Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But Names Are Worse Than Poison

Somebody posted the following YouTube video on Facebook today.  I don't tend to watch many videos that my friends post, mainly because I don't have a lot of time to spend on Facebook, but today I took a chance and I ended up crying my eyes out.  

Something that I don't tend to talk about is that my (later) childhood years were riddled with cruelties inflicted upon me by my peers.  I was treated like garbage on a daily basis, told I was a loser, ugly, stupid.  All of the above.  Because of this I grew up thinking I was stupid and ugly.  A freak.  Worthless.  

Before my 4th and 5th grade years, I was a relatively happy kid--I had friends, kind of enjoyed school--but then my family moved to Colorado where I was considered different.  Indeed, with my hispanic heritage I was not like the others--In 1989, when we moved to Colorado my brothers and I were the only kids of Mexican descent who attended the schools we attended.  Plus, I had glasses.  

I hate to pull the race card out and wave it around, but a lot of the mockery was race-related.  It's strange but I cannot say that my brothers had similar experiences.  They were just lucky, I guess.  

Anyway, it wasn't long before the incessant teasing caused me to be ashamed of myself.  For what, you ask?  Anything and everything.  I was wrong.  How dare I show my face in public?  How dare I speak in class?  Make friends?  Never, because who'd want to be friends with me.  I wasn't good enough, wasn't smart enough, and I definitely was too disgusting to look upon.  It was these thoughts that made me retreat into myself, caused me to hate everything I was.  

I wasn't even 10 years old before I started wishing I was dead.  I didn't want to wake up in the morning, didn't want to go back to school where all I would learn each day is how my very existence was offensive.  

Fortunately for me time passed, I grew up and discovered how wrong those kids were, how wrong I was for believing them.  However it took years for me to see that I am so much more than nothing.  It took years for me to understand that I am intelligent, always have been, that I'm--bonus!--beautiful.  I learned that I matter.  


I will never know what my life would have been like had my mind not been poisoned, had I never been exposed to cruel children, and I try not to dwell upon it because my life turned out more than okay.  I am happy, I am blessed. 
  

That said, the emotional scars are still present.  I still struggle in social situations, still freak out on the inside when I hear people whispering and laughing.  I know better, that no one is talking about me, but the wounded kid inside me can't help but wonder.  

Because of my experience I pray my girls won't have to deal with playground bullies. I pray that they won't be the playground bullies. I pray they will be willing to stand up for the ones who are picked on because when I was their age I would have done anything for somebody to be on my side for once.

All I can do is teach my girls to treat everyone like they'd like to be treated and hope they actually do so. I hope that other parents are out there trying to teach their children the Golden Rule as well.

Bullying is among the worst kind of torture that can be inflicted upon a child. Yes, sticks and stones break bones, but that kind of pain goes away. You never forget all those times a whole classroom full of kids made you feel less than human while a teacher looked on.  That sort of pain does not fade.  

Stop bullying.

Michigan Winters: 50 Shades of Gray (with a Chance of Snow)

This is officially our eighth winter in Michigan.  I never thought I'd make it this far, that I'd last this long, especially during that first bitterly cold winter.  Duane and I barely survived that winter, or at least that's how it seemed, but we did and we were so glad when it was finally over.  Every single winter since has been about the same: long, bone-chilling, and so very gray due to the constant overcast.  

I used to hate going outside during these everlasting Michigan winters, and I avoided looking out the windows, for there was nothing worth seeing except for dead everything covered in dirty snow, or worse yet, no snow whatsoever.  It was oppressive, the lack of sunlight, of color, made me want to curl up and die.  Duane felt the same.

Of course we both suffer from SAD, always have, but until we moved here we'd never experienced anything like a gray Michigan winter, so our depression was so much worse here.  But there was nothing we could really do besides endure each and every one of them.  All the while we were counting down the days until winter actually ended–as winter doesn't actually end until well into spring–fantasized constantly about getting the hell out of Michigan, and envied anyone who did.

As you can see we're still here, but this winter is different from all of those others.  This time we're very much alive and kicking.  Sure, the blah colorless days and icy blasts of wind are as bad as ever, but we're alive and not just surviving.  

What's changed?  Our diets, the amount of sleep we get, the time we spend at the gym, we finally purchased a "happy light", and we cheer each other on every single morning (example: It's not unusual for either of us to say "Yay! We did it!  We got up early!  We're functioning!"  But you know what else has changed?  We have.  Our attitudes have changed.  

I don't necessarily know what's brought this change about, I suppose it has to do with the fact that we were sick of ourselves, of the pathetic non-people (robots programed to be ridiculously sad and nothing else) we became for more than half the year, every single year since moving here.  We didn't want to be those people anymore, and the economy being what it is, it's not like we could just up and move–getting a good job is difficult these days, and anyway we are so very grateful for Duane's current job.  

So yeah, we changed.  We decided to add a bit of our own color to these frigid gray days by appreciating all that we have because we are so very blessed.  See:

Blessed, amirite?

We decided to laugh instead of cry, because laughter truly is the best medicine, and honestly, we don't want our girls to look back and remember us as sad people.  They deserve more than that, deserve better, happier memories of Duane and myself.  

And sure, this change hasn't been easy.  Like I said, we have to cheer each other on.  Every morning.  We have to keep busy, otherwise time passes far too slowly.  We have to have to find humor whenever and wherever we can.  And of course we pray to get though each and every day.  It's not always easy, but we're doing it for the first time since we moved to Michigan.  

The real test comes in February, which is historically the absolute worst month for Duane and myself.  We're keeping our fingers crossed and hoping for the best.  If I remember, I'll post an update when the shortest-yet-somehow-the-longest-most-depressing-and-lame month is over.