At some point I settled into my life at Dwight and even found a happy medium. I learned to be who I was and even play up those attributes that got me the most attention. These were not always my best attributes, but I still had my friend and that was all I really needed and I had my neighbor who also played flute and we would practice together to shut out the noisy world around us.
1977, my oldest brother has graduated from high school and decides to go into the Air Force like our father. My heart is breaking. I don't know why, but I have always looked to him and felt closer to him than my other brothers. I still remember the day he left. He was a stamp collector. He had an album into which he carefully mounted his collection. On the morning he left, he came into my room and slid it under my pillow and kissed me on the forehead. I don't think he realized I was awake, but thinking about it now still makes me cry. I was never able to bring myself to add anything to the album. I put the loose stamps into little envelopes so they wouldn't get lost, but I couldn't make any changes to it. It is today as he left it back in 1977. Sometimes I take it out and look through it, but for the most part it lives in the back of my filing cabinet where it is safe.
Our home would never be the same.
My father announced that he was retiring and we would be moving. As horrible as this place had been, I had never lived anywhere as long as I had lived here. I had to say goodbye to my best friend, my sister.
We left, I think, a week before the school year ended and moved to Corpus Christi. I had a whole summer ahead of me with no friends. All I had was the promise that I could go and spend time with my friend and she could come down and spend time with us. My older brother, who would be a senior in High School stayed in San Antonio with my Grandmother and Uncle so he could graduate from the same high school because he was going to the Air Force Academy. This left me, my third older brother and my younger brother at home with our parents.
Dad's retirement didn't mean much. He worked a full time job and went to school full time, so when he wasn't working or at school he was studying. The only thing that had changed was the demographics for us. As usual Dad had researched the schools and moved us into the best school district. Unfortunately, this meant the district with the wealthiest families, which we were not.
Come time to enroll in school I was escorted to the counselor's office with my parents. Carolyn Merritt, the enemy at the time, informed me that if I performed as I was capable of performing, there was a good chance that I could skip 9th grade like my oh so smart brother. What no one realized was that I didn't care. By this time, I was my own worst enemy.
I was approached by girls and initially made friends, until I refused to wear purple on purple day, or because my daddy didn't own x number of oil wells and I didn't have any Jordache jeans. It was at this point that I began wearing jeans, my dads combat boots, baggy shirts and a dirty denim jacket. I had my mom put my long hair into teeny tiny braids at night and the next day brush it out into a huge mess. I didn't bathe regularly, I just didn't care. I didn't wear make-up, I just shlumped through life trying to fade into the back ground.
Several teachers tried to reach me. They saw my potential and saw what I was doing to myself, but there was nothing to be done. It wasn't until I found the "loser's club" that I felt at home and found some real friends. Some of these friends I have still today. Some of the teachers who tried to reach me, including Ms. Merritt I have still today. Some of these people helped save me from myself and I would meet even more in High School, but that is another story for another day.
Today is about being lost in a world that doesn't know how to find you. Being lost and not knowing how to find yourself. Being lost and watching the world go on around you as you scream for someone to please, please recognize the agony that your soul is in. Please, please, reach down and pull the pain and hatred out of your being.
When I look back today, it does not surprise me that there were so many young people committing suicide back then. There was no one looking for them. No one to recognize the needs that were out there. The only "help" out there when I was out there was literally sex, drugs and rock and roll. Those were the sub cultures of our youth. You were either a head (drugs), a banger (rock), a cowboy, a slut or a loser (because you wouldn't choose one of the above). I was a loser because I was also a brain. That was the least desirable of the sub cultures (loser-brains). I didn't care.
My parents pushed me, my teachers pushed me and the harder they pushed the harder I pushed back and did as little as possible to pass. I could care less. The future held nothing for me as far as I was concerned. Look at what the past had given me - what could I possibly have to look forward to? There was nothing out in the world I wanted. The world had never given me anything and I expected even less at this point. 8th grade did nothing to change my opinion of the world.
I had yet to find the next window that I was to step through. Depression had a strong hold on me and it was not going to give up easily. It would be a long time coming and many hurdles to cross.
Beautiful Bloggable Me
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