Too young to remember

As we approach September 11th, it pains me sitting across from young co-workers who didn't experience this day the same way I did. To them, it's just a regular day. It doesn't occur to them that to me, being ten years older, this day and the days that follow are filled with memories and sadness.

Is anyone else here at work thinking about this already? Does anyone else annually dread the beginning of September?

These rhetorical questions are questions that I doubt anyone else is thinking about. And that's what makes me sad.

Wondering what this next generation will end up remembering - much like we aren't scarred by Watergate or JFK's assassination.

Not good enough

Senior year of high school I was placed in an AP English class despite my documented learning disorder specifically about my writing skills.

When I tried to inform the teachers of the accommodation that were suppose to be provided for me, she didn't believe me.

The first essay we wrote in class, I was not given the extended time I needed. When she had finished grading them and returned them, I was told the essay I had written "Was not equivalent to that of a high school level work."

I was not provided the necessary accommodations for the first quarter of the school year, and even when I was informed that I had the highest SAT score of my schools graduating class, the thing that still brings me to tears is the grade of my first essay senior year. Because it's something that I have struggled with for years, and to this day I still doubt everything I write.

"You don't know what "Rape" is..."

Three years ago I was date raped.

I went out for drinks with a guy I'd met online. Had two beers, was far, far from drunk and decided to go back to his place. Things start to get heavy, he wanted to have sex, I asked if he had a condom, he said no, and neither did I, so I said no.

He begged.

I said no.

He said it'll be fine, I still said no.

He eventually said, "it's fine" and we kept kissing. Then I feel him penetrate me; I shoved him off me and leave quickly after.

After six horrible months, being depressed and suicidal, I finally decided to report him. I lived in Jersey so I saw a Jersey based rape crisis center who then helped me report it in NY. Once in NY I was bounced and forced between 4 different precincts. The first said they couldn't help me. The second said the rape happened in a different jurisdiction, the third (which was the correct district) wouldn't take me because they didn't believe me, so I went back to the second, they said they'd help. They took my report and sent me to the Special Victims Squad. 

The Special Victims Squad didn't believe me. They called me desperate and said, "You don't know what Rape is, if you think Date Rape is real Rape." They claimed I was just pissed and "trying to get back at him" for him not wanting to date me.

As they shooed me out the door they added in, "Don't worry honey, you'll meet someone eventually. Just stay away from online dating."

Thanks for the advice.

But I was an athlete...

In middle school I decided to turn my life around- I lost 25 pounds in 7 months by eating healthy and exercising. I joined cross county and swim team. I was finally confident in my strong, muscular, 125lbs body.

At the first school assembly freshman year, I was elected to give a short presentation on the sports offered by the school. As I stood up to speak in front of the school, one of the boys in my class said, "Fat ass" in a somewhat loud voice. The boys around him busted out laughing. I was so embarrassed that I could barely get through my presentation.

To this day, I still have a problem with my weight because of him. Six years later, I still hear his voice in my head when I look in the mirror.

"I'm married."

Those two words are the worst two I've ever heard.

They came after being used for two years by a man I envisioned building a family with. I was completely blindsided. He never loved me. He never wanted me. He never planned a future with me, and for the life of me, I couldn't wash away the stain of his infidelity. Or mine. I couldn't wash away his touch or his children or his wife.

Every time our daughter cries, I hear him say, "I'm married."

"YOU killed my grandson."

The first of many choice things your grandmother had to say to me after finding your note and your body.

We were together for three years and I loved you as much as my body and soul could. I poured every bit of who I am into out relationship because it was the best damn thing that I had. I had plans to spend my life with you.

You left me a note specifically for me and me alone. So you can only imagine what kind of things your family had to say about me.

We just recently moved past this, but I don't think your grandmother will ever understand how much that affected me.

Because for the longest time, I truly believed that it was my fault.

Eyebrows.

When I was 13, my mom took me to the department store to buy makeup for the very first time. I was excited and nervous. 

The lady at the counter offered to test some out on me before we purchased anything. She did a whole makeover and I felt good!

But right as she was wrapping up, she turned to my mom and told her that she might want to start tweezing or waxing my eyebrows and the hair between them.

That's what that stuck with me.

15 years later, I'm still insecure about my eyebrows and the small amount of blonde hair that sometimes grows between them.

Anything that a boy can do...

I am the only girl of four siblings. When I was a child, I participated in all of the activities that my brothers would. 

What stuck with me the most was the adults in my life telling me that I couldn't do many of these activities because I am a girl.

This did a terrible number on my self confidence as a child.

Today I can recognize that this was not a measure of my abilities, but rather a measure of the ignorance and lack of education regarding gender equality from the adults in my life. This seemed as unjust as a child as it does to me now. 

I am happy to report there is a rainbow after the storm. I can now recognize that my determination to be treated equally, even as a child, was set ablaze to do anything that a boy can do, just much better. ;)

"Too much fat."

As a kid, and even now, I was always thin. Especially before puberty, I was tall, lanky, and naturally skinny.

I remember being about twelve, and I had put on a little bit of baby fat, as lots of girls do around that age as they reach puberty. I remember being in my grandmother's kitchen and going to pour myself a glass of whole milk before she snatched it away from me and poured me skim, patting my nearly flat stomach and telling me in broken English, "No, too much fat, [granddaughter], watch it!"

It was the first time I had felt shame about my body and that my worth was directly tied to my appearance.

It lead to years of being ashamed to eat anything fattening in front of people.

"Thank you."

When I was in second grade, I wrote a ton of songs. There was one in particular that I was really proud of. I decided to share it with my music teacher after class one day. He listened as I sang, and then he said "thank you."

As a second grader, I wanted to be praised and told it was a great song, so his simple "thank you," which may have been sufficient in his mind, was the biggest rejection I had ever felt. 

I kept writing songs well into my teens, but I never again shared them with anyone.