Thoughts on alienation and other things

Sometimes, we experience things that change us, forever. I've experienced a few of these things myself, like most of us have.

I want to talk about a significant event in my life today. Sure, reading the Harry Potter books changed my life; now I am able to say that I've read them. Learning to drive a car changed my life; now I can get to work easier. But sometimes things that are less obvious have greater impact on us.

I grew up alone, believing only in my own demons. Believing even that I was also a demon and a despicable thing that doesn't deserve to live. For an 11-year old to think those thoughts - well - let's just say that I do have emotional problems to this day... I might even grin at you insanely and say something disgusting to scare you away. But, truth is, I only say that because I want you to stay.

I have convinced myself when I was only 11 that I was one - abnormal, two - the bad kind of abnormal. Without a word of encouragement or genuine kindness from my dear father, my thoughts solidified into a whole philosophy that I learned to follow. I've isolated myself very effectively. Inside, in a deep and secret place (also a cold and drafty place) I desperately hoped someone would notice. However, I also knew that if someone were to notice my depression and the dark circles under my eyes, they would ask, they would send me to the school counselor, maybe the nurse, maybe the assistant principal, or some teacher, or call up my dad.... and I - I would say NOTHING. Admit to NOTHING. And it would bring me joy and the warm feeling of contentment, of a secret well-kept...

I have always been stubborn. I think it's pride. I won't pick this issue apart, but my instincts are telling me to stick with pride... Is it because it was the only thing keeping me going so many wasted years ago?

But I won't get sidetracked. Alienation. It's painful. It taught me how to laugh when I'm sad and how to pick the right time to cry so that by the time daddy comes back from his job the tear tracks and puffiness are long gone. It taught me how to lie, be resourceful, pretend.

It taught me how to learn new things, how to recognize good ideas, how to think critically and find solutions to problems that fill me up with feelings of accomplishment. It taught me how to recognize subtle humor, as well as appreciate quirkiness and originality... But - tragically - alienation also cut me off from the rest of the world. So that these wonderful things going on inside my head as I explored and marveled, they were never shared. On the inside, it was my own little playpen. I had all my toys inside my head. On the surface, I tried to be calm and collected.

Instead, my mask became one of haughtiness and disgust.

Because the whole reason I went to such great lengths to hide from the world was because I was disgusted with myself and looked down upon myself.

My facial expression really mirrored how I felt about MYSELF. Never others.

But people make snap decisions. They go by the first impression. Oh, would you look at that girl over there. She looks as if she's smelling something nasty. And why is she sitting in the corner - is she too good for us?

If only someone looked deeper, I would think.

"You would then scowl at them and say that you don't need their help, if they were a student. As for a teacher, you would smile politely and make your eyes do that smile-that-reaches-your-eyes thing, and reply warmly that you just miss your mom a lot, that's all." - my pride would quickly suggest a way out.

I became a good actor. Too bad I was too depressed and shy to get into the drama club.

You often hear the phrase 'growing up too fast.' I think I tried to do that and it didn't work. It disfigured me instead, as some parts of me shot ahead, and others tried to catch up.

I am still self-conscious... And maybe a little paranoid.

Now, where'd the paranoia come from?? Here's the story.

We are prone to think that we are the ultimate schemers and liars, and that nobody can see through the plans that our brilliant minds come up with.

Wrong.

People are far smarter than we give them credit for. Especially parents. They have that sixth sense that we hear about. Well, all that is completely and utterly true.

It was easier with my dad, since he never really cared about me. So any excuse was good for him. My mom was a whole different story though. She could tell by my voice that something was wrong. Whenever we were on the phone, I considered it a practice sessions of lying and pretending it was okay. The real thing was those rare times when I got to see her. Then, I had to involve my face and my gestures in the act as well. Sometimes I pulled it off. Sometimes I didn't. But I always made sure that if the truth came out, it wouldn't hurt me too badly - I would still conceal what's left of it for the next interrogation.

I toyed with my parents, my teachers, myself...

This little story of my internal struggle is just a part of a larger story - the one that lasted from when I was 11 until, well, now. And it continues to write itself. I guess you could call it - life.

~~~

When I began writing this blog entry, I was hoping to get to the part where I talk about what was the guiding light for me throught those confusing years. Also, if that guiding light was still burning for me now - when I am 18. 7 years - a world of difference... Also, Harry Potter's journey.

But I've already taken too long and it's time to sign out. My mood is darker now, and I have to go do something to lighten up before dad comes home. Yes, I still "hide" from him. I still "hide" from others. I still try to make it unnoticeable. As if I'm just too busy reading my exciting book to come over and socialize. Cheap tricks like that work sometimes.

But enough about depressing stuff. I do feel better about my life now. But that's a whole other part of this story. In order to tell it, I'll have to dissect myself in my next blog, just as I've attempted to do in this one.

I'd like to take a moment to reach out to all the people out there that have a problem - emotional, financial, any kind of problem. I just want to say - hold on. And not a "hold on" you see on postcards or hear from somebody who only fleetingly cares. A real, solid "hold on" that I've ripped from the bottom of my heart because I remember what it feels like to be lonely. To be hurting every second of every day for many, many years. To sob under the blankets, with your hand tight over your mouth so that nobody would hear. And nobody heard...

Well, I HEAR. And I just want to say,

HOLD ON.