My 20th high school reunion is in a couple of weeks.
{yes, I'm THAT old!}
It took me a while (until yesterday actually!) to decide to go.
I'm not too busy.
I'm not too boring.
I'm not a snob.
I'm just scared.
That probably sounds ridiculous but it's the truth.
I'm going to let you in on a secret:
When I mentioned on Facebook that I was nervous
about my reunion, I received several messages from
concerned friends and family.
I know there isn't anything to be physically afraid of.
I just have some baggage.
Here's my S.A.D. story:
“Hey! I got it! Let’s say, ‘Come back here and sit with us!’ and
when she does we’ll all get up and run!” I was walking next to the bus parked
outside of the junior high school and I could hear every word that the kids on
the bus were saying. They all laughed at the idea they had come up with that
day and excitedly discussed their strategy until I stepped onto the bus. When
they realized how close I had been during their planning it became silent and I
took my usual seat at the front of the bus. I don’t know why that particular
day, so many years ago, stands out in my mind. Maybe it’s because I knew two of
the kids so well; one had been a very good friend of mine a few years earlier
and the other one lived near me. I also don’t know what it was about me that
was so funny to them but they enjoyed coming up with new ways to make me look
or feel stupid.
I used to have friends.
I can remember in fourth grade being called into the principal’s office to talk
with him about being a “peer leader.” I was happy and confident. I loved to
sing and dance and be on stage. But in fifth grade I was in a classroom without
any of my friends from the previous year. I also had a teacher that was a
little impatient with my math skills and we started having parent-teacher
conferences during lunchtime to discuss my grades. It became a joke among some
of my classmates but I still had a few friends. Things improved only slightly
in sixth grade.
There were one or two people in
junior high that I considered my friends but other than that I went through
those years alone. I knew I wasn’t the best dressed girl on campus but I didn’t
think I was ugly and I didn’t have a weight problem or any of the other
physical features that usually draw negative attention from emotional bullies.
It didn’t seem to matter though, I wasn’t part of the popular group at school.
In fact, I wasn’t part of any group.
Things got worse in high school
where I started having conflicts with larger groups, mostly girls, who didn’t
appreciate any attention I sometimes got from a few guys on campus. I had more
than one encounter with these girls that resulted in more than a few bruises. I
often had suicidal thoughts but figured I wouldn’t “do it right” so I never
acted on it. I tried to keep to myself at school but it only proved to make
matters worse as more people got involved. Rumors swirled and festered and I
would hear whispers and name calling and giggles as I’d walk down the halls at
school. I cried myself to sleep a lot during those years.
I became obsessed with perfection; if I was perfect then no one
would have a reason to make fun of me. I spent countless hours exercising,
redoing my hair, and perfecting my makeup to an art. I even practiced my
handwriting over and over until it was flawless. I had a particular place for
everything in my room. I always knew if someone had come in while I was away
because I knew exactly how everything looked when I left it.
By the time I got into college I was
just angry. I developed a hard outer-shell and made it clear that I hated
everyone and didn’t need anyone. I never had any altercations at college but I
did have a reputation for a bad mouth and attitude to match. I had a few
friends my first year of college, mostly because my mom was praying for me and
the Lord blessed me with a roommate that became my best friend. Not many people
there knew me or my background and I was able to relax and let my guard down a
bit. My second year of college didn’t go as well. I had a new set of roommates
that were trying to grow-up too and I came home after my third semester. I
purposefully left early in the morning without saying goodbye and I didn’t hear from
most of them again.
Being back in my hometown and seeing
a few familiar faces brought back feelings I thought I had outgrown. Still haunted
by painful memories, I tried to stay out of sight to avoid situations that
might provoke a verbal or physical attack. It came to the point where I would only leave my house to go to the post
office. Social Anxiety Disorder was still in its early stages of diagnosis. I
never talked with a doctor about my social phobias so I went untreated.
