Out of Doors

"...you're such a fucking pussy. you're too busy sucking your boyfriends dick to fight like a man."


is that sentence a bit shocking? it was to me, and i don't shock easily.

that sentences wasn't hurled at or by me. that sentence, in all it's ignorant, homophobic glory, was an insult hurled at my 12 year old son last night after he walked away from a group of kids that had surrounded him and sprayed him all over with silly string.

this all happened at a youth group meeting.

mere feet away from the "adults in charge" (most barely legal adults).

NO ONE DID A DAMN THING.

i got a call at work from a child in TEARS. he had left the church and walked home and called me.

this isn't the first time.

this isn't the second time.

this is TWO YEARS of bullying from the same kid.

i'm out of doors to knock on. i don't know what cage to rattle any more.

TWO YEARS of escalating bullying and not a damn thing has worked.

you may remember a rant a while ago about the school teaching my son "safe words" to use to get help when the bullying happened.

you may remember rants about me calling the school staff, the superintendent, the city police.

TWO YEARS. multiple school district complaint forms filed with the school superintendent. it spread from school to campus kids- a local college mentoring program my son participates in on thursdays on the college campus. it spread to the city park and involved SCRAPS (the local animal control) and a harassment report with the city police. it spread to a church youth group and ANOTHER harassment report with the city police.

my son doesn't want to go to school. i've told him to stay away from the park near our house. fortunately, the college mentor program realized what was happening and dis-invited the student doing the bullying so my son still has ONE safe place to go. but for fucks sake, even a church isn't sanctuary for him at this point.

the school principal is "working on it." the key phrase he kept saying this morning in his office as he leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed.

i *just* found out there's a city police officer assigned to the school as a safety/resource officer. why wasn't i informed of that two years ago?

i've had to teach my son to just take it. all the insults, the pushing, losing friends, being the narc because he did the right thing and told me. remember "...snitches get stitches..." from last school year?

he can't fight back or he gets in trouble. he can't verbally defend himself or they consider that bullying as well.

so he just has to listen to it and tell me about it in tears later.

he has to listen to "you're such a fag," "go suck your boyfriends dick," "no wonder your dad left," and a myriad of other juvenile insults. i don't know if he's gay. he doesn't know if he's gay. we've talked about it. he's questioning.

IT DOESN'T MATTER. 

the officer last night was the first one to get that. the first question from the reports has always been "...does the bullying bother him because he's gay?"

NO YOU FUCKING IMBECILES.

THE BULLYING BOTHERS HIM BECAUSE HE DOESN'T LIKE BEING BULLIED.

the officer last night was actually thrown off my me answering the question before he asked it.

me: "...and no, i don't know if he's gay or not. He's 12."
officer: "I wasn't going to even ask that. Why would that be an issue?"
me: "Well, it's the first thing everyone else has asked."
officer: "Doesn't matter if he is or isn't This shouldn't be happening."

FINALLY. someone gets it.

but now what? i have two case report numbers. i have multiple harassment complaints. i've talked to everyone i can think of. i've started down the path to see if there's any legal help i can get.

BUT MY KID IS STILL SCARED TO GO TO SCHOOL.

so what? what door do i knock on? what cage do i rattle? how can i get more than one police officer to take this serious? 

i'm at a loss. i'm frustrated. i'm sad. i'm angry. i'm insulted. i'm so incredibly hurt for my kid. i'm having flash backs to when i was in school. i know EXACTLY what he's feeling. i know EXACTLY what it's like to be the target and have no one listen or help. i know what it's like to be standing right next to an adult and have them walk away when something happens.

I DON'T WANT THAT FOR MY KID.

i'm going to keep fighting. i don't know what i'm fighting for or against or which direction i'm pointed, but i'm not giving up.

HOW?

i don’t love myself.

i know that’s odd to see in real words these days with the THOUSANDS of self love, body positive, acceptance articles floating all over.

i have good days when i don’t loathe myself as much. but for the most part all i hear in my head is a negative soundtrack that is a BITCH to turn off/drown out/ignore/get over.

i’ve tried for YEARS. i have people that love me the way i am. i have a partner that accepts my body as it is and has never once said anything bad about the way i look- quite the opposite actually.

but it’s still there. all those voices drilled in early on. all the years of school kids making fun of my glasses (when you have coke bottle glasses even with the “ultra thin” lenses it’s an issue). i had more than a few bad hair days due to my moms insistence of buying the cheapest by-the-gallon shampoo/conditioner (anyone else remember apple pectin shampoo?) and only the cheapest beauty products in our home (looking at you L.A. Style and aquanet). We had ONE curling iron, if you can call it that- an ancient curl/brush/feather all in one combo. My mom owned exactly one tube of mascara and one basic beige eye shadow and used jergens lotion for EVERYTHING (my acne prone skin cringes at the thought).

