Always The New Kid

You would think that having to move every three or four years or so, would somehow help me manage my social anxiety, and just my general weird, but no.

My biological mother was a single mother, most of the time.

My biological father is a malignant narcissist, so I eventually understood her need for sudden change, and constant attention. I grew to understand that her instability wasn't necessarily because of me.

For whatever reason, her own family had always forced her to work for their love. Which in turn made her find love in other places, like in men, or in multiple careers.

Each time she would fall in love, it was the love of her life, and we'd move. With each new career, would come a new home, new experiences, and a new move.

I grasped that this was my reality, and the full weight of it by the time I was six years old. I knew I was different.

Up until this point, I had lived in a microscopic East Texas, lumber town. At first glance, there didn't seem to be much of a town at all. A sonic, the local library, and three schools. A primary school, the jr. high and the one and only high school.

Although I wasn't born here I assume she moved us, and had me settled early on. Most likely the year before primary school began because I attended first through fourth grade in this quiet, and modest country town.

I wasn’t interested in school very much. At the time I was an undiagnosed child of autism, borderline personality disorder, dyslexia, ADHD, with significant early developmental trauma.

I don't believe there is enough education and support around being a new parent with a child with developmental delays. I did have a teacher in third grade who brought this to the attention of the school, the district, and my family.

Come to think of it, my biological father might not have been the only reason she got out of dodge and moved me into a more dense education system. Where ultimately I would go unseen.

My mother wasn't cruel. At times she was just embarrassed by me, and potentially of me.

She did the best she could, but I remember a narrative being introduced shortly after; that I was sensitive, and needed a reality check. That I was unable to hold, and maintain eye contact, so the conclusion was at nine years of age I had a problem with authority, and structure. I had an over active imagination that would take me places, and a problem with asking too many unrelated questions. That since I seemed to ask so many questions in general, there must be an issue with me retaining information.

So I had a firm grasp that I was different, difficult, that I might not be as capable as those around me, and apparently just really odd.

We had just moved, settled maybe two weeks, and now we’re meeting the teacher. Which made my stomach churn, and tumble even more than being the new kid. Summer was almost over, and my nightmare was becoming concrete. I was going to be the new kid, again.

I wanted to go home; to my teeny-tiny school. Where I knew my teachers, and the nice front office ladies, where my councilor checked in on me daily, and always made sure to see me on Fridays before the weekend, and Mondays after. I wanted the wood gym, where the top layer was this thick clear coating to protect the old wood basketball court below.

We’d gather in the gym each morning before school, I would be dropped off right out front, and walk to my spot where there was a little circle of this lacquered missing. Just the size of my index finger. I was missing what I had associated in my own mind, to be normal. I wanted to desperately be normal. Not just the new weird girl, not the out of city transfer, not the weird kid who only gets spoken to when parents force their children to come and say high to me.

I just want to be normal.

Now, I’m beginning fifth grade. In a much more affluent, diverse, and growing suburb of Dallas, Texas.

An entirely different universe as far as I was concerned. There was a mall, but in the town. Not like twenty or thirty minutes away in the quote “bigger town” but a mall inside the city limits. It had a fucking carousel. I remember seeing it for the first time, loosing my mind over the plastic unicorns, horses, bears in different ribbons, colors, and shapes. And just to show how out of touch, and sheltered I really was; I about lost my damn mind when I saw a "Chilis Restaurant" in said mall.

Boom, endorphins' coursing though my blood stream.

"I could get use to this."

I quietly whispered to myself. I couldn't dare give away my position though. I couldn't dare let on that I might be having a great time throughout this sudden life change.

Seeing the school for the first time was bizarre because like me it was really new. I had never really been inside a new school before. Freshly painted light yellow walls that drew you in, and made you feel all cozy. Cool lilac colors, and shades of plum to make you feel peaceful. Walls of windows that let in an impressive amount of light, and a huge library with brand new books their spines still intact.

My stomach gurgled as we approached the greeting hall of my new school. I couldn't discern if I was more nervous or quite the opposite, excited!

In every direction there were colorful hallways for each grade, with a group of teachers, their own computer lab, and a bathroom within each central "hub" it was like nothing I had ever seen before. The greeting hall, was were we would have lunch, attend assemblies, and gather. There was a large stage with enormous curtains like at a movie theater.

There was a single podium, where a tall really young girl stood. Behind her were two rows of chairs containing six blue cushioned seats, on either side of her. She spoke clearly into the microphone.

"Good evening parents and future students of fifth grade, we are so pleased to have you all here tonight to get better acquainted before we begin school in a few weeks. This is our greeting hall, where after drop-off your child will gather before first bell. Or for our fifth grade class we call it morning madness."

Morning madness?

My hand shot up, as soon as my arm extended my mouth opened.

“What is morning madness!?”

I projected across the room, over the hoard of adults in front of me scrambling to find a seat. Their eyes turned sharply towards me, and pierced my confidence in my question. The young women hesitated at first, and quickly responded with a simple sarcastic smile. I had seen those before, in my dads' girlfriend when she was pretending to be nice.

Once more, she tapped the microphone.

