Albion Middle School. 1990.
Junior High is supposed to be awkward, and when you’re the new kid, and really, really introverted (during school dances, I got special permission to stay in the library and read), Junior High is an exquisite torture. Not the school part – my teachers loved me. I was so eager! Not so much with the other kids, though, who only liked me when we were assigned to the same project. Because I loved homework. Most other times, they ignored me, or stole my purse or barked at me in the hall. Really, actually barked because I wore a Dalmatian themed shirt my grandmother had gotten me for my birthday the summer before. They all wore those iconic Gap sweaters, the kind that you see and immediately just know is from the Gap, and me, I had never even been in a Gap. My shoes were from Payless. I thought they looked just like the LA Gear high tops everyone was wearing. I was wrong. In French class, I sat next to a girl named Natalie who once complimented me on my fingernails and that I still remember that tells you just how much it meant. Then she laughed and laughed about Mary Christensen’s fat ankles and I know I nodded and laughed too, even though Mary’s ankles didn’t look out of the ordinary to me at all.
By my second year there, things weren’t nearly so rough. I had friends. Four of them who rode the same bus and lived in the same neighborhood and we shared flavored lip gloss and wrote notes and on the weekends, laid out on trampolines with sprinklers underneath. Even gym class was better. I had this lovely teacher – Ms. Hamilton, I think – who gave us Noxema samples and would eventually be genuinely sorry when I moved to Texas. I learned to serve a volleyball and double dutch jump rope. But the highlight came when this girl, Jessie, who, I will admit I was just the tiniest bit afraid of, picked me for her flag football team. Me. Picked. And not last.
Jessie was one of those girls, who, before anyone bothered with any sort of diversity, was just a little bit different. More… masculine. And more confident. Which, I guess, is why I was afraid of her. But when she picked me for flag football – I was fast – and since we had two other classes together, I imagined some kind of friendship was a-bloomin’. I was sure excited.
My brother and I went to the same school, a good year before we started getting put in the same classes, but our circles still overlapped. Jessie was in my brother’s orchestra class. This was also before my brother and I loved each other like we do now. Back then, we were almost constantly at odds. Which is a nice way of saying we HATED each other’s rotten guts. This particular time, I wish I could remember what we were arguing about, or why I brought up oddly scary Jessie, but my brother’s response, I remember very, very well.
“Jessie doesn’t even like you. She said NOBODY likes you.”
Did she actually say that to my brother? I don’t know. I doubt it (I just IMed him to ask – he’s sorry it happened, but doesn’t really remember). But it hardly mattered, because oh, the humiliation. I fell apart at the seams. I “forgot” my gym clothes every day thereafter. I don’t think I spoke a word in that class that I didn’t absolutely have to. And a few weeks later, I was called into the front office and asked if I’d like a very special assignment. I spent the rest of the term tidying up the teacher’s lounge during PE. I can only assume that was Ms. Hamilton’s doing. I love her for it today.
The saddest thing about it all is that twenty years later, I still feel a bit embarrassed by it. I still cringe sometimes, like it happened just the other day.
Am I the only one who holds on to junior high humiliation with a steely grip?
Let it go. There is no such thing as shame. So, she didn’t like you. She should feel shame for saying such things to your brother. Plus, nobody remembers. Stop reliving the pain and punishing yourself. Forget it.
I’ll get right on that.
OH NO. I remember the pain of 7th grade on a regular basis and it makes me cringe every time. It’s why I didn’t go to my high school reunion.
I just wrote a post on my blog about how this kid in my 7th grade homeroom made fun of my hairy arms. He and I had no reason to talk, weren’t in any classes together, weren’t friends or enemies, and yet he felt the need to bully me about my arms more than once. I carried that hurt with me for years. I bet if I tracked him down now he wouldn’t even remember me. So funny, the things that stick with us.
What’s weird, is that I spent some of my trying-to-fall-asleep time last night thinking about junior high and high school and how there was this one boy who never once made me feel ugly or fat or weird and would always dance with me at school dances in junior high. I thought about how weird I was back then, combing my bangs with my fingers during 7th grade social studies so they were greasy by the end of the day, reading a much-too-adult romance novel during movie day, etc. And then decided, I’m still doing weird things now, I just like weird. Middle school never got me, but that’s okay now.
Oh, wow. I did that to my bangs, too. I think it was a nervous thing.
