I Have A Secret!



I used to have this philosophy:

no secrets.



Now, not so much. I've noticed that, in the recent year or two, I've become an extremely hard person to get to know. When I was in junior college, I had a pretty wide circle of friends, and I was hardly shy. I'd talk to anyone. But then I guess my no secrets rule came back to haunt me. I figured that if I didn't have any secrets, there was nothing for anyone to hold over my head. But it seems that everyone has things they aren't too proud of, and sometimes you can't even trust the people you're closest to not to hold your past over your head or threaten to try to get you kicked out of school.

When I started at SAGU, I was super quiet, which was very unlike me. I didn't really understand why I was acting that way. It took me a long time to make any friends, and they took even longer to really let them in. I just didn't know who I could and couldn't trust. My old "friends" had screwed me up so badly, hosed me when I needed them the most, that they'd soured me on making friends in a new place. Even now that I have a nice circle of girls (and guy) that I hang with, only about three of them can claim that they actually know anything about my life. Sure, they all know my Dad died of cancer last summer. Yeah, most know that nearly two years ago one of my best friends was killed. But do they know that after Shelley was killed that I woke up with nightmares, covered in sweat? Or that a day hasn't gone by since Dad's been gone that I haven't cried? No, not many of them. To be honest...I'm not sure one of them even knows my favorite color.

This isn't a blog about how I have no friends. Hardly. I have friends, and good ones at that. Just because they don't know my favorite color (Cerulean) doesn't mean they aren't important to me. Doesn't mean they don't play a huge role in my life. Some of them might even be there for me if I needed them. The fact that people don't know much about me isn't their fault. I just play close to the vest these days.

But I recently read a book called By The Time You Read This I'll Be Dead by Julie Anne Peters,  about this girl who was bullied so badly all her life, that she made this huge plan to commit suicide. She finds this website and starts what she calls "purging" telling her story, and it made her feel better. In fact, it may have even saved her life, depending on how you read the ending. And no, I'm not suicidal or anything, but the book made me wanna share my bullying experiences on the off chance that maybe someone will stumble upon this random blog and maybe feel better knowing they aren't the only ones, you know?

So, I decided to write a blog telling you all something about myself, something that I don't talk about often. I'm gonna give this whole opening up thing a try. Again. Don't hose me guys.

Trichotillomania:

The compulsion to tear or pluck ones own hair from head and or face.

Yep, it's exactly what you think. Trich is a mental disorder associated with all the other fun "mania's" except mine, in my opinion, sucks way more. I've had it since I was 6 and I'm happy to say, it used to be way worse. When I was in the 7th grade, I pretty much had no eyelashes or eyebrows. I got picked on so much and got called ugly constantly. It sucked, to put it mildly.

Trichotillomania (or Trich, for short) is basically my brains way of dealing with stress and trauma. It's a neuro-biological disease/disorder, and is different for everyone. My experience with it is unique, because that's kinda just how it works. Everyone is different. It's more than  nervous habit. Sometimes it's a coping mechanism for stress and anxiety. We're not trying to damage ourselves, we don't do it on purpose, and some people don't even know when they are doing it. We do it because, most of the time, we can't not do it.

Mine has a lot to do with stress. My body dislikes stress. If I'm going through a "not picking" stage, then my body will do something else to cope with the stress, usually making itself sick. When I was around 12 or13 I had it really bad, and I went through hell for it. I was still very much a tom-boy and hadn't discovered the wonders of cosmetics yet, so barely having any eyelashes or eyebrows made me a target for a lot of people, even adults. People randomly asked me if I'd burned my eyebrows off, saying they looked singed. Complete strangers. Even my dentist said that to me once. And since we all know how cruel kids can be, school was no picnic. I was teased, made fun of, called ugly, crazy, all sorts of stuff. I hadn't been diagnosed yet, so I had no idea why I did it, and I wasn't about to explain myself, so I just stayed quiet. I was 14 when I was diagnosed, and it was nice to have my questions answered. Why couldn't I just stop? Because 1. I don't always know when I'm doing it. 2. A chemical imbalance isn't just something you can decide to get rid of one day.

This teasing, this name calling, had a profound effect on my life. Even after I stopped pulling so much and knew how to cover up my problem spots with makeup, I never felt very pretty. I didn't have a lot of confidence, so I took refuge in school work, reading, and eventually in writing. But I still felt ugly and not worth anything. For some reason, kids in high school seem to think that their beauty is measured on their outside appearance, and that's what we tend to measure our worth by. When I was 16, I fell in love for the first time, and that was the first time someone made me feel beautiful. I'll always be thankful to you for that, by the way :). But it wasn't till I was in my twenties that I started to realize that my beauty isn't measured in eyelashes and eyebrows.

