My brothers and sister were a mean-spirited trio. I was sure they hated me, and they certainly made an effort to bring me as much emotional discomfort as possible. In our house, the worst possible things you could ever be were fat or stupid. Or weird. There was never any concrete definition of 'weird,' though, so being tagged as such was strictly subjective. Every day for about ten years straight (no, I'm not exaggerating), one thing was relentlessly drilled into me: May, you are ugly, fat, and weird. For the most part, I was dismissed by my siblings, but I found a much better world in books. I remember reading a book called "The Gift of Magic," about three siblings who are each endowed with a talent. I desperately wanted to be a character in that book, blessed with some special talent that would prove I was not inferior among the people in my family.
Ugly. Fat. Weird. Ugly. Fat. Weird. Ugly. Fat. Weird. Ugly. Fat. Weird. Ugly. Fat. Weird. Ugly. Fat. Weird.
When I was in sixth grade, I had a friend named Jane. She was very tall and quite big boned. She was overweight. I was not, but I certainly believed I was. I was not-quite five feet tall and I weighed 99 pounds. My then 15-year-old sister was merciless in how she ripped into me about my supposed weight problem. One day after school, I headed out the door to visit Jane. My sister sneered at me and said, "Everybody knows that the only reason you're friends with her is so that you don't look so fat. Standing next to a fat person does not make you look thinner, you idiot."
In an earlier post on this blog, I talked about my nickname of Mag the Hag. Ugly. Fat. Weird. Ugly. Fat. Weird. Ugly. Fat. Weird. Eventually, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I felt increasingly sad as I looked through the pictures. I was a quirky kid in the wrong family--a family that saw nothing but mistakes in me. The pictures do not show a child who is ugly, fat, or weird. Just a kid, like any other kid.
4 comments:
Very cute pictures! I think that little girl is darling.
It does seem that people are generally taught how to hate themselves. I used to hate myself. Then I realized how it all happened and that made me hate those who did it to me. Now I just tell 'em to F off. Wasn't so easy as that, though. I think I needed to experience that anger. It still flares up once in a while, but I'm much better off. Especially since taking such a vicious stance against idiots who told me that it was wrong, destructive or somehow pathological and unhealthy to feel those things. I think it's unnatural and unhealthy NOT to feel them under certain circumstances. I know now that people who say that are not afraid of MY anger. They are afraid of their own and what delusions it might cost them should they actually have to feel it and discover where it *really* came from.
You are a Cutie! And you have killer cheekbones no matter what age. Kind of wanted to pinch them, but I'm odd that way.
And speaking of odd, Weird is good. Normal is boooooring. Weird makes the world go 'round.
thanks. I was a cutie, but not now. The cheekbones are courtesy of my 1/2 Native American grandmother.
Did we ever talk about The Gift of Magic? I loved that book, too. I know you don't believe me but you are still a cutie. I'm reading your words about how ugly you are and I feel like you must be talking about someone else. It pisses me off that your family gave you such a bad image of yourself and instilled so much self-loathing. You are an amazing woman. Weird? You weren't weird, you were just smarter and knew that there was more out in the world than Bland Suburb, USA. And remember this: your siblings belittled you because of their own insecurity. Your sister is like a snapping chihuahua.
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