I hated junior high so much that you couldn’t pay me enough money to go through it again. I was picked on, teased and got into a fight once. I even had some really mean girls tape a maxi pad to my locker once. Not the best of times.
Oh dear – you are not alone! I like to say that I had the worst junior high experience, which was based less on bullying and more on the fact that my elementary school friends ditched me once we got there. Friendless, socially awkward and bad hair? Wouldn’t go back if you paid me. And I thought I had put all this behind me, until last year when I was choosing a middle school for my son – and everything came rushing back with a vengenance. Bleeeh. Happily he is smart, athletic & popular – everything I wasn’t – and is really enjoying it. (I find the “enjoying it” part so weird, but couldn’t be more thrilled!)
In 7th or 8th grade, in the hallway after school a pad fell out of my open backpack. I heard something plop softly on the ground, I turned around and saw it lying there, all pastel and plastic-wrapped, and then I RAN. I ran all the way home and then I cried. OMG, the mortification. The thing is, I don’t even think anyone saw. Apparently I was the overly sensitive sort, too.
I thought I was the only one! I’ve been thinking a lot lately how about how I would love to be able to reach back and give that girl a hug, some encouragement and maybe even some pointers. I still cringe over things I did and said back then… Remembering those things that still sting. I keep trying to tell myself that we’ve all grown up now and are likely better people, but for whatever reason, that feeling just doesn’t go away! Working on it.
oh man…junior high was torture. i hated lunch. our table was right next to the popular kids’ table. one lunch, this boy eric’s apple rolled out of his lunch bag onto the floor by the foot of my chair. he declared loudly to his friends that i had unrippened his (green) apple. i still cringe thinking about it now. it’s an undescribably horrible feeling that never fully leaves.
Middle school was so awful – it was such a sad time for me. But I was like you and had teachers that liked me and looked out for me, as well. That helped, but I definitely still have the emotional scars from those days where I was picked on and teased and made fun of and even yesterday I saw a school bus go by and it still makes my stomach feel a little nervous to think about getting on and going through it again.
I know my mom still feels so guilty that I would come home crying and depressed so often and there was only so much she could do, or so many times she could talk to the teachers/administrators. It was awful. Kids are mean. They only look out for #1.
I had 6th grade PE first thing in the morning, when the morning dew or sprinkler puddles hadn’t yet dried up. Every Friday we had to run a mile and it was timed. I hate running (still do) so would do a walk/jog combo each lap. One lap I was running and these tougher girls were walking. When I went to pass them, I accidentally stepped in a mud puddle and splashed mud on myself and one of the girls. The girl got mad and decided to put me on “the list” of people to bully around.
From then on, there were days where I walked around at lunch because they were following me and I would have been more subject to their taunting if I had sat still and let them berate me. I had friends, but not the kind that would (or even really knew how to) step in when bullies were around. Plus, I was right in the transition of meeting new friends and apparently our bond hadn’t yet been solidified.
One day we were sitting on the outdoor bleachers in PE listening to announcements when the girls grabbed some pebbles (big pebbles) and started throwing them at my back. That’s when I broke down inside. After announcements my friends brought me up to our PE teacher and asked if they could go with me to the counselor’s office. I loved them for that.
I’ve grown and I think I know how to stand up for myself a bit more. I have friends who love me, a significant other who would get ruffled feathers if this ever happened now, but yes I still feel humiliated.
I remember being teased for my hand-me-down and garage-sale clothes, my too-tall, too skinny stature (5’8″ and all elbows and knees by 11), and especially for the most fabulous red shoes I’d bought at some dank off-price warehouse (they weren’t white k-swisses or nikes. I had committed a mortal fashion sin). What I find interesting as an adult is that everyone pretty much tells this story in some way or another, don’t they? Makes me think either A)everyone’s awkward; every person out there feels like an outsider at some point no matter how popular or well-adjusted they seemed to us fashion-less, too-tall peons in the corner, or B)the half that were teasing you back then are big fat liars today, just like they were big fat, judgmental jerkwads back then.
(I like and believe A, by the way. Though depending on your particular experience in middle school, you may like B better.)
