Dragon Pictures and "Banoo"s

I remember it like it was yesterday. 

8th grade band practice had just ended. I was struggling to get my metal folding chair onto the chair racks without dropping my baritone (which was about the same size as me, since I hadn't yet grown) when he approached me, scrawny body clinging to his tuba (which was much bigger than him), glasses falling down his face. 

(He needs a name. Let's call him Jeff.) 

Jeff had long been a thorn in my side. His behavior in 7th grade Spanish had nearly driven me to screaming several times. For, you see, Jeff had three of the most annoying habits anyone can ever have, ever: drawing detailed and sometimes sexually explicit pictures of dragons (think Napoleon Dynamite) and showing them to everyone, correcting everyone every time anyone bothered to open their mouth, and pronouncing "baño" (the spanish word for bathroom) as "banoo."  

Seriously. Banoo. 

Since I was a good student and kinda on the shy side, teachers tended to seat me next to their "problem" students. I think the assumption there was that I'd rub off on them, which everyone knows never happens. * Jeff was a problem student. Guess who sat next to him in Spanish, band, and (briefly) social studies? 

Yup. Me. 

And I was a nice kid. I didn't make fun of him like the other kids. I listened when he explained why his 34th dragon picture was different than all the others, tolerated his mispronounced Spanish in silence, and didn't punch him in the face when he said, "Actually, Ms. Rose, that's wrong" for the 5 millionth time. I didn't think much of it. We weren't friends, and as long as he never talked to me outside of class, there wasn't a problem. Sure, he was weird, but he didn't seem to be contagious. I had been raised to be nice to other people, even when they were a little bit creepy. And he was one person I was actually taller than, so he wasn't threatening.  

Anyways, as I wrestled my chair, I hear him say my name. "Mici!" I turned around to find him right behind me. "Um, hi, Jeff..." I said. I subtly glanced around the room to see if anyone had noticed us talking. Safe for now. 

He cleared his throat and looked me dead in the eyes. "If I asked you out, would you say yes?"

"Um, no." I felt my cheeks go hot. Sure that someone must have noticed us by now, I turned to go.

"Will you go out with me?"

I looked back at him. "No." And I walked (ran?) away, leaving him and his tuba standing by the chair rack. I never talked to him again, preferring to ignore him. 

I told my friends about it later and we all shared a good laugh. After all, Jeff had asked me on a date, and, even though I wasn't exactly a prime catch, I was too good for Jeff... 

Right?

Well, years went by, and I didn't have him in any of my classes until Senior year. He walked into my math class. Nothing had changed. He still had the same annoying hobbies. I was still assigned to sit by him. We all made fun of him. 

But then, one day, he disappeared from school and never came back. Different stories circulated-- his father beat him up really bad, he tried to hurt himself, his mom left his dad-- but all anyone could confirm was that he wasn't dead. Even his girlfriend, who I knew from Marching Band, didn't know much. One thing was sure, though-- his abrupt disappearance wasn't a positive thing. Something bad had happened.

I still don't know what happened to him, and I don't think I ever will. I don't have many regrets in life, but one of them is making fun of Jeff. I don't feel bad about not dating him, I feel bad about ignoring him, laughing when other people made cruel remarks, and letting sarcasm ooze into all my comments to him. I'm not delusional-- I know we never would have been friends-- but I regret the little things that I did that helped make his life harder. 

As someone who's suffered quietly, I know what it's like to have to put on a brave face and pretend nothing's wrong, and I know how much little acts of kindness help. I also know how even the smallest comment can take a horrible day and make it worse. 

Here's to noticing the Jeffs of the world, the underdogs, the lonely, the bizarre, and the broken. Here's to making the extra effort to smile at someone just because, to not rolling your eyes at a comment you think is stupid, and to tolerating other people's quirks. You never know what they're going through. 

Happy weekend, dear Snarkites!

x, 

   m

*Actual result- I was well-versed in lock-picking theory, cuss words, half the school's sex life, and the soccer team's drug habits by the time I graduated from high school. 

Peaches

I know I haven't written in a while. There's a very good reason I haven't. But you're not going to hear that reason because it is boring and sad. Instead, I'm going to get a little personal, if y'all don't mind. I share this not for pity. I share this because I honestly believe it could help someone.

Today, I want to talk about my personal battle with my self-esteem. Ever since I can remember, I've struggled to accept my body, my personality, and my mind as "pretty" or even "normal."The mirror has, I kid you not, reduced me to tears more often than I care to admit. This isn't just an "off-day"type thing-- it's something I live with and fight against every day. And no, it's not like I've never felt "cute" or whatever. I have periods of time that are better than others, months when the girl looking back at me from the mirror is satisfactory. 

A lot of this problem stems from the way I grew up, surrounded by conflict. I was often made to feel that I was the problem, even when I wasn't, but I didn't know any better. I learned that my mother didn't like herself very much, and I felt like she didn't like me much either. We later learned that her self-loathing was rooted in mental illness, and that her illness caused her to project her feelings about herself onto those around her. The first time I remember feeling ugly was when I was in 4th grade. 

I went through a phase in middle school wherein I was convinced I was some kind of genetic freak (though it can be argued that nearly everyone does). Kids told me I had a big nose. I felt stupid almost daily. I measured my self-worth by the number of people that said hi to me in the hallway. An adult once told me that I could be a model if they photoshopped my face out of the pictures. I grew up in this strange state of conflicted logic. Disliking myself was all I'd ever known, so I figured it was normal for me to feel ugly, dumb, and weird. On the other hand, I would compare myself to other girls and think, "If I looked like her, I would be happy," because I assumed that the pretty, smart, normal girls must be happy. As I grew older, I learned that getting attention from boys was where it was at. I measured my love for myself by my romantic prospects, as well as how many friends I had, what grades I got, and how severe my acne was on any given day. 

Then things changed pretty dramatically. My parents separated. My dad and I started talking a lot about my childhood, the way my dear mother's illness had effected both of us, and how we can heal from the damage that had been done. 

I resided in my convoluted logic for years and years. The script I ran in my head told me I was unattractive, stupid, inferior, unwanted, and unloveable. It wasn't until my senior year of high school that I realized the way I felt about myself wasn't healthy or good, and that maybe, just maybe, I didn't see myself clearly. The mental script that I read myself each time I saw myself was harsh, cruel, and perhaps untrue. 

I still struggle with loving myself, but I am making slow and steady progress, but I am a different person than I was a year ago. I see beauty in myself more frequently. I've learned to be gentle with myself, to allow error, and to accept that everyone's a little bit flawed. I've learned that God loves me, simply because I am me, and that He made me the way I needed to be to get the most out of this life. I have discovered unconditional love in places I didn't know I would. I have only just begun to realize my own potential for happiness and love. And I've only just begun to appreciate the girl in the mirror. 

There are two quotes that I adore that I'd like to share. These quotes have gotten me through my toughest days over and over again.

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." -Eleanor Roosevelt

"You can be the ripest, juiciest peach in the world and there's still going to be somebody who hates peaches." -Dita Von Teese

Please remember to love yourself... It's worth it. And the more you find beauty in yourself, the more you'll see it in others.

Have a lovely weekend!

x,
   m