Crystallically Me

Hello there~ Pleasure to meet you darling! My name is Crystal, lovely name right? I couldn’t stand it for the longest time, honestly. I mean, the name of a stone? Sure it’s a beautiful gem, but… Did you know that you can forcibly change the color? Yup! It’s science, you need some dye, a torch and patience. But drop the heated crystal in the dye and it’ll drink it up. Though my story is just one of the dime a dozen out there~ I was harassed and degraded into a corner until I wouldn’t show my own color, I was a crystal that hid in the dark; easy enough to mix me up with onyx at that point, ne? I’ll bring you a little bit into my past for how I fell so deeply into the dark, and what finally broke me out of my geode~ I’ll attempt to spare you the puns (no promises!)

From a young age I’ve grown up in a very loving family, my grandfather and his other children were very financially healthy and I was a bit spoiled. Even so I was not one to brag about it, I shared where I could, but I was also bullied in school for it. I was considered a classroom pencil case, I was a supply shed and not really a friend. That was fine, I had books, notepads and stuffed animals. I would eat lunch and play alone, the fact I was alone was obviously a target for those who needed a vent. I would be bullied, pushed up stairs, locked in rooms, a restroom stall kicked open, glue in the hair and such. Even so I would keep my head down, I didn’t really fight back, it wasn’t worth it. I learned to hide my tears and my woes early. I had very active parents in the PTA and such, so if I spoke up the harassment worsened. So I suffered in silence as many did, I suffered through the worsening harassment when I missed school due to legalities. I was raped by a neighbor, who got away with a restraining order after having a lawyer, a sixteen year old with a lawyer against an eleven year old, good times. So I slowly lost the sparkle of happiness I had, why bother trying so hard when it only incites harassment.

Before I entered middle school I withdrew from my friends, there were really only two. One was super close to me, going to a different school; she cut me off completely the following year. The other went to the same middle school as me… We were really close. She was an Angel like her name implied, yet when that summer came I saw… She, like the others, only wanted to be friends with me for stuff, the fancy gifts or things she’d borrow and never return. So I cut her off as well, I was completely alone then, and I started to suffer from anxiety. My writing turned morbid and my fashion turned conservative and dark, no longer flowy and free. Repression was strengthening, they wouldn’t see me cry and wouldn’t hear me scream. I entered the online world, interactive sites, forums, games and the internet became my solace.

That made the next event happen so easily, before my seventh year of school concluded… I was kidnapped by my own mother. I suffered physical and mental abuse so severe and intensive, even now I cringe in certain situations. I cannot stay in a white room, or an enclosed space. I couldn’t be around men, especially men taller than me. Oatmeal to this day makes me sick and I cannot easily say ‘I love you’ anymore. I went from an honors ‘A’ student to a barely passing student with no drive. I missed so much school it wasn’t certain I would advance, and I shuffled schools so often the curriculum was impossible to follow. I was banned from any activities, marked a pathological liar, put on suicide watch, forced onto psychotic medications that nearly killed me, went from homeless to a shelter, to living in the same room as two half-brothers who added to my trauma. Both older than me, I was twelve one was fourteen the other sixteen.

I developed insomnia and my PTSD worsened, I would jump at the sound of doors closing. I was cut off from the world, no computer or phone usage allowed; I couldn’t even use Google for schoolwork. I was constantly locked in rooms, closets or monitored so I wouldn’t run away and try to walk over thirty miles to get home. I wasn’t allowed to lock the bathroom door, or have any privacy whatsoever. I would sleep in short spurts and often mentally shut down. Most of the times I slept for more than three hours, I was in drugged induced sleep. My half brothers would watch very explicit television when we were home alone and I learned around then I had no interest in either gender. Around then I started seeing humans as cancerous and wondered was there truly a purpose to our existence? Was there some great goal, or were we just destined to satisfy such vulgar desires and perish. Very dark, less crystal, more onyx. Perhaps not even a gem, just a pebble on the road or used coal.