I’m holding on to my humiliation all the way back to kindergarten! I remember crying daily and wanting to go home, and one day a boy in my class told the overly concerned room mother, “Oh, don’t worry about her. She cries every day.” I still feel my face reddening at the memory. And you know what? School never did improve for me. I actually had my own desk in the elementary principal’s office because I faked sick so much, I wasn’t allowed to go home anymore. My mom got the news in a single call from the middle school principal that I had both the highest grades in the middle school and also the highest number of absences. I got a congratulatory certificate and a Saturday school. Yes, I feel your pain.
You are far from the only one. In 6th grade, I was teased relentlessly b/c I wasn’t allowed to shave my legs. In 8th grade, I went through a two or three month saga of having no friends at all. Then, in high school/college/until you know, about three years ago, I chased boys who were not interested in me (In one infamous case, he turned out to be gay…). But what really gets to me is when I think about how horrible I could be to other people in order to mask my own insecurities. These are the thoughts that keep me awake at night: The humiliation of and penance for my past life.
I gotta agree with dez. And, I’ll bet “Jessie” doesn’t remember it either. So I hope you don’t sweat it too much. Really.
Those middle school years are difficult in and of themselves. All that added “stuff” (the teasing, the bickering, the bullying, etc.) is just icing.
Being where I am now, there are moments where I’d swear I was STILL in middle school. Some people don’t really change (mature) and they remain the “bully” or the “jock” or the “mean cheerleader”, only now I refer to them as “co-workers”, “supervisors”, “neighbors” and “associates”, etc.
Still, I wish “recess” was longer and included lots of candy.
Really, Fish…don’t sweat it.
I totally thought I was the only one that still re-lived things like that. I was shy and bookish and teased so often. We lived in a really small town, which meant the clicks that formed early on continued all the way through high school. I developed a stand-offish, bitchy personality as a coping mechanism (reject them before they reject you) that took me years to shake after high school. I was so relieved when my parents decided to move across the country at the end of my senior year and I got to start college with a completly clean slate.
I had largely repressed most of the memories, but since I’ve become a parent they’ve come flooding back. I so don’t want my kids to go through what I did — but I may be powerless to stop it. Breaks my heart.
I totally relate to this. When I was in middle school (5th-6th) grade. I had a group of girls that when I was around pretended to be my friend but then talked behind my back and always got me in trouble with the teacher. They would do something then tell the teacher I did it and she believed them (3 against 1 I guess) I was miserable and would come home and cry every day because of it. I hung out with them anyways cause I thought it was better then being alone at school.
Triggering a fight or flight response seems like a great way to ingrain a memory… I can think of at least three instances that made me cringe literally and figuratively for well over a decade after the fact. The worst was the day after parent teacher conferences in the 6th grade. While everyone was taking their seats at the bell, my language arts teacher stopped and asked me if my parents had told me she had cried while talking to them last night. Someone overheard this and chimed in ‘Why?’ And she started to blather on about how she had been talking to my parents about how she had three boys and would never have a daughter – and that if she had a daughter she would want her to be just like me. Everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) was staring at her, agast. She burst into hysterical tears and someone shouted “Why are you crying!?” and she sobbed back “Because she is JUST. SO. WONDERFUL.” Holy bajeezis did I want to die. I had never blushed before then, but I turned bright red and couldn’t look anyone in the eye for weeks. I’ve blushed when embarrassed every since then… It was like watching all hopes of ever attaining social normalcy evaporate in a fireball of adolescent SHAME.
You mean it is possible to remember junior high and not get chills and feel queasy? I have so many not so fond memories.I was so shy, that even the teachers didn’t know me.
Unfortunately my children also attended the same junior high. On at least two of the back to school nights I have run into people who thought we should get caught up over coffee or touch base on Facebook. People who were my worst tormentors think we should be friends now. Gotta love life. Still hate junior high memories though.
Two girls had everyone in my 7th grade class sign a letter saying that they hated me. And that was just a Tuesday
Am I over it? (per the comments about moving on) Yes. Does it change you? Absolutely. Those moments are what encouraged me to figure out who I was and find my fit. I couldn’t forget them if I tried. And I hope it gives me and my future children a kindness that someone who was the middle school version of “perfect” might not have. What really breaks my heart even further are the kids that don’t survive it. I wish I could explain to the ones that get tormented in middle/high school, that it gets so much better. Unfortunately, I think we fight some of our worst battles at an age when we are ever so ill-equipped.
No way are you the only one holding on with a vengeance. I’m 28 and still working on childhood embarassments that left marks all over my self esteem. Thank you for continually giving voice to all of the things that I don’t know how to say.
