Being645 wrote:Schools should rather see to long-time bullied and isolated kids. Things like this do not happen out of nothing.
I just had a lengthy conversation with my neuropsychologist this morning about the horrific events that took place here in Connecticut last Friday. I asked for her opinion regarding the wisdom (or the potential lack thereof) of my "coming out," as it were (borrowing the phrase from another maligned group), in light of the unfathomable tragedy that unfolded an hour's drive from where I live. She asked for my reasoning behind my desire to "come out," and I told her that it was because I finally felt validated and vindicated, and at peace with something that I'd suspected for years.
I was bullied relentlessly - often daily - as a child, from the moment I entered school at age 4. First, it was because of my "excessive" female height…then it was for the height, combined with chronic and very serious childhood asthma…then, when I was around 9, and was invited into the town's program for intellectually gifted students, it was the height, the asthma, and the giftedness.
Throughout my childhood, though, there was also an underlying current of "difference" that my mom explained away as owing to the fact that I was, intellectually, far above my same-age "peer" group, and thus couldn't possibly be expected to relate to them. This was partially true, but it didn't explain the sensory issues (I shudder at fluorescent lighting, scratchy clothing, sharp/screechy/sudden/very loud noises/being touched or grabbed unexpectedly/crowds; I can't multi-task, in that if I'm reading something, I can't simultaneously register someone's conversation, etc.) the lack of social reciprocity (I had no real desire to interact with other kids; when I did, I was inevitably "run off on" by the other girls during recess, left alone to wander aimlessly on the playground or to head back indoors to hang out with the teacher), the "gullibility" and naiveté (I refused to lie and cover-up other kids' misbehavior, so I was branded a "tattle-tale"), the rigidity of thought and reasoning, the "mind-blindness" (I remember prefacing my one-sided discussions with other kids with "Well, *everybody* knows that [blahblahblah]…" Obviously, everybody did
not know.
), the fact that I could read at the age of 3 and was also hyperlexic, the sometimes-inappropriate behavior (showing my X-rated drawings to my much-younger cousins, because I was obsessed with everything sexual at the age of 9 - still am!
), the visual thinking, the inability to read body language, and the rest of the "abnormal" brain "wiring" issues that I continue to deal with daily.
As I entered middle school (age 13), new insults emerged - weirdo, oddball, zombie, robot. Lacking the means to defend myself against the other kids' verbal (and sometimes physical) assaults, I recoiled in shock and disbelief, looking, like Mr. Spock, for a rational explanation for others' irrational actions. Hell, I didn't even *know* most of the students who so comfortably hurled their verbal venom at me in school hallways, lunchrooms, libraries, girls' toilets, and the like. Suffering from extreme social anxiety, partially due to genetics and home life (nature/nurture), and partially due to the constant bullying and teasing, I was essentially mute while in school; I dreaded any additional attention being drawn to myself.
Sadly, there was no safe haven to be found even among the adults I encountered. They, too, frequently tossed hateful and ignorant remarks my way, and seemed to take sadistic pleasure in singling me out in front of classrooms full of mocking peers, taking me to task for everything from my palpable terror and lack of eye contact while speaking in front of groups, to my inability to keep up with classmates during forced calisthenics/lap running in phys.ed.
I became a target for others' hostility wherever I went, so the only place that was "safe" was home (with Mom). Only home wasn't safe, either, because my own dad treated me - and still does - nearly as badly as the hate mongers at school and in the general populace. My anxiety- and depression-fueled "meltdowns" (over my frustrating inability to understand certain maths, transferring to a new school at age 14, an impending driving test, and the like, over the years) enraged and disgusted my father. Rather than getting me the professional help that I so desperately needed, he launched into violent tirades directed at my mother (my hero, shield, champion, cheerleader, best friend, confidante, soul mate, and only real connection to other people) and me, culminating in his repeated insistence that I be institutionalized. He wanted me out of his house, and out of his sight. Naturally, my mother begged to differ. The ensuing nightmarish battles between my parents raged on for as long as Mom lived.
Like most bullied kids, I turned others' vitriol
inward, not outward. By the time I entered my second year of high school, I'd gone from earning excellent grades in my Honors/Advanced Placement (college-level) courses, to receiving humiliating test and year-end scores. Not one guidance counselor ever intervened; none of my teachers ever had the wherewithal to discuss any of this with Mom (Dad wanted nothing to do with me, and never even came to my defense during bullying cases that should've been taken to court - but I digress). Basically, I had given up.
By the time I reached 16, I desperately wanted to die. I had no hope that the future would hold anything but more misery, and I'd already had more than my fair share. I actually began planning the steps I'd take to off myself, hiding bottles of pain pills in my bedroom closet. I'll spare you the boring details, but, suffice it to say, if I hadn't had the saint/angel mother that I did, I wouldn't be here right now. I owed it to my mom to stay alive, because I knew that killing myself would kill her in the most brutal manner imaginable. So I chose to suffer, instead.
I still suffer, and probably always will. I'm still a target wherever I go - namely because, at 6'1", I can't hide, and because my social interaction "differences" become readily apparent when I'm overwhelmed, exhausted, sad, stressed-out, angry, or excited. I may always be stuck at 16 emotionally and socially, because there's no way that I'll ever be able to catch up to my same-age "peers." I haven't had the benefit of the social or life experiences that they've taken for granted, and I didn't experience "normal" coming-of-age milestones at societally-approved times. My appearance, behavior, life outlook, and attire are generally viewed as juvenile and unsophisticated. On the flip side, though, at the ripe old age of 44, I'm regularly assumed to be 28-32 by those who don't know me, so perhaps there's a tiny glimmer of a silver lining in all of this darkness.
Thankfully, I have caring siblings and supportive mental health professionals in my corner. I've got a lot of tough and daunting work ahead of me - committing to ongoing (and very expensive) counseling for my often-debilitating existential depression and anxiety, continuing to develop my social skills (I always wonder how I seemed to you lot during that awesome HL meetup back in August 2007..?), adding some flexibility to my "black-and-white" thinking patterns, working on my inability to cope well with situations over which I have no control, resisting the urge to vegetate in solitude while wallowing in self-pity and self-loathing, relaxing my intolerance of others' rampant stupidity and ignorance, letting go of self-destructive thoughts and thought patterns, setting manageable and realistic career/life goals, and the like.
*I* know that I'm intellectually superior to the vast majority of the populace, and so, when I'm dealing with difficult people, I'm able to consider the source and find it laughably lacking. I no longer care what "commoners" think of me, because they've proven time and again that their opinions are uneducated, illogical, without merit, and pretty much worthless. I work daily on finding reasons to be grateful (even though I still see my future as rather hopeless, and human life, in the grand scheme of things, as meaningless).
Though I intellectualize, rather than "feel" many emotions, and don't empathize with other people and their experiences the way "normally-wired" folks do, I'm not dangerous, I'm not a monster, I'm certainly not a criminal, and I don't fantasize about gunning down the ignorant, bigoted, lemming-like segment of the population that considers me a freak. I don't need to be locked up, because, contrary to what some folks would like to believe, I'm not crazy. I'm simply a Mensa-bright, often (I'm told, anyway) very funny, witty, sarcastic, brooding, childlike, thoughtful, loving, fiercely-loyal, introverted, angry, opinionated, stubborn, sometimes-charming, girl who happens to have Asperger Syndrome. Pleased to meetcha!
Now, if only I could get back to my own planet, where they know me well and don't mind that I'm an alien…