"Great question!" she shot one last glance directly into my soul. She forced a smile through her canines, gritted her teeth and began projecting to the crowd in the most nasally, and over enthusiastic squeaky voice.

“What is morning madness? What a great question! Typically we tend to see a change in our fifth graders. They want to explore, and have unending questions on their experience. We are also seeing a lot of emotion, and feelings! Morning madness is a way to start out the day with good positive vibes or let out that excess energy through art or gym! After drop-off each child will come to sit until first bell, or 'morning madness' for the big kids. All fifth graders will have art, electives and gym early on to ensure the best results for education, and retention throughout the day.”

My mother snatched my hand out of the air, and squeezed it until my index finger, and pinky finger curled over, and touched. I quickly looked down, and stumbled into a seat next to her. She just rolled her eyes, and mouthed a silent apology in my behalf. She did this often. As if I couldn’t ask questions at an open house. Please.

But now she would considered this a scene, I am sure of it. For the remainder of the assembly I just sat there quietly not existing.

Principals, teachers, and staff rolled through claimed their chairs, and took their turn at the podium. I am sure I was suppose to be paying attention, but I was anxious. I had just exposed myself, now people are going to know for sure, that I am weird, I won't make friends, and I am not normal.

As the assembly ended, I noticed the sun was setting, it was beautiful coming through the windows, and I just got sidetracked. My mother shook me into consciousness, and expressed her distaste.

“Don't be smart tonight. These people are my collogues, and I wont have you embarrassing me. You better be on your best behavior."

Her eyes darted back and forth trying to force me to make eye contact with her. I don’t know why she did this, she knew it was difficult for me to maintain or even begin a conversation with eye contact.

"I was just asking a question." I fired back, looking down at the ground, and then briefly up at her to let her know I didn't do anything wrong.

Plus morning madness sounds cool, really cool actually. I’m not upset I asked one bit. Maybe if I get a good teacher this new school thing could work.

We were placed into our home classrooms based on our strengths. So we may be surrounded by like minded peers. I was placed in the literature homeroom.

This was the first year I had been exposed to changing classrooms, to having multiple teachers for different subjects, and for having my first male teacher. Who just happened to teach my least favorite, and most terrible subject math.

It didn't take long before news about how weird, and slow I was started to surface. I didn't even live in the neighborhood where the school was located.

All the kids I went to school with lived near or around one another, carpooled, or had been neighbors and friends for years. I was constantly isolated, and just proved to be the weirdest kid in the fifth grade. They called me "Looney B. Lones " after the infamous early nineties novels 'Junie B. Jones'.

So needless to say, it did not get better.

In fact it did get much worse, before it ever got better. I was bullied by the teaching staff, made fun of for my lack of wardrobe, and terribly thick southern accent.

I was odd, and off putting to the other kids. I was isolated, and reprimanded for my learning disability. Screamed at and embarrassed in front of peers, teachers, and in front of other students.

Eventually I lost all desire to even learn. Knowing that I would be called out for asking too many questions, or called upon to do the math problem on the board. Being yelled at for taking too long, or not understanding the jumbled numbers on the white board directly in front of me.

It would be almost six years later before I became active in my own education again. It wasn't until much later, in a college course after therapy that I began to feel comfortable asking questions. And it wasn't until my late twenties, and through recent therapy, and removal of traumas that I came to terms with the abuse I experienced being unseen, unheard, and unknown.

I had internalized so much negativity about myself, I almost found myself on a seventy-two hour hold. I had this imposter syndrome whispering into my ear telling me I wasn't good enough, wasn't smart enough. Anything I would try to accomplish I would soon quit or terminate. Only fueling the narrative, in my head, and socially that I was lazy, and would eventually become a burden to society.

I realized how much I really had begun to sell myself short, all because I based my opinion about myself, off of others. It took me almost sixteen years to understand that I was here with a very unique gift, and came to earth at the perfect time to be myself. It is difficult being a kid, and having culture shock, but no one really explains the uphill battle you fight to achieve normalcy, or to at least never feel that shock or sting of societal rejection. Or even the realization that 'you may not be normal' - but what is normal?

As the great Mortica Addams once proclaimed,

"Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly."

- Morticia Addams : The Addams Family

No matter the scenario I control the outcome, and the view of myself.

You create your own normal, and you soon come to realize that anyone who has ever placed you in a box or forced you to feel out of place. They too, have a problem being seen or felt.

For every bully who has made you feel embarrassed, or for the general haters trying to hold an invisible status quo, it is never worth it. Ultimately they are upset, and scared you will become yourself, your true self.

You bring a unique quality or talent to the table that only you can obtain through your own simple existence. You don't have to do anything, you are doing it right now.

You don't have to fit in, you are here to show that it is better to not fit in. That it is better to bring a change in perspective to the table, than to criticize the table itself. It becomes the empowering truth, that anything that makes you different is truly the only gift that needs to be expanded upon, and brought into the light.

We weren't meant to all be cookie-cutter versions of each other.

We are apart of the whole, and the object in life is to reflect the divine nature of just being.

No matter who that being is.