I’m so with you on remembering those school-day humiliations! When my husband and I were considering names for one of our boys, he suggested the name Greg. I absolutely, categorically refused to consider it as a baby name. Back in junior high, Greg on the bus made fun of my round – admittedly chubby – face by calling me Chipmunk Cheeks every day. I still can’t hear the name Greg without thinking of the humiliation!
I think people who weren’t miserable in jr high just don’t remember, or legitimately were happy then but miserable at other times. I just wish I had the confidence and self-awareness I have now…so much wouldn’t have bothered me. In retrospect, I see all of us…chickens, bullies, wall-flowers, and feel so bad for them. All those sad kids that wanted desperately to fit in, so they hid who they were, or picked on other kids because their friends did it, or just stayed quiet while people hurt those around them (if you speak up, they target you!). I definitely still cringe at a lot of things, but decided not all that long ago that I had to forgive 12-year-old me for not knowing what I know now: that it would all turn out more than fine in the end. And it didn’t matter if I didn’t have the ‘in’ jeans.
Oh my I think we’ve all been there more than once in life! I have very dark, thick eyebrows which I LOVE today, but oh man, during the 90s-the era of the no-brow look, tweezed to an inch of their lives-I felt like such a freak. In 6th grade, I made the brilliant decision to shave down the middle of my two brows (yes, for some of us of dark haired ladies there can be a whole Bert uni-brow going on if we’re not vigilant) not realizing it would grow back as stubble. Brow stubble. Needless to say, I was horrified. This one girl in my class took particular pleasure in walking up to me and rubbing her finger in between her eyebrows in silent mockery of my unibrow stubble.
Ultimately, I won and am aging much better than she is…thanks facebook. But once and a while I remember that and think, man that was really mean!
You’re not the only one. I’m glad to learn I’m not the only one. Elementary school, middle school, high school, you name the grade and I can come up with an incident that makes me cringe.
I grew up in a small town, with a high school graduating class of 80, 45 kids I’d known since kindergarten. To this day, I dread that they remember the incidents that I do too. It never helps to be the tallest kid from grades 1 through 10, especially when you’re a girl with frizzy hair, get your period in 4th grade, and braces. Books were my solace.
Of course I was home last week and ran into many of my classmates, and it was wonderful to reconnect with them. So perhaps someday only the fond memories will remain…?
omg, we would have been BFFs.
I was rather unfortunate, but had just enough friends in just high enough places to not be mercilessly made fun of to my face. But just about all lunch tables were definitely off limits to my kind. I remember eating with friends in our honors teacher’s classroom.
My cringe worthy moment? Falling flat on my face while running hurdles in front of the eighth grade PE classes who were sitting on the benches, waiting their turn. And watching. I was covered in that orange-y clay from forehead to toe. And I still have the scars.
High school was much better, but I also got new friends. My biggest regret from that time though? Not maintaining relationships with my ultra nerdy Jr High friends … they were most definitely the most interesting and the sweetest out there. Still are.
I was on the other end of the spectrum. I think I was weird – kind of the random funny girl in the popular group that didn’t quite fit. But how I treated other people mortifies me to this day. I didn’t think anything of it at the time – I thought I was funny, or clever, or they were asking for it. But as I’ve gotten older it’s become so painful to look back.
Just this weekend I was talking to my husband about some of my past shenanigans and I literally started weeping. Kids can be so cruel – I was so cruel. I’m determined to pass the lessons I learned the hard way on to my kids. It’s a whole different kind of regret and shame and pain when you were the one being the nasty bitch and making everyone else’s life miserable for no reason at all.
Junior high totally blows. I had the Payless high-tops too (Pro-wings, I believe they were called) and I put puffy paint on them to hide the label.
I also took the Guess patch off a friend’s hand-me-down pants that didn’t fit and sewed it on my Kmart jeans. Thankfully, my friends were still nice to me…and still know are to this day, although they know I’m still a dork at heart!
oh my – I’ve convinced that many of us (guess those of us who were affected by the “mean-girls”) spend a big chunk of adulthood recovering from junior high. I can’t even remember specific incidents, but wow – so much trauma, so much insecurity resulting from those few years. I would NEVER go back and do it again! (btw, congrats on your engagement! I am so happy for you, and I love your writing! Wish I could hire you to write something!)
