Sometimes, the people I go to school with and voluntarily spend my time with amaze me by how sheltered they are. And by sheltered I mean the level of discomfort they have with sexuality and the choices some people make.
Case A: some of my friends were making a big deal about sex and saying how they weren't ready for it, a man's penis scared them, etc. Which, for the average virgin, I suppose is fairly normal. But I just wanted to sit down and tell them it's nothing to be scared of, and I couldn't. I've tried to drop hints that would make easy segues into at least part of my story, but no one ever catches them; like when I said I have learned to be extremely grateful one week every month, everyone always thinks it's because I've had moments where I had to worry that I had some sort of disorder or body issue. The thought never crosses their mind that I've had multiple pregnancy scares in my life.
Tonight wasn't any different. "Beware the one-eyed snake." "I'm not ready for sex." The entire time, I sat there, wanting to say something, but couldn't because very few people here know my story. Of the four people on this campus who have heard my story, one is my bishop, another moved away, the third is the ex of the one who moved (and he's kind of scray-crazy right now), and the other one...she is:
Case B: the past couple of days, this friend has been so hung up on hating on this one character of a TV show we watch because this character cheated on her husband, which therefore makes her an awful person. And I wanted to slap her. Every. Single. Time. Yes, I do mean my friend, not the character in the show.
It's so easy for her to pass judgement on people who have made dumb choices like that, and she forgets that I've been there. I made stupid choices like that. I cheated on one of my exes. Granted, cheating on a boyfriend is not quite the same as having an affair, I get that. But it's not that different either. You still feel like shit afterward, especially when the other person finds out. So yeah, I took a little bit of offense at my friend saying how awful people were who cheated.
Guess that means I'm an awful person.
It's time like this where I start to think that no matter what I do, I'm never really going to fit in in the world I grew up in, the world my school and friends live in. I was born into that world--which is more like a bubble--, and for five years I chose to leave it and live in the rest of the world; now that I'm trying to come back and be a good person, I keep having all of my problems shoved back into my face, as if everyone was saying "You're not good enough...you screwed up....get out". It won't be any easier when I go home, and it will be even harder next year because the girl I'm planning on living with knows nothing of my situation. She doesn't know that I've had sex or thought I was pregnant or have a tattoo or that I used to cut...or that I wanted to cut this week because I was so stressed.
I didn't do it, by the way. Thought about it, but I didn't. Not worth it. But I won't lie about how appealing the thought was. Too bad the only pointy object at hand was a rusty safety pin; there was no way in hell that was coming anywhere near my body, I don't care how desperate I am.
Moral of the story? There isn't one. But there is an evident fact of life: forgiving and forgetting is easy until you start talking about yourself.
I remember how the meaning of words began to change. How unfamiliar words like "collateral" and "rendition" became frightening, while things like Norsefire and the Articles of Allegiance became powerful. I remember how "different" became dangerous. I still don't understand it, why they hate us so much.
ReplyDelete