PREADOLESCENCE- Misery LIKES Company

“Fear is a circle and so is Love.
Which do you want to dance in?”

     Growing up, the gospel children’s song, This Little Light Of Mine, was one of my favorites. As I clapped my hands and sang along with the popular melody, I remember how small and big I felt. I never thought about what it meant to shine my light. Probably because it was very natural to do so. Until the 7th grade…
     We all have “growing into our own” stories, but please stay with me as I describe one of the worst years of my life. A year that taught me many fearful lessons that I have held onto until now. Crazy, huh? Why would I hold onto fear for so long? Because I was in denial, unwilling to take responsibility and see MY reactions to the cruelty of preteens.
     It is 1982, and I have boobs. My "ugly duckling” days of missing teeth, greasy hair, and wearing my worn-out-beaded-campfire-vest in the 6th grade were slowly fading away. Boys, boys, and more BOYS consumed my days. Except when I was studying in class. Except when I received a letter from the most popular 8th-grader in the school. It said, “W/B.” Little did I know that she meant, Write Back NOW…or else!
     Because I was taking my time in getting back to her, she told the entire Junior High School (well, it seemed to be everyone) that I was stuck-up! Almost everyone that I perceived as my friend, fled. This may not seem so tragic to read, but to an immature thirteen-year-old-girl who had been dumped by her first boyfriend? It was EVERYTHING!
     “Kathleen kisses like a DOG!" he screamed. Well, that’s what I was told by a freckle-faced, red-headed boy (who happened to be in my soon-to-be, ex-boyfriend’s class that fateful morning). Unfortunately (or fortunately), the innocent by-stander was telling me the truth, my FIRST real boy-crush was about to break up with me. Later that day, my first kiss ended up sending his friends to do the dirty deed. All because I did not know where to put my tongue! My mind immediately defended...I had gum in my mouth (I nearly always had gum in my mouth). He did not know how to kiss me. He’s the bad kisser!
     So, here I am with ONE friend and scared to kiss any other boy…EVER! Could things get worse?
     Besides having boobs that year, I had “Miss Beezly” (the nickname our gym teacher used instead of  the work menstruation). Or as Margaret (from Judy Blume’s classic, “Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret”) says, “menstroo-ation.” My mom did not inform me about the existence of tampons (never mind teaching me on how to use one). Probably because Playtex Gentle Glide was yet to be invented back in those days (Dear God, am I really that old?) Anyway, it was all about sanitary napkins that felt like wearing a pad the size of a surfboard.
     Maxi Pads were not easy for me to get used to, and I created worry that they would show in the back. I remember continually feeling my butt, making sure that I had a smooth-pad-transition. I definitely did not want my (now) ex-boyfriend to see that, too. So, what did my crazy head tell me to do? To push it up to the front. Yeah, that will hide it! While sitting on a counter stool in Art Class, I started to notice some boys whispering to each other. Did it leak through? I thought, as I cleverly looked down and took a sneak peek to make sure there was no blood. Nope, I’m in the clear. The bell rang. As I was getting off my seat, one boy looked straight into my eyes and said...
   “Is it a DICK?”
    I had pushed the Maxi Pad just a tad too far forward, producing a huge bulge (and quite an impressive “package”). Throughout the rest of the day, kids who weren’t in the class strolled past me looking at you-know-what to see if they could get a viewing of the now fixed and inconspicuous pad. Sorry folks-show’s over.
     I embarrassed myself and surrendered my whole soul to my ego. In looking back, I can actually laugh. But then? Not so much. I remember salivating over the dull kitchen knives while unloading the dishwasher at home. You know, to end it, once and for all. It was either me or the scary gang at school who was threatening to do it.
     So, here I am: friendless, kissed like a dog, threatened to be beaten up on a daily basis, and sported an unwanted prosthetic penis for a few hours.
     And then one day, I got my lucky break. Or was it? Remember the popular girl who had started my 7th grade year off to preteen hell? Well (most likely feeling sorry for me), she no longer deemed me as unworthy. Lucky me. I went along to get along and lived in the victim-poor-me-story (since it seemed to work), and all my so-called  “friends” gave me the honor of accepting me back into their hitlerian regime. The head gang leader seemed to have changed her mind as well. As for the boys? Boys will be boys (and no, I am not letting them off the hook).
     This was when I learned a very significant life-changing lesson... Misery LIKES Company. The age-old adage, “Misery LOVES Company,” could be seen so differently. Misery had forgotten Love. And so did I. Unworthiness circled through my cellular system, and I did my best to survive. I accomplished this by dimming my light. In order to acquire friends, I subconsciously “thought” putting myself down and pumping others up was the way to inner peace. Rather, it was just the beginning of abandoning my truest self. Sure, I survived (just barely), but thriving was no where in sight. I continued this practice until I was forty and beyond.