At nine years old, I expressed sorrow to my parents at the fact I was not yet an adult. It truly bothered me, like a problem that one knows will not leave because it cannot. Whether I liked it or not, it would be nine more years (or, at the time as I liked to say, “double my life, Mommy!”) before the world would take me seriously.
My frustration led me to an extremely early interest in boys. Everyone at school was still into “crushes,” and even though I still thought being married meant kids, I associated relationships with adulthood and therefore wanted one. It was nearly six years before my first period that I had my first boyfriend.
His name was Cory. The brother of my friend and four years older, he acted as if he were younger than me. Our relationship began on a Saturday afternoon at a horse show. We both rode horses, and that's actually how I met Cory and Amanda's family. I was attracted to him because he was dorky like me and because although he was hyperactive and fun-loving, he was as mature as thirteen year olds can be, and my nine-year-old mind needed at least that.
It was easy to begin dating a friend's brother at nine. Horse shows were our dates. Cory would follow me around wherever I went. He adored me, and I thrived on that. Our relationship was kept quiet from both sets of parents, and quite understandably so. Although the parents on both sides knew we had some sort of crush going on, they actually didn't find out about our relationship (at least, my parents didn't) until after we broke up, nearly four years later.
Cory looked up to me and admired me, and I needed that. I attribute the need to be admired to being a Leo...and, having been born three days before me on July 21, Cory was a Cancer. Our young and innocent relationship lasted four years because we were truly compatible and also completely serious about ourselves. I was like a fifteen year old in a nine year old's body, and he was thirteen going on nine.
My first kiss was one of the most frightening moments of my life. Cory and I sat on his family's swingset in their backyard, waiting to be “married” by his sister, Amanda. She kept getting annoyed with Cory because he was embarrassed and nervous and continued to make corny jokes to make us laugh. I was nearly nauseas with nerves, and when she said Cory could kiss his bride, I nearly threw up. The kiss was quick and wet, and I remember shaking with disgust at the feeling of so much spit. I hadn't yet been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (because of this disorder I am disgusted by exchanging spit through foods, drinks, sharing eating utensils, and sometimes kisses, depending), so my mind was disappointed when I thought that perhaps I wasn't ready for a relationship because I hadn't enjoyed it.
I wiped off my lips, rubbed the spit on my jeans, and later wondered if my parents could smell it on me.
Cory and I broke up mostly because his family made horse shows less and less of a priority as time went on, and since our parents never knew about our relationship, we never called one another in fear that they would find out after so many years of deceit. We never truly broke up, and Amanda and I eventually went our separate ways. I refused to even think about dating another boy, though, until I was sure that Cory had moved on. After I found out he had expressed interest in someone else, I opened my eyes once again, asking out two different boys in middle school. One boy said he was waiting for a girl in high school (whatever that meant), and the other agreed to go out with me, only for the relationship to be cut short by my removal from the school.
Our Lady of Lourdes—the school I had been at since kindergarten—was open for kids up to eighth grade, and it had always been assumed that I would continue going there. After my brother left because of his need for an IEP that the school didn't support, I became antsy, wanting to leave as well. I hated uniforms. Most of my clothing consisted of bright colors and ridiculous shapes, and the dull navy blue uniforms at Lourdes did not allow that.
To this day, I cannot stand navy blue.
My parents finally agreed to let me start at a new school. Amanda, Cory's sister and my current best friend, would start going to the brand new and currently-being-constructed Rapid Run Middle School. If I went to the school starting in sixth grade, I would go down in history as having attended the first class to go through the school for all three years.
The school was being constructed right down the street from Amanda's house, and one day her mom, Amanda, and I took a walk to go see it. It had rained the day before, and puddles dotted the muddy construction landscape. I admired the size of the school, and I remembered thinking it signified a fresh start. I expressed my hope to Amanda and her mother that I could get my parents to agree with me and I would get to go to the school.
Looking back at my hope to go to Rapid Run is so ironic. It is the one building that strikes a fear so deep within me even now, as a grown adult. I shake when I even begin to think of it, and although I have often thought about visiting the wide halls with the red lockers once more just to overcome my fear and anxiety of the place, part of me wants to forget it exists.
That very school nearly cost me my life. It is where I was singled out, ridiculed, had things thrown at me, screamed at me, taunted at me. That cafeteria is my own personal hell, one that has proven to me in my past that kids will stop at nothing to kill someone who is different, individualistic. Thinking of Rapid Run Middle School brings back memories of sneers, taunts, cruel words, cries of agony and homemade nooses.
I had no idea on that day, when I was so hopeful and excited, that depending on my actions, Rapid Run Middle School would either kill me or simply wound me for life.
I cordially invite you to my personal hell.
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