High school was not kind to me. As for many, it was 4-5 years of drama, angst, awkwardness, pain, and feeling unaccepted by others whom appeared to cruise through as happy & popular, amongst the upper echelon of Queen Bees or those with a King Shit of Turd Island complex. Most of the latter peaked during high school, experiencing their “glory years”. My own weren’t so glorious!
I was:
- extremely asthmatic, ill, and often hospitalized. Some of my hospital stints were spent in Intensive Care, hooked-up to nasal prongs for oxygen & heart monitors due to tachycardia. Tachycardia which resulted from I.V. Ventolin, given to dilate my severely constricted bronchial passages. (Those of you whom may have tried or abused cocaine or amphetamines: f.y.i. — Ventolin, when given intravenously, is much more of a stimulant, giving a significant high. Trembling hands, dangerously high heart-rate, amongst other dangerous side-effects!) There were a couple of occasions when I was considered so ill, that my physician was inclined to send me, via air ambulance jet, to acute care facilities (BC Childrens or St. Paul’s Hospital), 1100 km south, in Vancouver.
My respiratory health had to be treated/maintained with numerous drugs — most of which were delivered via nebulizer treatments at home. All kinds of drugs: Ventolin, Intal, Beclovent, Becloforte, and Atrivent, to name a few. Oh, and tablets of the lovely, lovely corticosteroid drug Prednisone — which has all kinds of gross side-effects, including: decreased metabolic rate, increased appetite, mood swings, weight gain, and swollen “moon face”.
My asthma was triggered by: climate — particularly cold air (I lived in northern B.C., where at times, the temperature would drop to 40-below Celcius during the winter months!), pollution (woodsmoke emitted by the scrap-burning/beehive burner at a local sawmill, and that from many local residents’ woodstoves & fireplaces), temperature inversions which would trap all of the pollution in the valley where my hometown is located (my hometown has one of the highest rates of asthma, per capita, in the entire province of British Columbia), and emotional stress/psycho-somatic triggers. Emotional stress: the result of bullying, depression, and the crazy dynamics of my dysfunctional family.
- overweight. My weight gain, of course, being caused by my severely compromised respiratory health, inability to maintain/endure cardiovascular exercise (my phys. ed. teachers couldn’t comprehend, nor understood that not everyone’s asthma is the same, and I wasn’t just able to “use a Ventolin inhaler” & carry-on like other students whom had slight, exercise-induced symptoms), side-effects from corticosteroid drugs — particularly Prednisone, and emotional eating (because that’s how I comforted myself when under stress or sad). I was chubby, then fat, and grew to obese. Being fat in high school: not fun! I was teased, mocked, and shamed by others, due to my weight. No one wanted to date the fat girl!
- artistic & my own person. Outspoken, headstrong, stubborn, opinionated, and expressive. I loved to write, excelled in communications, was an excellent artist, and (had I not been mocked, teased, routinely humiliated, and embarrassed by others) probably would have done extremely well in drama — which I didn’t enroll in, due to the aforementioned. I wouldn’t even get up in front of my classes, when required to deliver assigned oral presentations; I’d willingly accept a failing grade.
- an incredibly poor student, whose grades did not reflect her intelligence & capabilities. The majority of my friends were honor-roll students, with excellent marks, and achieved brilliant grades. I was their “stupid” friend. My horrific grades were due to unspeakable truancy & little to no effort on my part. Truancy which resulted from feeling socially unaccepted, scared, ashamed, and being ill. I pretty much gave up on myself, and for their frustration, most teachers did, too!
All of these dismal factors have contributed to aspects of my personality, behaviour, and accomplishments –rather, lack-of — as an adult!
- Self-hatred, loathing, and a self-debasing sense of humour. I use myself as the butt of my own jokes, so that I may possibly beat others to the punch, before they may possibly criticize my flaws or shortcomings. In doing-so, not only do I highlight flaws which others may not have noticed, but repel others who have sincerely liked & accepted myself. Who the Hell wants to be around such a negative, draining person, with low self-esteem?
- Constantly second-guessing myself, and lack of confidence in my abilities — regardless of whether I am correct or competent.
- Continual worry that I’ve said or done things which may have offended people, or cause them to dislike myself.
- I’ve allowed people to walk all over myself, treat me badly, take me for granted, abuse my kindnesses & generosity, and sought approval. Approval from those whose opinions ought not matter, irrelevant individuals, and those whom have abused myself. Sometimes, repeatedly.
- My reactions to criticism and/or rejection. Rather, what I may perceive as criticism or rejection. Though there have been many instances of actual criticism & rejection, I am so hyper-sensitive to others’ words & actions, that I’ve misconstrued what’s been said or done. I feel & sense peoples’ energy, read their body language, and pick-up on subtle nuances in their cadence. Inflections, pattern of speech, and possible condescension. When this happens (or hasn’t been implied), I get my back-up, sometimes return the favour ten-fold, or withdraw from people.