Oh HELL no! You are not alone! I swear the reason I still think the single worst thing that can happen to me is having the guy I’m interested in find out I like him (I’m 26, I should totally be past that stage, I know). First school dance I was ever at, I asked the guy I had liked for three years to dance and he said no. No big deal until our homeroom teacher offered him 6 free homework passes to dance with me and he still said no. Oh, and did I mention the ENTIRE 6th grade class and half of the 7th grade class stood around to watch this all go down? No exaggeration either since I went to a small private school. Yeah… as a result I’ve developed self-esteem issues with men. Stupid middle school.
Middle School is at once a traumatic and utterly fascinating phase of child development. And you could not offer me anything in this world to make me repeat it. What makes me cringe even more than what was done to me is that I’m certain I said/did things to be ashamed of as well in the name of insecurity. That’s the stuff I hold onto.
I was a weird dichotomy. I was apart of the popular crowd but the guys would bounce between the idea that I was a great friend or someone to “moo” at (i.e. I totally get the barking). As awful as Junior High was, the first week of high school was that good. I never even thought I was attractive due to the mooing so when the upperclassmen started checking me out, I was in love. Literally, instantly in love with anyone that thought I was cute. You like me? I love you!
Good thing Junior High was just 3 years…
Oh man. Those are the worst years. Everyone is ugly and awkward and sooo self-conscious. Once in social studies I had to get up in front of the class and everyone started laughing. Later a girlfriend came up and told me I had blood on the back of my shorts. I turned bright red and darted for the nurse’s office. Turns out I sat in chocolate, but I was so mortified to face those kids the next day.
Your gym teacher sounds like a real winner. Hopefully she’s reading.
I think Rachel is right. I actually liked middle school (7th and 8th grade) but it’s because 6th grade was so miserable, I was desperate for a new school with new people, and I think ANYTHING else would have been better by comparison. I was not popular with no desire to be in middle school, and quite happy with my equally not popular friends. Again, compared to my friendless sixth grade year, it was a vast improvement.
I also have to say, having been a middle school teacher, it’s both fascinating and heartbreaking to watch from the perspective of adulthood. As an adult you have the perspective on the situation that you don’t when you’re the kid in the middle of it – yes, everyone feels insecure and unhappy at some point (some, however, unfortunately react by exhibiting mean-girl behavior to make themselves feel better at others expense). Everyone thinks everyone else is paying attention to their every mistake and humiliation and usually usually no one is, because they’re too busy worrying that everyone is paying attention to them. And those things that seem life-or-death usually will pass within a few days, or, at worst weeks. But of course, even if we tried to tell them that, they wouldn’t have believed us. So all we could do was watch and empathize and try to help as best we could.
In the 8th grade, a guy wrote “You are the ugliest thing I have ever seen” in my yearbook. I scratched it out, but I still remember every word and exactly who the guy was.
It’s not just you. Being 10 – 13 years old SUCKED.
You are by far not the only one — I have spent far too many nights as I’m falling asleep reliving those cringe-worthy moments. (And I wish I’d had a teacher get me out of PE!)
In fact, I ran into someone from my 7th and 8th grade years a few weeks back, and the guy friend that was with me couldn’t believe that I didn’t really talk to her — i.e. see what’s she’s up to, reminisce about old days, etc. This girl wasn’t a “mean girl” or bully, but I also can’t help but remember that she never stood up for me either or made an effort to include me. The fact is, that’s one part of my life that I’d like to forget – and I don’t really like to be around people who remind me of it.
No, you are not the only one. I spent 6th grade in an American school in Argentina, where I knew NO ONE – I had started late (October) on top of that, too, so that was even worse. Everyone else had already made their friends, so I was out of the loop. I spent my extra time in the library whenever I could, so most of that year is a fog.
7th grade was in a different country – Venezuela – and while, again, everyone already knew each other, I started to make friends. Only, I had a crush on a boy in my class, which I wrote about in my diary. During a sleepover the summer between 7th and 8th grade, one of the girls in the 6th-going-on-7th grade class read my diary – and then told everyone in the whole school about it (it was a small school – my 7th grade class had 8 students; my 8th grade class had 6).
I spent that whole next year pretending that I didn’t have a crush on a boy – which was helped by the fact that he wanted nothing to do with me, and when we moved again so that I was in the U.S. in 9th grade, I pretty much didn’t care if I ever went back to school.
