It was the second day of 10th garde. I was a student at a private "christian" school. I had been there since 3rd grade. Into my early days there I was sick alot. I had active mono three times in 2 years. We didnt live close to the school either, we had a 45 minute drive and that is a very long time when you get car sick, especially when your older brother yells "shot gun".
Students began making fun of me. Alot. I spent many mornings vomiting on my way to school, having to stop and brush my teeth, pull chunks out of my hair and fix myself up before I walked through the school doors. I also had panic attacks. I remember my first panick attack when I was around 5 years old. A thunder storm was rolling in while we were visiting my grandmothers. I felt like I was going to die. My little heart was racing, my palms sweaty, and my body trembling. Well, every since that day, when my childhood mind would see clouds rolling in my heart would begin to pound just like it did that one day. Many days when storms were approaching during class I would head to the school nurse and lie there waiting to vomit and tremble.
While all these "little" epsiodes were difficult as a child, dealing with my classmates was much worse. I was made fun of for being late, for being sick when none of it was within my control. It really was an awful feeling. Before long I dreaded the long car ride to school. I wondered what would be said today. I worried about how much they would laugh at me this day and the worries of my own health combined with the worries of what others thought left me to be only more sick than I already was. Nerves now had me hunched over on the side of the highway on my way to school. Fear now had me shaking and my anxiety soaring.
Mondays were always the worst. It was as if these kids had all weekend to think of ways to hurt me. I knew that "kids will be kids" but one day stands out clear in my mind. I was late, very typical for me. I began walking with my head down to the middle school principles office. He was a large man, a very large man, with an even louder voice. His body barely fit into his chair but boy did his words fit into my mind.
I sat infront of his desk and he asked "why are you late?" I wondered how many times he was going to ask this over the years. I responded "I was sick" He would than begin to yell, literally. The walls shook and you could hear him from the classrooms. I never listened to what he said. His shouting drowned out all information. If he didnt respect me, why should I respect him?
He would slam my locker door shut while he watched me, ensuring I was going to class. As my locker slammed shut and spit flew from his mouth he walked away angry and frustrated. I turned with my head down and headed to math class. I was just feel away from the door when I overheard the math teacher commenting to the class that
""she" was late again. "she" is always late. I cannot believe "she" actually made it to school on a monday. What a miracle. Arent we lucky?""
I stood in the door to see the sorry ass look on her face. A slight grin. She looked at me and chuckled. I held the tears of hurt in and walked to my seat. I began to unload my backpack to start my work when I she approached my desk. Her thick rolling ankles starred me in the face.
"your shirt doesnt have enough of a collar on it. go to the spanish class and pick out a new shirt from the bin" she grinned and walked away. Enjoying every moment she made my life hell.
Was she serious? I actually made it to class and now my shirt needed MORE of a collar than I needed math? I walked out the door and strolled through campus waiting for God to speak. Tears of anger began to pour. Here I was at a "christian" school and was being treated like this. if these were "christians" than I didnt want to be one. I walked taller back into math class and took my seat.
"where is your shirt?"
"on my back..."
"did you go to the spanish class"
"yeah, I went but I didnt go in... you didnt say I had to go in..."
The buzzer rang and I now grinned at her.
"oh you think this is funny? how about a demerit?"
"sounds good to me.."
"oh, oh, ok, well how about 5 demerits? do you like that?"
"why dont you just give me 10 and we will call it a day? better yet, give me 20 so I get suspended and get to miss class, again..."
I headed to gym class. As I was walking into gym I was excited to hit the floor, take out some aggression and anger, sweat it out. My gym teacher stopped me and told me my shoes didnt have laces so I would be getting a demerit. I walked away from her and headed to the pay phone.
"hey, hey, where do you think you are going?"
I kept walking. She walked into the little hallway and saw me on the pay phone but the bell rang and class was starting. I hung up the phone and headed into the gym. My bags on my back, I began to walk through the middle of the girls warmup. I got closer and closer to the door and her manly voice began to pierce through my brain.
"where do you think you are going?"
"anywhere but here"
I walked to the principles office. A man I truly admire and respect. He is retiring this year and I wonder how the school will survive without him. I walked in, placed all my books on his desk and told him I was done. He listened to me sob and cry explaining what my 8 years had been like. Hell. He promised me he would talk to the teachers, students, and end the troubles. I knew he was sincere, I knew he wanted to help but we all knew it was him against many.
This school always had an unwritten rule. If you were in sports and contributed to the schools winnings, teachers would overloook the things that caused ones to get demerits. If you were not part of the "team" than you would be looked at under a microscope and picked apart thread by thread.
I wasnt the nerdy girl, the goth girl, but I also wasnt the jock girl. I was me. The girl who was wearing high heels at 13, the girl who was a cheerleader that no one liked becasue I was prettier than them, I was the 8th grade girl on the highschool team. Insecurity, they couldnt handle. They knew I was a threat to their ego and to their dating life so they made sure they kept me far away through gossip and chatter. It worked.
My mother pulled up to the school about an hour after my phone call to her. I got in the car and told her I was never going back. Tears pouring from my eyes. She could see that 8 years of hurt had added up. I never went back. Never going back allowed me to go forward. I thank God for the obese man, the ignorant students, the woman with big ankles and the woman with a manly voice. You see, if it wasnt for their weeknesses, I never would have gotten so strong. "People too weak to follow their own dreams will always find a way to discourage yours"
The few months following my exit from that school werent good. I had alot of healing that needed to take place, alot of anger to shed and alot of searching to do. I should have never picked up a bible again after what they put me through but in my heart I knew that it wasnt God or His word that failed, it was their ignorance that did. I knew that being a "christian" was not a title but an action. They could call themselves anything they wanted but I knew the truth would come in action and in spoken word.
I set out on my own journey to find God. Not who "they" said he was but who HE really was. I found Him. I drive past the school grounds some days with tears in my eyes. Memories of hurt and disapointment, than I look down at my arms and read the words and smile. You see, I didnt need a varsity jacket, or a cheerleading uniform to validate my importance. I didnt need for teachers to really care about me, and I didnt need any of them. I just needed the Lord and more importantly I needed Him to hold them accountable for their actions under the title of being His children.
There were a small handful of students that didnt leave me hurt. Many of them were not the same color as me. Many did not have the same interests as me and many were "weird" like me. Perhaps they knew they didnt belong with the others either. Maybe they knew exactly what I did. Maybe I was just the only one strong enough to say and do something about it. Maybe I wasnt the rebel, maybe I was just honest.
The moral of this story is to choose your words wisely. School is the blink of an eye. The words you speak are powerful. You have the power to destroy or build someone with them. Many destroyed me. Time and time again until little of me was left. They thought it was funny and that is was cool but it wasnt, it was just plain stupid. They were some of the weakest human beings I have ever met but I refuse to let others weakness affect my strength, my faith and my hope.
They hated me because I was beautiful, they laughed because I was sick, they grinned because they had power, or so they thought. I now stand a vision of beauty, a woman of faith, a child of God, a woman so full of strength it seeps from my veins. Joy that radiates from my soul and compassion that pours from my heart. Thank you Timothy, for being weak and making me strong. Thank you Mr K for being one of the few people there that truly lived as an example of a "christian" man. I am forever grateful that your light never dimmed among the darkness.
"All that is gold does not glitter and all those who wonder are not lost"
"You shouldnt be scared that you wont fit in, you should be terrified that you wont stand out."
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