- I have a hard time trusting people. Trust is a big issue with myself; I am constantly braced for betrayal or hurt.
- I often feel socially awkward, worried that people will not accept myself. I have a hard time being myself, particularly amongst groups of new people, or those whom aren’t as familiar with my character. In such instances, I’ve often abused alcohol, so that I’d become less socially hindered. However, if/when I became impaired or out-right intoxicated, I was NOT myself, and often grossly misrepresented my true, authentic self. Once I got to a certain point of impairment, and became intoxicated, my manners, conduct, demeanor, self-control, dignity, judgment, charm, and sweetness disappeared. I usually became belligerent, foul-mouthed, vulgar, sloppy, aggressive, rude, sad, overly-emotive, and — not Kate! Intoxication compromised my nature to the point where those who I’d consumed alcohol around (to feel less inhibited) ended-up thinking I was an utter jackass. I am not a jackass, nor do I exhibit any of those negative characteristics when sober! My mum has often said to me,
“I don’t like who you become when you drink. You’re not at all yourself.”
She’s right. I don’t like myself when I’m drunk either, and I most certainly do not like the repercussions of my drunken, poor, demonstratively drunk behaviour(s)!
- Allowing myself to be or stay in unhealthy relationships, accepting poor treatment from others — particularly men. I settled for less than I deserved, and “dated down”. I made far too many mistakes with inappropriate, incompatible, unworthy men. My standards were low, and I made myself available to men who didn’t give a shit about myself. Draw your own conclusions about these statements.
- Ongoing problems with eating disorders — particularly bulimia & exercise bulimia. This once obese, severely teased woman has battled her weight for years, and often taken her weight loss efforts too far! Under-eating/purging, excessive & compulsive exercise, neurotic calorie counting, and the like. My self-worth is influenced by my weight & appearance. Men — most of them unworthy — admired & pursued myself when I became thin. I was physically desirable; men are visual creatures. Most men liked me for superficial or sexual reasons, even though under my desirable, tiny shell, I was still the same, sweet, self-conscious, people-pleasing, intelligent, and kind girl. All guys saw/see is the physical package — not me, for who I am. After years of rejection & teasing, becoming thin & desirable was extremely empowering to myself. People seemed to like me better, because I was really attractive. Or, in the words of others — “stunning”, “incredibly beautiful”, and “hot”. I’ve done the yo-yo thing with my weight for years, and right now, I have to drop weight again. You can imagine how this effects my confidence & self-worth!
- My atrocious grades in high school have limited myself professionally. I do not have a post-secondary degree or diploma. Zero credentials, other than life skills & those learned while out there, working in whatever underachieving position I’ve placed myself in — bored, underpaid, frustrated, tread-upon, undervalued, taken advantage-of, overworked (life/work balance: completely out of whack!), and at times, verbally abused by employers. This, I can change, but I’d have to put in a LOT of work to upgrade my high school marks, before even attempting to try my hand at university! For my alleged intelligence, I think that people would be incredibly shocked by the education that I lack. A G.E.D. doesn’t even factor into my educational career. I dropped-out before graduating high school — because I hated high school so much, felt so uncomfortable there, fell through the cracks, and had given-up on myself. (Now you know: I’m a high school drop-out!)
- Despite the confidence that I often exhibit, my self-esteem is often very low. I take great offense when people call me out on this. I don’t need to be told, “You have really low self-esteem!” I already KNOW so!
The dynamics of & my role in a my alcoholic, dysfunctional family also factor into all of the above.
I’ve got issues, and though many people tell me to “stop focusing on the negative”, that kind of shit is really hard to let-go of, or move past. It’s deeply ingrained in my psyche & part of who I am.
Last year, I wrote of what I experienced during high school, and the extent of the bullying I had endured. The traumatic bullying which left it’s mark on many different facets of my character & behaviour(s) in adulthood, influencing much of the aforementioned. I have just amalgamated & published the content of those Facebook notes, placing them amongst my “About Me” pages, here. The Tales of Three Snatches is honest, and might shock others who were not privy or well-versed on what occurred twenty years ago. However, I’m certain that others, elsewhere, have endured equally as horrific treatment, if not worse. Scary & sad.
Upon publishing the notes to Facebook, of course, their content & embarrassing details reached the ears & eyes of some/all of those whom had committed the heinous acts of bullying upon myself — and then-some! I understand that they were none too pleased that I had regurgitated the past, in such a semi-public, extremely detailed fashion. I had not used their real names, but plenty of people figured-out/remembered who those girls were, and I suppose that my accurate recollections caused the perpetrators embarrassment. One of those girls took it upon herself to contact my mother by telephone, seeking my contact information, angry that I’d “brought-up something that had happened 20 years ago”, that she’d “moved-on & grown-up”, didn’t remember the details I’d (accurately) written-of, and said I was extremely “immature” for rehashing it all. I should have “moved-on”, too.