Half a year and a few weeks later my father won against all odds and brought me home. A single blind man, charged with alleged domestic violence and negligence won. My father went through hell and high water, and brought me home. I was beaten, I was bruised, my long curly hair which I loved was sheared off, if not torn from my skull in patches. Everything I loved that my mother had taken was pawned or broken, I had nothing, my heart was in pieces. When they came out of the courtroom, I didn’t want to get them in trouble. When my grandmother asked me if I wanted to go home, I backed up a bit and stood near the bailiff “I can’t go with you… I’m not allowed to…” Those words choked up the bailiff, my family and even the lawyer present. I remember my grandmother trying not to cry and my heart sinking, wondering if this was it.

The lawyer came over and said “It’s all over now Crystal, you can go home with your grandmother and father. My grandmother hugged me so tightly I was surprised, she was so tiny and weak, but her hug actually hurt. I didn’t care it was pressing all my bruises, I cried for the first time in a year and hugged my grandmother, grandfather and my dad. We were escorted by the police to get what few belongings I had and I never looked back. Those half-brothers who tried to take my life, are no longer in it. I attempted to reconcile with my mother… Now my biggest stalker, she stopped showing up to visitations, wanted nothing to do with me. Treated me like a bank, a therapist and never looked at me like a daughter. When I was eighteen I turned away, I told her how I felt and she started crying. Her fiance took her phone, strung together profanities that echo through my mind even now and even today she wonders why I won’t return her calls.

I entered the exclusive vocational school near me with a lot of effort after somehow fixing my grades in one year. I was a low honors student again, passing everything to a degree. I was dark, but I wasn’t alone anymore. I met one of my best friends when I was at my darkest, she approached me and ignored my rebuffs. Even now I remember how we met. We were in the gymnasium waiting for an assembly, and she saw some pins on my bag; skelanimals. “Do you like cats?” I looked at her confused as she was talking to me and nodded. She started telling me a story of how impressive her cat was, it could open the door with it’s paw. To which the cynical eighth grade me responded “Oh really? A lot of cats can do that, mine started when she was a kitten.” After a few more attempts we did start talking a little, but it took a bit for us to talk more. We were together in a class and that was reassuring, I didn’t share classes with many people during my four years of high school, I was still slightly ostracized as a freshman, as a sophomore I started brightening up, and challenging the norms.

I became infamous, and I opened myself up to being a target. I started coloring my hair, I would wear vibrant clothing, cat ears, goggles; there wasn’t a person in that school who didn’t know me by the end of that year. If I was going to be bullied, I would at least take the attention off of the mismash of people around me. We formed a clique that was super inclusive, we had the thespians, the nerds, jocks, preps, punks, divas and a bit more. We interchanged and intertwined with a good portion of the school, and I became notorious after having a rumored ‘death note’ hit list. Oh the story was funny~ I started reciting something in Latin, and my class became convinced I would slaughter people during a power out with scissors? Ah the mind of students~

I met my second best friend around that time, she was both a brilliant student and an athlete. We became friends through a former friend, she actually attempted to strangle me one one of our first interactions. Do not hug people who are in a bad mood, for someone who spreads energy through hugs that was a mess. After talking a week later we actually got along well, we still have some tough love in our friendship, but no strangulation~ Jagged and rough our friendship is nothing short of rocky, but no one to this day doubts it’s strength. One of a handful I am proud to stand beside, I don’t mind showing my translucence, my weakness beside her. A hot headed Taurus who I would gladly lay down my life for, one of my best and truest friends. Through her I’ve made many connections and rediscovered things I enjoyed. A gal who’d rather go to a pen shop than a dress store, a Dick’s over Victoria’s any day, it’s never dull and when you’ve lost all muse it’s the best remedy. For someone dyed so darkly they’ve lost their true sheen it’s the best remedy to be close to one who is so honestly radiant in their own right.

It was a combination of those two friends that brought me out of my shell. My third best friend shattered the remainder when he came into the picture, even though we were like abandoned young pups when we met. We grew to be a soul bound friend pair, you see neither of us was exactly used to kindness coming our way. We lived in shadows and silence, danced in the enjoyment of our hobbies secretly, opening up scarcely and never much; cutting off our tails when someone got too overwhelming. He and I took years to warm up entirely, we coexisted and interacted perfectly the scarce times we met, yet the interactions ceased as soon as an event would end; A convention, a birthday party or anything simple. We didn’t risk going beyond that, timid and timed. Once the final bars fell we became fast friends, though even now I wonder what gem I would describe him as. If the friend who introduced us is Rose Quartz, my second friend is certainly one I would say shines like tourmaline, it would make me hesitate a lot to title him. I would call him moissanite, he is rare, pure and radiant as a diamond when you get past his shell. The pure raw interactions we had, the simple talks to the convoluted ones gave me wings.