I think it's fun to see people that I used to go to school with and see the shock on their faces at how I've changed. I'm not sure if my face is anymore prettier than it used to be, but my attitude sure is. People still notice that my eyelashes aren't as long as they should be, but instead of averting my eyes and walking with my head down, I just smile. Trich doesn't rule my life anymore. It's a part of my life and my circumstance, but it isn't who I am. I'm not ruled by my disease. I may not be it's master, but it's not my master either.

God wired my brain the way it is for a reason. Without the Trich, I may have ended up being a completely different person, and long eyelashes aren't worth that to me. I'm glad I grew up with it. It taught me how to be humble and be aware that we're all built differently. I was never one of those kids to pick on the different kids because I was one of the different kids. I'm extremely mentally strong, and I think I have my disease to thank for that. I can take a lot of punishment.

Don't make fun of the kid who smells in the back of the classroom. Chances are he doesn't live in a house with running water. Don't pick on the kid that's overweight and gets picked last for anything. Maybe he's got a thyroid disorder. Don't put the small skinny kid in a dumpster. Don't make fun of the person with rainbow hair, it's how they express themselves. Don't call the gay kid a faggot, dike, queer, or various other names. He/she is more comfortable with who they are than you ever will be.

Don't make fun of the art girl. She might draw art with blood on it, and if you dared to pay attention to her, you'd see the beauty. She wasn't quiet, she just had nothing to say to you. No, she wasn't a lesbian, she just didn't think any of you guys were worth her time and effort. She was right. And yes, a-hole, she owned a hair brush! You try having curly hair that doesn't like to cooperate in the morning. Are you the prick who drove by her and splashed her when she had to walk home one day in the rain? Were you the jerk who drove by and laughed when she ran her car off the drive way?

No, I wasn't.

She was my best friend.

She was a brilliant artist.

She was kind,

Hysterical,

Talented,

Beautiful,

And she was a better person than any of us will ever be.

Her name was Shelley.

I bet in high school, you never so much as said hi.

And I bet you cried at her funeral.

Bullies are weak, stupid, and often afraid. They bully people to make themselves feel better. The people that called her lesbians were probably sexually confused themselves. The girls who made fun of her curls would probably slave away with a curling iron and use a ton of hairspray trying to hold curls like she had naturally. They made fun of her art because they were too ignorant to understand it and they wished they could draw that good. Bullies are so afraid of being bullied that they pick on people who they think are weaker than them. Bullies don't like to be bullied.

Shelley didn't give a crap what people thought of her and she held her head up high, whether you noticed her raised head or not. She didn't need acknowledgment. She only ever wanted to be left in peace. But so many people wouldn't give her that peace.

The difference between Shelley and I was that I wanted to belong so badly, and I hated that I never could. I tried making fun of other kids along with my "friends", but at the end of the day, I saw myself in their eyes, and tried to take up their fight. It lost me almost all my friends (Shelley and Grady aside) but at least I could look myself in the face when I looked in the mirror.

The beginning of my junior year, I was in P.E with some of my other girlfriends. We were in class with this kid who didn't smell like roses and would randomly start running around the gym, or would just walk around running his hands on all of the railings. He wasn't exactly sharp, and he wasn't nice either. Naturally, he got a ton of crap. One of my friends hocked a loogie on the railing and got a kick out of it when he ran his hand over it and looked super confused.  Hilarious, right?

One day I was sitting reading a book in the bleachers while my friends were walking because I wasn't feeling well. I was reading Jesus Freaks, and this weird smelly kid decided to come and sit in front of me and start talking to me. Granted, I hadn't really been one of the people giving him crap, I just ignored the situation, so I didn't know why this kid was glaring at me from his seat. I sat down my book and was like, "Can I help you?" Said kid looks at me and informs me that Jesus isn't real. I asked him why he thought so, and he said because so much bad stuff happens in the world. I told him that if bad stuff didn't happen, good stuff couldn't either. He said something I thought was really out of line, so I asked him with his beef was with me. He told me he didn't think the snot thing was funny. I told him I didn't do it. He looked me square in the face and said, "Yeah, but I didn't see you breaking your neck to stop them either."

