Throwback - High School

Setting: Conard High School 1988-1993, West Hartford, CT

I started off freshman year of high school with my older sister as a senior. We were both on the tennis team, she had lots of friends and I had a few that carried over from middle school. After she graduated I found myself very alone, one friend, Jon, used to come sit with me in the cafeteria. I did not mind sitting alone, but it was nice to have him notice. Over time, and with his support, I got up the nerve to talk to a table full of skater boys who did goofy things like pile up milk cartons to the cafeteria ceiling. Birthdays were still announced on the loud speaker, so I took the opportunity to introduce myself to one of them, Jeff, on his birthday. Jeff had dated a friend of mine in middle school, so we were not complete strangers. He was to become my rock from that day forward. He is probably the only reason I survived high school.

I spent most days in high school numb. I was a straight A student, filled any free space with extra classes, and avoided people at all costs. I had a group of summer friends that were always the light at the end of the tunnel of my high school days. I focused on that light and leaned on Jeff to get me through the rest. I joined the outing club, founded by a new earth science teacher that was later dismissed from teaching. He would drive us up to his property in Massachusetts on weekends and we would set up camp and spend days exploring around in the woods. The entire club consisted of me, Jeff, and Jeff's close friends. It was a fantastic escape and I finally felt somewhat connected.

I maintained tennis and my grades so nobody figured out I was depressed. I cried myself to sleep and dreaded mostly everything. I fasted for days to see what it would do, I remember barely making down the hallway at school as the lockers waved in and out alongside me after not eating for three days. I fantasized someone would be able to tell, but nobody ever figured me out. After my sophomore year I concentrated on snowboarding all winter, it took me far away from the high school walls and culture. Friday and Saturday nights the slopes were open until 1am and I was there. I felt alive and free outside on the mountain. I often met up with my summer friends who recharged my energy and spirits.

By senior year I discovered what kids were calling Goth. From that moment on, I embraced black. I met other depressed kids and realized being a loner could be cool. I pulled back even further, but at the same time was newly embraced for being what was now considered cool. I discovered combat boots, art, writing, hair dye, and music. It was a few more years after high school before my depression was treated, but I am fortunate to say I am one of the survivors. Honestly, high school almost killed me.

A Boy's Girl

I have always been a boy's girl. I am the one boy's trusted with their tree house, I was the betty at the skate park, one of the first snowboarders with a pony tail. In high school my best friend was a boy, we talked about everything, just like in the movies. I eventually married one of his college friends, overall my life spent in the boy department was good to me.

Now I am 38 years old, and meeting boys is not what it used to be. In fact, I just can't do it. Ever since the movie Little Children came out, I have steered clear of any male standing alone, with or without kids. I mean who are we fooling, men are off limits for friendships, and it is sad. And it is HARD for people like me. I stand in a mud puddle at the school events, hair all wrong, clothes from Marshall's, makeup if worn is leftover from my bachelorette party in 2003. I have no idea what I am doing, it is like being fed to wild animals over and over again.

There is just no way I am going to spruce up and join the party, it would have happened by now. Plus, I am convinced people would see right through a makeover when I opened my mouth. In fact, the very thought of sprucing up brings me back to days of sitting on the toilet seat surrounded by my three sisters attempting to "fix" me. The tugging at my hair, the waxy feeling on my face, the strange looking outcome in the mirror, I still shudder at the thought. I found ways to use cover-up on my age spots, sometimes I remember to do that. I pluck some chin hairs, I am blessed with a naturally good complexion, and my hair can range from anything to nothing, currently it is residing at nothing. My daughter wants me to grow it long so that I will be more beautiful, so I am trying to prove to her that it is less beautiful long, but so far she isn't seeing my point. Anyway, how does this tie into boys? Well, the boys I know, knew, love, and loved, never seemed to give a crap about makeup, hairdos, high heels, wax jobs, girl talk. And neither did I, and we all got along great. My husband loves me, I love him. Last time I put on make up he asked me if I was going to a Goth party. I started bawling.

So how does a grown up guy's girl find girl friends in the Connecticut suburbs? Should I pull out the combat boots?

Welcome!

Hello and welcome to my new blog. This blog is meant to be a sounding board for less comfortable subjects relating to having a depressing personality. Ooops, did I say that? The fact is that while I am happily blending in the suburbs, I constantly get the feeling I am the black sheep. I have no interest in signing up for mommy groups, I can't remember your child's name, and I don't know if my socks match. I haven't colored my hair yet, though I am seriously thinking about it, I don't get manicures, pedicures, heck I don't even do my brows. I am not trying to paint the picture that I am a smelly bohemian outcast, I am actually fairly presentable. People don't walk away when I approach (at least not that I have noticed), but I can almost NEVER think of anything to say. Sometimes, a few hours after they are gone, the perfect solution pops into my head. What I could have said, maybe even what I should have said. I recently discovered other working women bloggers out there sharing their mommy moments. I try to engage in dialog, but all I can ever think of is "GET OVER IT" or "IT'S NOT THAT BAD" or "TRY HARDER." As one may imagine, I am not that popular in the mom world, even online. So here I am, talking to myself again. Maybe this time I'll make some friends.