Part 3: Beliefs in the Beginning

As I said before, I don't recall ever being told that I *had* to be different. I guess it is something I picked up or interpreted along the way. I always did seem to take things to heart much more deeply than most other people. I know anytime I was scolded or "messed up", it always broke my heart. I was convinced I had failed. To me, failure meant "bad" and "bad" meant I wasn't following the rules. If I didn't follow the rules, I would die.

I had to be perfect. I just knew it in my heart. Oh there were other things too. Things that other children might have shrugged off that I just couldn't. For instance, there were the stories about how my daddy cried the day I was born. He didn't know how he could feed another child. Once, someone told me that I was an "accident." That my mother was to have a hysterectomy after my brother was born, but that I came along "too soon" for that too happen. Kids say mean things to each other when they are angry or teasing. But in my mindset, I held tightly to both of those things. In my heart I knew I was an accident. I knew I needed to prove my right to exist. I knew I had to be so good that no one would regret ever having me around. I knew I needed to everything anyone needed me to be, but at the same time I needed to be invisible. So, I tried.

At school I was the confidant, the shoulders to everyone and anyone who needed a friend. I gladly took on the role of caretaker, problem solver, friend. I listened to stories of abuse, suicide, date rape, abortion and teenage heartbreak. I listened and I tried to do what I could. I guess in a way my beliefs about my own self worth made be great for this. I had no judgment, only compassion. For, if I was to judge them, I would have to start first with myself, and that was one judgment I didn't want to face. I knew I would come up on the short end of the stick every time.

Instead, I buried myself in the heartaches of others. I sought them help where I could and worried when I could not. I guess inside, I felt like I was again doing something that made me different, made me special. And, as usual, it was something that was aiding the battle that would try its best to destroy me. The keeper of the secrets I became.

When the stress of school, and secrets, and perfection would become too much for me, I would exercise. I would turn on music and drown out all of the voices that were raging in my head. For now, in my teenage years they had surpassed the fear of not being special, of not being perfect in order to stay alive. Now, they had moved onto the responsibility of keeping others alive as well. I remember my friends that were so suicidal. I remember talking on the phone one night to one person in particular, convincing her to put away the gun in her hand. It never occurred to me then to tell someone, I only knew that she trusted me, and it was my job to "save" her. I often wonder now, where she is and how things turned out.

This Page Last Updated On 02/22/98