My parents were aware of my struggles and tried to help in any way
they could. I remember a time when my dad and I went to pick up one of our cars
that had been left at work overnight. Someone knew it belonged to my family and
had written crude and degrading things about me all over it. I still remember
the look on my dad’s face when he saw the tears running down my cheeks. When we
got home, he helped me fix some things in my room. My parents were always on my
side, even when they had to deal with some of the unpleasant remarks or
suggestions from misinformed people.
I went to church with my family but
always kept to myself. At the invitation of my high school seminary teacher I
started attending institute classes. He had been my friend and confidant all
through high school and had written to me periodically during college. Soon, my
stake president was calling me on a weekly basis, just to see how I was doing.
My bishop met with me often and lent me books to study with my scriptures. I
was slowly regaining some of the spiritual ground I had lost over the years and
soon accepted a calling in the Primary organization. I also began working on a
volunteer basis as a part-time secretary at the seminary building.
I still didn’t have many friends but
I had grown to like it better that way. I read and re-read books written by
prophets and apostles and prayed to be a better person. Around this time, I was
blessed to meet the man I eventually married. He was with me from the early
stages of learning how to deal with my anxieties. He could make me laugh when I
needed it and would listen to me when I needed to cry.
Several months passed and my
boyfriend left to serve a mission for our church. As a child, I had always
wanted to be a missionary but, due to my anxieties, I thought it was out of my
reach. I talked with the stake president about my desires and concerns and he
encouraged me to begin mission preparations. My mission call didn’t come for
several weeks and my family and I were worried that something was wrong. It
turned out that my social phobias and anxieties were a big cause for concern.
My stake president assured the area president of my willingness to serve and I
was soon allowed to go. However, it was on a “one strike” basis: if I had even one
panic attack or an anxiety episode I would be sent home, no questions asked. My
parents and I agreed to the terms and two months later they drove me to the MTC
in Provo, Utah.
I served a complete and successful mission.
It has been many years since I
returned from my mission. I married my Sweetheart in the Mesa, Arizona LDS Temple
and we have a beautiful family. I have served in several callings in the church
and have had employment in different areas of industry. I go to the store, I take
classes, and attend church like anyone else. On all outward appearances, I’m a
perfectly normal wife and mother just going through my daily routine. My
children are sweet and friendly, my husband is loving and patient and I’ve
discovered a few things about myself that I actually like. But a few fears
still remain.
I still get nervous meeting new people,
especially if they want to get to know me. I tell myself to give only the
minimum information necessary and end the conversation as soon as possible. In
my head I imagine that people think I am dumb or embarrassing. When I do say
something that I feel is stupid, I have to force myself to stay there and not
run out of the room crying. I constantly go over conversations again and again
in my mind to train myself to stay quiet. I feel okay in large groups of people
because I can disappear but I get nauseous in small groups. I agonize for days
before big events: I make sure I wear just the right clothes, that every hair is
in place, and my make-up is picture-perfect. I hate making mistakes. Big events
are difficult for me to get through without silently badgering
myself about something I said or did.
There are still very few people I
consider close friends, most of which are my own family. However, I can
honestly say that I am grateful for the things I’ve learned through all of
this. I’ve learned how to forgive. I’ve learned to be the first one to say “Hi”
to someone whose head is hanging down. I’ve learned to help others when they
are in need. I’ve even had the opportunity to help the families of two of the
individuals whose words and actions were so cruel years ago. I’ve learned that
my Heavenly Father is aware of me, personally, and knows my needs and will send
help when necessary. Most of all, I’ve
learned that the Atonement of Jesus Christ is not just for the sinner but for
the sinned-against. This quote has carried me: “When disappointment and discouragement
strike, you remember and never forget that if our eyes could be opened we would
see horses and chariots of fire as far as the eye can see, riding at reckless
speed to come to our protection. They will always be there, these armies of
heaven, in defense of Abraham’s seed.” - Jeffery R. Holland
So that's it.
That's me.
Even as I'm hesitating to hit "publish" because
I'm so nervous, this is who I am.
I'll let you know how the reunion goes. =)