So, no, you are not alone in having memories of junior high as torture, and honestly, while I know some people have the fondest memories of their junior high/high school years, my life has not been any worse – and in fact, in some ways, it’s been better – because I left all of that behind me. Besides. Most everyone survives junior high – and some even grow up after it’s over.
Nope. I’m in that club too. And just when I think it doesn’t bother me at all and I’m a well-adjusted grown-up I’ll come across a situation that makes me feel just like I did in Junior High (or early parts of High School for that matter)–awkward and ugly, uncoordinated and uncool. But thankfully, it’s just for a moment.
I have been reading your blog for a few years, and generally I’m not the kind of person who comments on blogs, but this really struck a chord with me.
Although I wasn’t the new kid that year, my 8th grade year was particularly horrendous, socially. Academically, that was the only year in which I received straight As (and A-minuses).
But, being a military brat, I was frequently the new kid, and I spent all of high school with very few true friends. The only things that helped me cope were my family (who loved me no matter what), and my church (though church kids aren’t always that nice either…). But I definitely still feel the pain of being the odd person out and pretending I didn’t care. I guess I was a pretty good actress, if nothing else… : )
Thanks for this post!
Oh boy do I vividly remember middle school, and it’s not an experience I would repeat for any amount of money. I was a skinny, bony, brace-faced, frizzy-haired, four-eyed mess. Even though I’ve since discovered hair products, contacts, and post-thirty weight gain, some part of me will always look in the mirror and see that poor girl who was tortured on a daily basis. Now I have a daughter in the 6th grade and I can’t warn her enough of the perils of middle school….”those girls are MEAN, you don’t understand! You can’t give them ammo!!!!”
I know I should get over it, but somehow I can’t.
Oh boy do I vividly remember middle school, and it’s not an experience I would repeat for any amount of money. I was a skinny, bony, brace-faced, frizzy-haired, four-eyed mess. Even though I’ve since discovered hair products, contacts, and post-thirty weight gain, some part of me will always look in the mirror and see that poor girl who was tortured on a daily basis. Now I have a daughter in the 6th grade and I can’t warn her enough of the perils of middle school….”those girls are MEAN, you don’t understand! You can’t give them ammo!!!!”
I know I should get over it, but somehow I can’t.
I moved, too. I was the new kid over and over and over. In elementary school, I liked it. And I liked it in middle school, too– until all the same things you all are writing about started happening. I didn’t have any elementary school friends to help ease the transition. Or give me directions! (we had this hall way you entered directly in the middle, and I could never tell which way I was supposed to go. Like, for a year! It looked exactly the same both ways!) And I was in an underfunded school district with bitter, mean, or just plain bonkers teachers (or some combo thereof!) I was so tiny, I cam home with bruises from changing classes with 8th graders who regularly ran over me! Add to it home problems, and you’ve got an A1 mess on your hands.
But most of the time, I see it as parallel to the famous quote. Who said it? “Each man has his own personal hell.” Square that for middle school, and you’ll have it about right.
Of course, I still get sick to my stomach when I think about some of those events. I’ve learned now that it can actually be a “trauma response” (which isn’t qualified by how extreme or not the event was; the trauma response is how your body reacts to it: adrenaline going up, etc).
All the shudder-worthy events I can reason my way out of and love myself for, I do. (Do any of you with tough middle school experiences find you are extraordinarily compassionate now?) And then things that still give me cold chills or make me feel ill…well, I’ll just live with those, figuring we all get ‘em. (Dear Universe: I’m open to other solutions!
UGH. Junior High was miserable for me. I had two friends — who were twins, so really, I had one friend. I would have had an easier life, I suppose had I made the call my “best friend” asked me to in the summer after sixth grade. It was to the MOST POPULAR girl in class. And I was supposed to ask her to be friends with us?! Oh, the humiliation.
I couldn’t do it. My BFF went popular, forgot about me, and I went to sitting alone at lunch.
For what it’s worth, when I made cheerleading some four years later — based on my talents NOT on my popularity… FINALLY — EVERYONE wanted to be my friend.
No. Thank. You.
you’re brave for reliving this torture. I still fuss about my hair because of how I was called Medusa/poodle constantly.
