care what others think to a certain extent. It was like a surveillance camera on at all times. We were being watched and we were being judged. For some, their actions were either accepted or expected. And for others, their actions were deemed, no matter if they were expected or not.
We were all living in the present moment. Sure, our futures were thought about. They were waiting for us. Realistically, the present moment was what mattered. Social events, like dances and pep rallies were things to look forward to, not necessarily college. For a loser like me, social events weren’t a highlight. They were required. I was one of the few that were anticipating college quicker than it came.
Preparing for social events was often just as stressful as taking a test. It meant hoping somebody would ask me to the dance let alone dance at all, buying a dress that would make me look somewhat presentable, and most off all, it meant scrutiny.
Scrutiny came in many forms; however, most of it was self-indulged. It usually began with the one individual who made it a personal gain to denote me as anything other than a human being. This person had a following of five who held their reign. With monikers and images committed to memory, I was led to believe I was one of the ugliest creatures known to man.
The mirror reflected dreadful eyes, unsightly hair, and repugnant skin. There was no comparison with the other girls most guys were after. These were the more popular, more outgoing girls who flaunted their egos. And let’s not restrict this to one gender; those cocky females also had their fair share. Main grounds were held in gym class, also known as the battlefield. If it wasn’t a War Ball slamming into me (which was a red rubber ball) or a volley ball spiked at my head, it was daggering looks and blatant laughter. So when it came time to face the music and walk into the church hall where dances were held (dateless, need I remind the reader) or into the auditorium for a pep rally, my heart rate sky-rocketed. It was an open outlet for them to seek out the loser. I felt small and alienated.
As awful as these experiences were, they meant everything to me. As a teenager, all I knew was my household, the school I went to, and the little town I roamed around. The names, the cliques, the hierarchy went straight to my heart and left imprints.
It was everything.
I wanted out so bad that I could feel it in my teeth. It was that tickling feeling that causes tongue to rub up against teeth. Rub, rub, rub, they eventually started to throb, along with the yearning sensation to get the hell out of Dodge.
High school graduation was a breeze. I did my thing—received my diploma and told everyone, “See ya at the reunion!” I really wanted to say “Good riddance,” but I didn’t have a mean bone in my body.
Today I carry those memories as reminders. The world is a vicious place and many individuals could care less about sensitivity. It’s every woman and man for themselves. But we cannot let this defeat us. We must not allow insecurity to dominate. I understand, easier said than done, which is why I created this lovely place—this safe, safe haven. The title of the forum says it all: YOUR creative release. Please, please, please…pretty please, with a cherry on top, feel absolutely free to write about your personal experiences with bullying and the affects or whatever else is bothering you. When I say safe haven I truly mean it. Nobody will judge you based on how “good” your writing is. Perfect grammar isn’t a requirement. No, this isn’t school, my friends. This is a creative outlet to express the emotions—the aspects of life that you may be holding in or having difficulty in expressing to anyone else. Or just another outlet to express yourself, no matter how expressive you are in everyday life. The only requirement here is to be open minded and accepting of others. Otherwise, let the creativity flow!
I welcome all of you and hope we can create an amazing place together.
