There is nothing going on at work today. We had a half-day so the kids left at noon. I have been mostly stuck in my office with the dog doing paperwork. She's not always a good listener.
Since my mom died I have been trying to sort out some things from when I was younger. My mother never believed in causing a scene even to defend/stand up for yourself. As if that isn't bad enough she told me I was wrong for doing so. My mother was always greatly concerned about me embarrassing her.
Two incidents come to mind:
Standing in line by my classroom to go to lunch. The kid in front of me snaps by bra strap. The big one that goes under das boobs. I turned around and socked him in the face. Hard. I was suspended. Nothing was ever done about what I consider his violation of my space...and my boobs.
Upon her arrival to pick me up from school she starts in about How Could I Do This To Her??? To her? Are you kidding me? So my issues with being 11 and having d-cup boobs are compiled with being shamed for defending myself. Perhaps punching him was a bit zealous. Maybe not. Regardless when you're raised in a house like mine you learn to be protective of your Girl Parts real fucking quick.
This situation involves another boy at school also when I was in the 6th grade. (6th grade was a pretty bad year) This kid had been doing really cruel shit to me ALL year. Calling me a bitch, whore, sticking my pencils down his pants, the generic name-calling of calling me "fat" blah blah. One day I was swinging. I will add here I was awesome at swinging extremely high and jumping out. He keeps walking past me calling me a bitch. So on about the 5th time of him doing this I jumped out of the swing and promptly cleaned my shoe off on his balls.
Again I got suspended and but also included was a lecture about how this was how boys showed they LIKED you. From the principal. Nothing ever came of him calling me a bitch. I remember crying when they asked me what he said b/c I was so embarrassed at that word. Then my mom says You Could Have Hurt Him. I could have hurt him. I have no doubt being nailed in the balls hurts. But I hate to disagree with sticks and stones but words do hurt. They hurt and they stay with you. They don't even have to be something like bitch. They can be like You Could Have Hurt Him.
I will always wonder why my mom was so embarassed and ashamed. I wonder if it's b/c she knew she didn't do this for me. If I did it for myself I made her feel even worse and reminded her what she was so scared to do even for herself.
Needless to say I developed issues with handling my anger.
You would have thought when teachers repeatedly contacted my mom about how "withdrawn" (and "withdawn" has a lot of definitions in elementary, jr. high and high school...take your pick) I was in school she would have paid attention. But this is also what one would expect of a parent when her child tells her directly she is suicidal (as a freshman in college) and said child's doctor expresses concern that said child "isn't faking it...there is real stuff going on here"...this same mother bitches all the way to CVS to pick up a script for daughter's very first MAOI medication...b/c there "IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU...You're in college...there should be nothing wrong with you!!!" Now I see this translates into "I really am not a bad mother....I'm really not!!!...stop trying to prove I am!!" But I digress...
Why didn't they want to know why I was mad? Or sad? Why did they want a robot child? Maybe this is some sort of fucked-upness from being raised as an only child by an only child married to a lunatic? Maybe my mom wanted a different sort of "girl" daughter. Maybe to her I was an extension of my dad. But it doesn't explain other people on her side of the family...aunts, etc. Somewhere along the line my anger became a security blanket. I WAS going to be heard. I didn't care how many people I hurt to be heard. This then twisted into being heard even less b/c no one wants a screaming fake redhead psycho coming at them about even the most minor infraction. That is expressing anger...not what you're actually angry about. See how that gets fucked up?
Ok. I know writing about this is supposed to help sort some of this stuff out. Now I feel exhausted, though.