The below post was originally published on Lillian’s blog, High, High, Higher! as part of her “In Transit” series. I decided to post it on my own blog as well. Why? Because I can. But mostly because I have nothing else to say. Has anyone else ever suffered from writer’s block for more than 6 months? Should I see a doctor?
Change is rarely ever easy. No shit, tell me something I don’t know. Alright, you don’t have to get nasty. Middle school was all about change for me. Before middle school, I was a happy, talkative, relatively normal kid. I had a group of friends and life was good. Teachers nicknamed me “the chatterbox” and would constantly have to scold me for talking during class. Then one day, my parents were informed that my brother and I would need to switch schools. It turns out that everyone in my small town was being moved to a nearby school, because our current school wasn’t going to pay for buses to pick us up anymore. (This was years ago, so I can’t guarantee 100% accuracy with the details.) I was pissed that I would have to switch schools, and lose the group of friends that I’d known for most of my life. But alas, I was 12 and couldn’t do jack-shit about it. However, my life would never be the same after that. I know, that sounds soooo overly dramatic!
Nobody likes being the new kid at school. I absolutely dreaded it. No longer the confident chatterbox, I was now awkward and terribly shy. It seems silly to say that from that moment I was never the same, but that’s the truth. I didn’t want to become a different person, it just happened. If you knew me now, you would find it hard to believe that I was ever a chatterbox; it’s like pulling teeth to get me to talk now. At my old school, my friends used to fight over who could be my partner. At my new school, group assignments were an absolute nightmare. I was too shy to walk over to anyone, and of course, no one was fighting to be partnered with me. I was seriously uncool and always misjudged. There were several times I heard people whispering about me behind my back. I remember a specific comment someone made about me. (You tend to remember the hurtful ones.) Someone started a poll of who they thought would be most likely to blow up the school. Guess who they picked? Me! Because I was shy and antisocial, they immediately assumed I was capable of hurting others. Ouch.
If I could go back now, I would have tried harder to stay in touch with my old friends. (I don’t know why we lost touch, but I guess it’s mostly my fault.) I would have told myself to loosen up and introduce myself to new people, rather than shying away from my new environment. I wouldn’t have let my new situation overwhelm me the way it did. If I had more confidence, maybe people wouldn’t have judged me the way they did. I used to enjoy school, but after the move, I dreaded it every day. Most people were sad as our graduation date approached, but I couldn’t be happier. I didn’t go to prom because I figured, why subject myself to that torture? I couldn’t stand crowds, and I knew no one would dance with me, so I didn’t bother. I was told I’d regret that decision later on in life, but so far, so good! I didn’t have a graduation party either. I left high school feeling relieved, and never looked back.
Even though it wasn’t the best experience, I don’t necessarily regret it. Sure, it would have been nice to have had more friends and have been more popular, but I can’t complain with the way my life is now. I have a wonderful family and a boyfriend who loves me, flaws and all. I might never have met my boyfriend had I been super popular in high school. Maybe I would have been peer-pressured into doing something I’d now regret. Maybe I would have ended up knocked-up at prom, like so many other girls. (Does that sound offensive? Well…) Who knows, maybe my life would have turned out to be a crazy mess. It was a rough transition, but I believe that everything we go through is for a reason. Even the smallest things can have a great impact on us. Maybe some people find me too quiet or weird or antisocial. But I prefer to think of myself as mysterious, reliable, and until someone can prove otherwise, kind-hearted. Okay, so I’m far from perfect, but I’m a good person, and that’s what counts. As for everything else, I am who I am, flawed and perfectly imperfect. Hey, even the most beautiful diamonds have some kind of flaw. (Not that I’m comparing myself to a diamond. I mean, come on, that would sound like bragging or something.)