when i was young i was fortunately unaware of the bulk of people making fun of me. i lived in a world of books and didn’t particularly get along with 3D characters. i didn’t know until years later that my brother had to beg my mom to teach me to shave my legs because the kids on swim team were making fun of me. i didn’t realize until well after high school that the guy who asked me to tutor him did so because he thought that maybe being seen with him would get other people to leave me alone.

i know it’s been an absurd amount of years ago, but i still hear my moms voice in my head every time i try on a red shirt telling me how much it makes my blotchy skin and acne stand out. Guess how many red shirts I own? even though i have NO IDEA what it means, i still hear her voice in my head telling me i have a “shelf butt” and have to be careful what i wear. i hear her, after my second kiddo, telling me how nice i look and how well i take care of myself for “someone my size.” there was a lady at my mom’s church that i adored. she was GORGEOUS and always looked amazingly put together (plus she would sing occasionally and had the most beautiful voice i had ever heard). i remember my mom saying how lovely she looked and how impressive it was she looked that way for being a dairy farmer’s wife. WHAT? the kicker is, i think my mom honestly thought she was saying something nice. it never occurred to her that quantifying things by saying “for your size” or “for a farmer’s wife” were HUGELY insulting.

i still hear the girls in high school making fun of me for wearing too much blue eyeshadow (before i even owned ANY make up. pale/translucent skin is a bitch). i remember the horror of leaving foundation marks on people i hugged before learning about blending/setting your makeup. i remember my dads second wife not very politely pointing out that i was wearing the wrong color foundation and hadn’t learned how to avoid “make up mask” yet.

as a bonus, i have an older brother who was horrified by everything i did in high school (and still doesn’t get me now). he HATED that i was in drama, thought i only had weird friends, didn’t like that i wasn’t athletic or in sports (even though i did try volleyball and softball in jr high to very, very little success). now he still laments every tattoo on my skin and makes all sorts of off comments about my hair color. he’s glad that i’m finally “back to a natural color of hair” even though i’ve reminded him anything that comes with a formula and has to be mixed/applied every 8 weeks isn’t quite “natural”.

for a VERY short time i had a husband that HATED me. all my clothes were trashy and not fit to be seen out in public. i was a mortifying embarrassment to him if i left the house without make up. i was destroying his public image when we went grocery shopping because i carried my purse on my shoulder versus putting it in the cart.

I know ALL the things i just lamented about are total bullshit. they’re other peoples issues projected on me. it’s my mom’s own body issues and lack of knowledge. it’s my brother’s own security and image issues. it’s my ex-husbands way of controlling and abusing. NONE OF IT WAS ME.

i did the best i could with what i had. i still do. i still make sure my clothes are the right size and i’m not trying to fit 10 pounds of butter in a 5 pound tub. i can *occasionally* leave the house without make-up but it’s a conscious effort. i spend ungodly amounts of money getting my hair cut and colored. i LOATHE myself for not spending MORE time getting ready in the morning. i *should* (worst word in the english language) get up every morning and curl/style my hair. i *should* spend more time and effort trying to get rid of the acne that still plagues me. i *should* spend more time shopping and finding clothes that aren’t tee-shirts and jeans. i *should* shave my legs and wear dresses more often. i *should* a million things. those *should* statements are why i only own one hooded sweatshirt now (they look sloppy. you *should* have more pride in yourself).

all i see in the mirror is a vain but still hideous monster. i hate how much i look like my brother without make up on. i hate that my hair does this half frizz half curl half straight all a mess if i don’t spend hours on it with products and potions and power tools. i HATE the way my body looks, but i hate even more the thought of people seeing me sweating and with frizzy hair and without make up more. no, seriously, who has the time to work out when it takes 20 minutes before hand to remove your makeup, make sure you’re properly fitted into clothes that aren’t too offensive, revealing, and properly lock down all the wobbly bits, WORK OUT (complete with boob sweat and frizzy hair horror) and then repair all the damage done so you’re presentable to the world again? i will never, EVER understand how people work out on their lunch hour.

i guess this is all the really long, pathetic way of saying HOW DO YOU QUIT BEING SO VAIN? how do you not worry about your blotchy/acne skin when you’re wearing a red shirt (or just in general)? how do you work out without worrying about looking like the creature from the black lagoon? how do you go to the grocery store in the morning without being in full war paint? how do you turn off the negative track in your head? how do you *REALLY* believe the positive things people say about you? how do you love yourself? like, really, truly, honestly, not afraid to stand in front of the mirror naked, love yourself? i really, 100% don’t get it. i read the self love articles. i talk to friends that have a great body image. and all i can think is “...yeah, but…”

i’m confident in other things; that bolsters the “fake it til you make it” portion of the vanity. i know i can hold a decent conversation. i have a passable sense of humor (even if not always entirely appropriate). i can sling sentences together fairly well. i’m damn good at my job. i have a fucking amazing house (finally). i have good kids and an adorable bastard dog that distract people fairly well. i love the people around me exactly the way they are, but HOW DO I DO THAT FOR MYSELF?