You are absolutely not the only one. I was very shy and very awkward, so it took a lot of guts for me to tell the female bully in 8th grade to leave someone else alone. I will never forget the tone of her voice when she called me flat chested in front of everyone at the lunch table.
Ugh, junior high. I remember it being such a lonely, lonely time despite that fact that I went to a small school (44 in my graduating class). I always felt out of the loop because of my Payless shoes, one pair of jeans, and hand-me-downs from a much older cousin, and hopeless awkwardness. But when I talk to friends about it they all think I’m crazy–”No, we were friends. Don’t you remember we spent the night at each other’s houses all the time?” Or, “No, we always had fun in science.” But despite their assurances I live in dread of my own children starting jr. high.
Ugh. You couldn’t pay me to go back to junior high, not even for a day. And high school wasn’t any better. In my early 20′s I finally realized that everyone was a little bit geeky growing up… apparently some people hid it better than others. I couldn’t wait to graduate and move far far away. Thank goodness for new beginnings.
wow! you haven’t made me actually cry in quite awhile… jr high wasn’t bad (though i spent most of it masquerading a boy…nobody cares how a boy dresses…and they get to wander around without anyone noticing them) but high school was a nightmare…. when my first love passed away a few years ago, an old “friend” showed up where I worked to make sure that I knew of his passing…. I asked why she didn’t show up at his service if she cared so much… I’ve said before that the bitches in our lives when they are young hag out early… she was a prime example… it’s the uglyness showing up.. it can only stay hidden for a short time… also… I believe that the horrible people in my young life made me the empathetic warm human person that I am… as they did for you. Life makes the strong into good people and the weak into bullies
I hated Junior High. I hated High School. It was all much better in HS once I told them I could graduate tomorrow and it wouldn’t bother me a bit if I never saw them again. I still cringe when I think of certain people. I still feel that the mental scars I had from them are affecting me today. I had great friends in elementary school who dropped me in Jr High and then just used me. Everyone wanted to work with me on group projects-I was the smart one. Still today I feel used by so many people and that I’m slightly socially awkward-but when anyone needs anything-I’m still the one they call.
BTW I’m happy you found someone. Maybe someday I will too.
If you figure out how to move on, please let me know – I’m still working on it 20 years later myself? Junior high and high school were the worst 6 years of my life and I fight those demons every day at work, at the running club, at my apartment manager’s office – do they like me? am I skinny enough? do my glasses make me look ugly today? am I funny enough? am I smart enough? why wasn’t I popular enough? how come I never had that too skinny phase, only the too fat phase?
Thank goodness for teachers that can see that and for the little bit of respite that they can provide in what is otherwise torture. I still want to cry when I think about those years.
I too have some horrid memories of Jr. High (and High School for that matter!), yet somehow I decided to become a 7th grade teacher! It’s sad to watch them all go through such misery, and I try to reassure them that they’ll make it through…and then I cringe because I know it totally sucks. I must say, I see everyday that the kids who make fun of others are having an equal amount of misery in other ways even if they’d never admit it to anyone else.
Oh My!
First day of 7th grade at Bancroft Junior High: fell down a flight of steps during passing period. It just got worse after that. Completely consumed with thoughts that I could not be cool enough or say things in witty way that would make a group laugh or admire me and invite me to be a part of their circle.
That school closed and we got transferred to another school, and the girls there were SCARY in the locker room before and after gym class..making fun of you or hassling you about whether you were looking at them while they changed..making fun of whatever cheapa$$ clothes my mom would give me money to get. Pretty sure I was going to get beat to crap eventually. I changed over to JROTC after a year of that…couldn’t hang with the stinky polyester onesie-type gym suit or the harassment. Those girls were still around but in smaller doses, since they didn’t take the same classes that I did.
The funny thing is, I was a good student, reasonably pretty and a size two in eighth grade. Mostly the monsters of my own insecurities and fears had already gotten the best of me, so those girls had no trouble helping me to feel worse about how I looked, how I spoke, whether I wore makeup or not, if I had the coolest stuff…whatever.
I appreciate the comment about wanting to go back in time and give that girl a hug.
I guess I’m pretty happy now in my own insecure, dorky way. I mean the insecurity and sef-doubt are there sometimes but after finding friends who know what love is (i.e. accepting someone *exactly* as they are), I have learned to be myself a little more and to let people see me for who I am.
The gawky girl grew up, but you can’t get rid of dorky