I’m a Scorpio. We have extremely good memories, especially when it comes to those whom have caused us pain or injury. We don’t forgive, we never forget, and are known to seek retribution — sometimes springing it upon people, many years later. This was one of those instances, indeed. Upon speaking to one of my best friends about the bullying her own teenage son was then enduring, all of the anger & shame I’d felt so many years ago was reignited, and I felt it necessary to share my own story with others.
The perpetrator who contacted my mum: couldn’t remember the details that I had relayed, and likely found it easy to move-on from, because she wasn’t the one on the receiving end of the abuse. Her self-worth had not been effected. Though my mum was unaware of the notes & their content, apparently she made a point of validating what I’d written-of, reminding my one-time tormentor of what had occurred, it’s effects on myself, and the perspective of a parent who’d watched her daughter sink into depression & despair, falling through the cracks at school.
My mum also patiently listened to the explanation offered — what had been going on in that particular perpetrator’s own home then, and the sadness which carries on in her present life. Even then, I knew those girls had problems at home, and as an adult, now recognize how this contributes to behaviours & conduct outside of home. People who are hurting & feel powerless at home, tend to hurt others, so that they too can feel a sense of empowerment. I know this to be true; I’ve felt & done this myself. Part of me can empathize with the pain that likely motivated those girls to hurt me, back then. (but why ME?)
My one-time bully asked my mum to pass-on her telephone number to myself. My mum suspected that I might receive an apology. I didn’t bother returning the call, preferring that my words really sink-in, and make their mark. Besides, if an apology had been forthcoming, it was too little, too late. Remorseful or not, nothing can undo the damage which was inflicted by those girls. I’m quite certain that I’d also have received an angry tirade of admonishment & scathing words for having caused them embarrassment, years later. I wasn’t about to waste my money, making a long-distance phone call, to listen to that. Would you? Probably not!
So why am I bothering to revisit this topic again, and in a more public fashion? Because it sheds light on what’s contributed to who I am now, and the amount of personal work that I have only just begun to work-on — for the sake of my own well-being & emotional health. Also, I spent time with my visiting friend Annette last week. I’d mentioned she & her 16 year-old son in the Facebook note(s), and once again, was told of her gentle son having stood-up on behalf of a fellow student who was being bullied.
My friend’s son is a gentle giant, sweet, well mannered, a good student, respectful, and everything that a parent could want their son to be. A fine young man! He recently punched-out a couple of schoolmates, who’d taken it upon themselves to cruelly harass & intimidate a girl in his school. The girl’s father is mulatto, but despite looking mostly Caucasian, she has inherited some of his Afro/Caribbean features: full lips, a wider & flatter nose, and an afro. Her ignorant, small town redneck tormentors cat-called & harassed her, slinging racial slurs such “nigger”, “negro”, and “half-breed” at her. Disgusting, and utterly humiliating for the young woman!
My friend’s son is also a “half-breed”: my friend is Native/First Nations/Aboriginal. Her son’s father is Caucasian. My friend’s son is fair skinned, and his blended ethnicity isn’t apparent to others. He overheard & witnessed the humiliating abuse being hurled at the young, aforementioned woman, and took it upon himself to punch the perpetrators in the head(s).
**applause!!**
Once again, I am extremely proud of him for his actions & concern for others, and applaud his parents for raising him to be such a fine, young man. I could have used a guardian angel like him, during my own high school experience, but as an adult, am not only honored that he’s been my friend for 14 years, but happens to be part of whom I consider as a member of my “extended family”.
Way-to-go, David! “Darth Kater” is unspeakably, indescribably proud of you!
To those of you who happen to be, whom know, or have raised children to be as fine as my friend’s son: I commend, applaud, and thank you, too!
That piece of fiercely f’ug not-so-sexiness, dearies, was nearly sixteen year-old me! The year after the horrible bullying had occurred. I don’t have a photo of myself from my 1989-90 school year, because I was truant the day school photos were taken, knew that I’d be targeted whilst in the line-up to get my photo taken, and really didn’t want a photo to remember the year I had to repeat ninth grade!
Something important in your life is now getting sorted out. These things take time, but in this age of rapid acceleration, nothing seems to happen fast enough. Even so, the current is sweeping you forward at an alarming pace. A crucial point of no return has been reached. The only direction to go is forward. The show is now about to commence.
Once again, Phil Booth is correct about myself, but I can only hope that he’s 100% accurate about my “going forward”, and “show about to commence”. `Bout damn time, hey?
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