I have entered the workforce and watched companies rise and fall, been in positions to provide services and products. Had lives in my hands and watched as the months flew by. When the three of them finally helped me cut away the doubts they gave me the courage to step forward.

“Face every day with a smile, it doesn’t matter how heavy it gets; a smile invites happiness.” A sentence I started following from senior year. “Dare to be different, we aren’t all the same” was the slogan I lived by. When asked for a word I want to represent, my choice was “Inspire.” You see if I was to open up, to tell my tale, I aim to inspire change. I want to be a success story, not one defined by my scars, the horrors and skeletons that I carry with me to this day. My heart may never beat full properly, and I may have moments of pure terror from something as simple as a long white hallway that has doors that could conceal people I will never see again. However, knowing that behind me I have strength, I have those I love unconditionally who know how strongly I feel no matter how feebly I say it. They allowed me to pick up my pen, to put down the figurative knife at my throat and move forward.

The black clothes and jeans I don’t care for shelved to be replaced by vibrant skirts, butterfly sleeves and soft scarves. Warm hugs and childish games, hugs and although I still cannot shed tears I have broken the last vestiges of my walls.

After isolation and a career change, I heeded their words. Life is to short. I cut my hair that I was afraid of having too short, donned a flowy outfit I was convinced would never suit me because I was too heavy. I stood proud and went to adventure the town with friends, walking the length of the cities, chatting and ignoring the looks thar probably weren’t even coming my way. I wrote a story about trials and spoke up for someone in a tough situation. I stopped running from myself and I picked up the torch myself. I am my own Crystal, even if when signing I take more steps backwards than I do forwards; If I moonwalk doesn’t it mean I’ve progressed anyways?

I have started standing true, I speak up for myself a little more; I’m no longer a doormat who hides and tries to make myself seem smaller than I am. Standing close to six feet it’s hard to curl into a ball half that size and pray to disappear, and now I see no reason to do that. I’m Crystallically me. I’m going to write my tale. I won’t let the expectations that ‘publication is an elite skill’ stop me, after all how many authors starve to write their works, living a lifestyle poorer than the starving artists; heck even the homeless in Boston have a tent to call their own. I won’t stop, my fingers may bleed and my sleeping hours may decrease to naps with caffeine ruling my veins instead of blood. However my worlds, my words, these images will not be withheld.

My proudest moment was something simple, isn’t it the little things always? Children, they say their words are honest and cruel. Simply being proud and content, in a lapse of time an attempt to exercise and wake up in icy pool water, a girl no older than six deemed me a mermaid. I made her understand the magic of water both through words and merely swimming akin to one of my favorite characters. See everyone swims differently, just as differently as we walk, talk and think. Instead of water breaking movements, every kick and stroke is below water. Very free and pure, sometimes submerging to reappear feet from where I was, fascinated the little one and inspired a new muse even then.

Following my dreams, being true to my true self and aspiring to share and put away the darkness of my Pandora’s box, this is merely one of the first chapters of my tale; the opening Crossroads. I wonder, do you think I’ve showed enough of myself darling? Even if not, this is merely the prologue; a memoir of a glass-ic tale of trigger warning and disclaimer laden truths will paint my truth in vivid technicolor that I cannot contain, the pain and the laughs will be my triumph; bound and bred to lead the hurt into the recovery rooms they so require and open the eyes of those oblivious to the systems behind the scenes.

Even a geode has value, and if it’s not mined properly; is it not the one who failed to explain how to handle the rocks to be blamed? Not the rock for being difficult, or the miner who did their best with vague instructions; the system is and will always be skewed and without the real stories, the real changes may further be delayed. Without words of worlds being passed stories might be lost and such is a sin worse than wrath. So now and in the future, I look forward to welcoming you into my story darling. Won’t you keep us company? We are gemstones in the rough polished into who we are, cut tough by the efforts we've made. Made tougher than those cut out of cookie cutters to appease to the vanity of the elitist few.