Talk about a huge slap in the face. Of course, being a stupid 16 year old kid, I was like, dude, I don't even know you. So he decided I should know him. He told me he was in foster care with his little brother and his foster parents didn't have running water, that's why he smelled funny. He said he'd had a girlfriend where he was before, but he was being abused by those foster rents so he was moved. These abused him too. I can't even remember his name now.

I never told any of my friends that I'd had this talk with him. They don't know to this day, I don't guess. I asked them to stop making fun of him, but that didn't go over too well. So, I left Italy High School, went to Navarro, and got an entirely new life. I gained confidence, learned about life, and learned how to walk with my head high...just like Shelley had all those years before me. 

My beauty is not measured by your standards. I am not crazy, stupid, worthless, or ugly. I am of God's design. I'm extremely intelligent, funny, and beautiful. I'm strong despite how weak you tried to make me look. High school wasn't my glory days. I rose above everything I went through...

So can you, reader. Through my experiences, and Shelley's, I hope you learned something. If you were the kid that got picked on, be proud of it. You're different, which makes you scary. You're a threat to those who tow the line and try to be just like everyone else. Use it to your advantage. You are everything they don't have the guts to be. Walk down the hallway with your head up, and think about Shelley. Be strong like Shelley. Die well, like Shelley. Just don't die before your time, or because anyone made you measure your worth by false ideas and standards. Suicide is letting the bully win. Be the person you were meant to be. That'll piss them off more than anything!

And if you're the bully, remember this: Someday, you may be sitting at the funereal of one of your fellow classmates who was taken before her time. You will have to sit there, watch her family grieve, and see the looks her friends give you. I was so angry at Shelley's funeral because the people that were crying the hardest were the people who treated her the worst. But now I just feel sorry for them. I am glad I wont find myself in that kind of position.

Think before you speak. Your actions impact other peoples lives. I was so messed up as a kid because no one cared to figure out what I am all about. But now I know it matters more that I know what I'm all about. I'm glad I finally do.

On my wedding day, I'll march down that aisle toward a man who doesn't give a crap if I have eyelashes or not. I will not wear fake ones just to look better in pictures. I will marry my future husband exactly as I am, because that's how God made me. Who knows, maybe I'll have a full set of eyelashes or my very own by then, but maybe I wont. That's okay, I'm hot stuff anyway!  :) And I know what I look like in a pair of shorts. Dad's long legs were a nice hand-me-down genetically speaking. Bet you wish you'd asked me out when you had the chance. But you were too busy calling me ugly. Guess I get to laugh all the way to the alter into the arms of someone who not only adores me now, but adored me then. Followed me around and had a huge crush on me. Liked me even when I was at my most unattractive because he liked what I was about. He still does :) And he put a ring on it!

Well, there it is. Me trying to not play close to the vest. Speaking my mind and opening up about myself. Feels kind of good. :)

This world is hard enough to live in without us making it harder on each other. Do you realize what we could do if we all just banned together and refused to let hate drag us down? If we were all a little bit more like Shelley, this world would be so much better.

Signing off with all my love!

Ali

                                                                                                                                                    

"World So Cold"-12 Stones
It starts with pain
Followed by hate
Fueled by the endless questions
No one can answer
A stain
Covers your heart
Tears you apart just like a sleeping cancer

Now I don't believe men are born to be killers
I don't believe this world can't be saved
How did you get here and when did it start
An innocent child with a thorn in his heart

What kind of world do we live in
Where love is divided by hate
Losing control of our feelings
We all must be dreaming this life away
In a world so cold

Are you sane? Where's the shame?
A moment of time passes by
You cannot rewind
Who's to blame and where did it start
Is there a cure for your sickness, have you no heart?

Now I don't believe men are born killers
I don't believe this world can't be saved
How did you get here and when did it start
An innocent child with a thorn in his heart

What kind of world do we live in
Where love is divided by hate?
Losing control of our feeling
We're dreaming this life away

What kind of world do we live in
Where love is divided by hate?
Selling our souls for no reason
We all must be dreaming this life away
In a world so cold

There's a sickness inside you that wants to escape
It's a feeling you get when you can't find your way
So how many times must you fall to your knees
Never, never, never, never, never do this again

It starts with pain followed by hate
Now I don't believe men are born to be killers
And I don't believe this world can't be saved

What kind of world do we live in
Where love is divided by hate
Losing control of our feelings
We're dreaming this life away

What kind of world do we live in
Where love is divided by hate?
Selling our souls for no reason
We all must be dreaming this life away
In a world so cold

In a world so cold