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The Story Of You

March 19, 2013

Hello! I’m back from my semi-hiatus with a post and request for audience participation (I’m sure you’re thrilled). Seeing as there’s at least 32-33 of you who are following this blagh I’d like to get your story. What’s the story of you? What I mean by that is what personal experiences do you feel have made you who you are today. See, people fascinate me because what makes everyone tick is so vastly different for everyone and their life experiences can be the greatest in the world or they let the muck corrupt them. That’s pretty powerful. And our collection of experiences tends to shape us like a sculptor molding their clay or river going over a pebble and each time taking a jagged edge our bit by bit.

So, what’s your story? Who are you? And what are you made of? I’ll start by sharing three life experiences that shaped me and who I am.

1. My first experience with the dark-er side of my nature was in the 7th grade in middle school and what I was put a backpack of a kid that had been annoying me into the gym showers while everyone else was still in the gymnasium. I did this by telling the teacher I had to go to the bathroom and at the time it wasn’t planned. But I realized I was completely alone in the locker room which gave me an opportunity for some payback. To this day I still don’t completely know why I did it, but I did not like this other student and he annoyed me to the point that putting his book-bag under a shower head was a great idea. I knew that no one would notice it and I knew just where to put it that it couldn’t be seen before the showers were turned on.

I left the class completely satisfied with myself until word got out that it had happened and I knew there would be hell to pay in fessing up to it to the entire class. So I opted out the next time we were in gym and the whole class had to pay for it. Only a few people ever caught on that I did it and it was only a year after the event that they did and…surprisingly the group I sat with in the cafeteria was surprisingly okay with it saying, ‘I would’ve done the same thing as well.’ So…from that I learned my lesson: that’s not who I am.

I’m not the guy that does those kind of things and I felt horrible for having done it in the first place. In the end I can only plead temporary insanity and know that I’d never do something so underhanded again. That really was the pinnacle of my horrible actions until a couple more years later when I learned the value failure.

2. In life you’re rarely given a second chance and up until my 9th grade year I’d had two in the form of summer school. My 7th and 8th grade years I barely gave a shit about anything. Now, it’d be silly to blame the events that were happening at the time (my mother was really getting ready to split from my father the first time). Though I do think they may have played a tiny role. But that’s just a cop out, ‘Yeah, officer, I killed the bastard. But my parents were really the responsible ones because they were horrible people.’ I can’t really see either excuse holding up in court.

My 9th grade year I started at a new school I wasn’t really thrilled about and with people I wasn’t too thrilled to meet. I just wanted to go to the home I knew for years. Soo….I took every opportunity to skip class. My brother also didn’t help because he was the one I kept skipping with. Turns out they’re really not happy with you missing 34 days in one year (truancy court?). Yeah, I ended up in truancy court and because my father was oblivious because he went to work too early to see us off and since they were separated my mother didn’t know either until they were summoned there.

Honestly I felt mortified. I still feel mortified when I think about this and that I’m typing it up. I took advantage of everyone and I let my father down–I let me down. I didn’t think I was better than my actions, but I definitely was sliding further downward. This was a path I was headed on: the path to oblivion. To nothingness and I found myself not caring until I saw my actions and consequences laid bare. I saw that I hurt my family, that I hurt myself, that I was being an awful person.

And surprise surprise, no summer school this time. I actually had to own my failure. And own it I did. I ended up repeating the 9th grade, but I found that from that failure I could rise again and I started by actually caring about my future. I had steadily improved my grades, met some people I felt good about, and thanks to my tech ed teacher was recommended for a printing class which would influence me till today.

3. The third one is a quicky, mainly because it’s still ongoing. I originally started college as a psychology major because…why the fuck not? I like psychology and I like how the mind works and what it does to itself and what it can do to help and how it shapes us every day. This blagh sprung from my interest in psychology and finding out about myself. This passion does have its downsides, though (lots of tedium work to get to the prize (a career)) and I couldn’t handle it. I got bored with it and I summarily went adrift again but my teacher from my printing class did point out to me in one of my down moments: it’s all about passion and what you can do.

