As portfolio pushes on I have to think more and more about the story I want to tell because my portfolio has to tell the story of me. So who am I? What story is in me to tell? And do I have the courage to tell it? This coupled with late nights talking to Paul about nearly anything and everything has left me in a constant state of questioning. When I first came up with the idea for my portfolio (a semi post-apocalyptic graphic novelish theme) I was so excited and ready to put up a fight. After feeling like finally someone saw something in me, a monster within me awoke.
This monster, is in fact, myself. The personality within me I always felt but peers and society successfully beaten into submission. When I was really young I had a "vivid imagination" that seemed to be accepted by adults and other children but as I left elementary school there suddenly seemed to be the idea that you needed to "grow up" when entering middle school. When I failed to meet that standard was when I started noticing the guilt that comes along with being different. Right off the bat because of the way our middle school was set up each kid was put into a house. By chance, I ended up in House D which of course other kids taunted me "House D is for Dumb, that's where the retards go". I knew that wasn't the reason and the insults slid off my back...for a while. I soon became either a mockery or invisible. I like to read, which made me "weird" to other kids. Seventh grade proved no better being teased for my obsession with Harry Potter, even by teachers. I continued to be knocked down when a close friend started the rumor that I was lesbian when I cut my hair short. To further the wound another friend taunted "is it a she or is it a he" when I briefly attempted to change my nickname to Iz. It was then I noticed the monster within in me. Then when images of hanging girls and dark poetry seeped into my life. I shared this with no one of course, fearing what others might say of my monster. To add to the pile it was around this time when my friends and some family started exhibiting stressed emotional problems and I couldn't unleash my monster on those who were hurting. Most of middle school I have tried to block out of my memory and what remains are old feelings of a constant pain and a heavy weight. Every time I tried to express myself, it was sure to be beaten out of me and taunted till I could no longer handle the heckling laughs behind my back. My peers became my enemies, my writing became my solace and my monster sulked into a cave, tired of fighting. High school brought little relief as again I found I was either invisible or fodder for other people to stomp on in their pursuit to feel better about themselves. I remember artwork being smashed, fights, being told (via a written message on my biology desk) that I should kill myself, being asked out as joke twice, and the constant nagging that I needed to "grow up" and "act normal". A small relief came when I found another monster like me and for a brief time my monster could roar with happiness and my fear of being myself became almost an ancient memory. To this day, it remains the best time of my life; a time of freedom, a time to feel accepted, a time to learn how to love myself for the monster I was, a time to understand that even though I was created differently than everyone else did not mean I was less than everyone else. My monster lover was just like me, built differently. Early on we had decided that because we didn't deserve each other, we deserved each other. But all good things must come to an end and because I am simply to much of a monster, my monster lover had to leave me. That time until now however, is a different story. One my monster may never be able to tell. That being said my monster has settled into a discontented silence. Until now. Until I felt like I may finally have power again. My monster has burst forth with a angry growl and consumed what was left of careful facade I had built until I no longer recognize myself in the mirror. It feels great.
Until...
Until I talked to Paul. Expressing my delight in being ready to give the world a giant middle finger, he simply asked why I was so angry. After talking I walked away confused and deep in thought.
When it comes to how we have be treated in the past, how much can we hold on to? Can we ever let go of the pain people have caused? I have read so many blogs and inspirational messages that people have thrown may way in hopes of cheering me up but now I wonder if it really is all bullshit. Paul's statement of "if you want to be yourself just be yourself, fuck what others think" echoes in my head. If all we are (personality wise) is a mash of past experiences is there ever really a chance of letting go? It's easier said then done to shake off past and move on without that burden in your heart. At the same time I understand there isn't much point of holding onto that bitterness. I don't care what other people think, what I do care about is why they think what they think.
How is it we have come to a society built on stepping over others. If you don't step all over people your made to feel worthless, made to be stepped on. How have we become so indifferent? It's OK to label people, treat people like shit, because they'll "get over it" eventually. And suddenly I realize my anger isn't directed towards anyone specific, it's directed towards an idea. I'm sick of society that's indifferent, that can turn it's head and pretend not to see the ugliness in the world. When people are so indifferent we forget how much we can hurt people and that those feelings don't go away. We make people invisible and kick them in the face until they become what we want them to. Life isn't a contest, it isn't a whose right and whose wrong. You can't judge anybody else because there isn't anyway to walk a mile in someone else's shoes. I know other people have, are, and will deal with what I have but it is my deepest prayer that if I can succeed at one thing in life, just one, it would be to inspire just one other person to be themselves and fight the good fight. If just one other person like me could grow up being themselves without feeling like a monster, without feeling inhumane. Then maybe life is all worthwhile. Then maybe the tears I shed, the anger I feel will peel away like the skin of an orange.
But then again, maybe I will just always be a monster.
Such is life.