Sure, I had passion for psychology (still do) but I couldn’t put in the work; it was after my abnormal psychology class that killed my momentum. The professor was knowledgeable but made the work kind of dry and uninteresting (psychology is pretty dry most of the time). After that I swore to myself I’d take Human Growth And Development and if that didn’t re-light this spark I would change majors. Little did I know that the professor had just come from teaching kindergarten and you could tell by how she setup her class. After that I dropped her class and went into General Studies while I figured out what to do.

I settled on Publication Design as my major and never looked back. I was good at it and I loved it and it made me feel free. It also taught me the value of being vulnerable in my work. If you fail to be open about it then you’re going to be a bad designer. You have to be able to march into those classes and put it on display for the whole class to accept or reject and most of the time my work was accepted.

Aaaand…I haven’t designed anything a long time. I attribute it to many things, but most of all because I haven’t gotten any feedback and the big thing with feedback is that it kind of gives you this energy to keep pushing to keep molding until you get it right. I really miss that atmosphere, I wish I could go back to it to before I cracked to before I fucked up everything.

So…on that note: if you feel like participating then go ahead. I wholeheartedly encourage it. What are your successes? What are your failures? Have you ever failed so hard you thought you couldn’t come back from it? Tell me! Feed me Seymour!

One Comment leave one →
  1. Me. permalink
    March 20, 2013 6:38 am

    I’ll be the first (well, second, strictly speaking) to share my somewhat fragmented story, since I don’t really have any shame anyway. Or rather, it took me a while, but I’m largely okay with who I am and what I’ve done. I will however take the liberty to choose people instead of experiences, because I feel I have too many experiences to choose from and in my case, I think people had a greater impact on me. It’s still a selection which doesn’t fully do justice to reality, but it does more justice to reality.

    1. (believe it or not:) My maths teacher

    I was doing pretty badly in highschool, weighing 38 kilos at the end and generally being a complete mess, but hiding this pretty well, surprisingly enough. The only one who ever noticed, and who noticed very early on, was my maths teacher. Despite me failing pretty much every exam and never doing my homework, he knew that was not me. He noticed before I did that I was losing weight and that something was wrong, he just couldn’t pinpoint what it was. I’ve thought numerous times about staying after class to talk to him, but the right moment never showed up. After my finals, when I actually got an A in maths after I started working for a few months, he put an arm around me and said he knew I could do it. Little did he know that outside of maths, everything was just going more tits up. Still, he touched me in a way no other adult did up to that time, and I would have liked him to know his intuitions were right.

    2. My first big love

    I fell in love the moment I first laid my eyes on him when we went on a schooltrip to Germany together. He was 2 years older than me, confident to the point of arrogance and everything I wanted to be. So, rather than letting him know early on how I really felt, I tried to be everything he wanted. I tried to look the way he wanted, think the way he wanted (I even took on his political opinions), be the way he wanted. We became close friends, but when I finally told him how I felt (which I think he knew all along), he told a mutual male friend (not me, a mutual friend) that he wanted to bang me, but that was it. In the mean time, he was being with me when he was meant to be on dates with his girlfriend (yes, he had a girlfriend). At a certain point, I got so angry and upset that I told people he had raped me. I knew it was wrong, and I never went to the police or anything, but I was just so fucked up and angry, it was my way of taking revenge. And lying had become a second nature to me anyway. Strange thing is, no one once doubted my assertions. He was enough of an asshole to have actually done it, and everyone knew this. Only thing is, it started eating away at me, cuz I knew what I had done was unforgivable.

    3. My boyfriend and best friend.

    The only person I ever confessed to what I had done (imagining the rape thing) is my current boyfriend, and at the time pretty much my only friend. And that was really how it felt, as a confession, as a weight falling off my shoulders. My boyfriend has been there for me since I was 16 (I am now almost 24) and he has been there for me in some of my darkest days, when no one else was there for me. He always had faith in me, saw the best in me, and helped me overcome severe depression and a bad eating disorder. I feel i probably owe him my life.

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