Another Life Story

This post was submitted by a reader.


As third born of four children, I was pretty much invisible. My brother, 3 years older than me, would come home from school and we would play school and he would teach me everything he learned that day. I was five, he was eight. I idolized my big brother. I followed him everywhere.

When I was in the first grade, my brother died, my parents got a divorce, a new man moved into the family, and we all moved to another city. For a six year old, it was just too much for me. I became a total introvert. I seldom spoke at home….only when asked a direct question. My sisters…one four years older, one four years younger …. totally ignored me. Both my sisters were pretty and popular, but not very bright. (I was the exact opposite.) They both flunked a grade….older sister flunked 7th grade, younger sister flunked 3rd grade… does someone flunk 3rd grade? They went to 9 different schools, just like I did….but I had a hard time always being the new kid in class.

My only escape was school. Because of playing school with my brother, I absolutely loved school. I was fascinated about everything and truly enjoyed learning….until the 5th grade. That year….my teacher humiliated me twice.  Once was my fault and I do know that…..but I was also only 10….the other was a perceived humiliation, but it was enough to silence me. After that, I rarely raised my hand in class. I became invisible at school. Oh, if the teacher called on me, I would answer, but I wouldn’t volunteer anymore. I still loved school and  learning, I just never talked to anyone. Just like at home.

When I was 12, I was informed by my older sister that I was ugly. And when I tried to deny it, she would slap me. It was a hard lesson to learn, but no one has ever contradicted her. It was reinforced pretty much daily…there were days I thought I must be the ugliest person in the world. It was also made clear to me that no matter how hard I tried….no matter what I did…..I would never be special. Everyone else was special, but I was not. I had no choice but to accept it. I will spare you the examples, but trust me, there were many.

In the 9th grade, I became a DUFF. (I love the name of that movie…it finally gave a name to my role in life.) It only lasted two years. I thought they were my friends, but they really weren’t. I was just the comic relief.

In October of my senior year, I left home and got my own apartment. My apartment was $45 a month and my paychecks from the café I were I was a waitress was about $25 a week. I usually made enough in tips to buy my lunch at school the next day. I ate breakfast (a donut) and supper at the café every day but Sunday. I had about $100 in my checking account when I left home and it was pretty much gone after I bought sheets and towels and blankets, etc. I had a single place setting of china…from opening my bank account….and I borrowed one place setting of silverware from the café. I finished school…and I am the ONLY one in my family to graduate from high school. My mother only made one comment to me that day….and it sure wasn’t “Congratulations!” (It was….”Couldn’t you have done something with that hair?”)

Just a side note….I was molested by my father and grandfather and beaten by my mother….which also reinforced my withdrawal from life. One thing about being an abused child….you learn how to shut down and go to a safe place mentally. (I learned later it’s called transcendental meditation.) After I lost my virginity to my first love…..I was raped several times. I didn’t tell anyone….I knew no one would believe me. It would be my word against theirs, and no one would believe the ugly girl. I was just glad they didn’t hurt me physically and this is where the transcendental mediation really came in handy. I just zoned out…it was the only way I could cope. At one point, I got so low….one month I had sex with several men….and then I finally realized that if I got pregnant, I would have no clue who the father was. Fortunately, I didn’t get pregnant, and that behavior stopped and was never repeated.

My mother was very opinionated; a bigot; and would be nice and pleasant to your face and say horrible things about you behind your back; and she made us lie for her. I knew it was wrong and it was very disturbing to me and I tried very, very hard to be the opposite, but it wasn’t always easy when you are raised that way and it’s forced upon you.

One facet of my life that I have never been able to understand is apparently the expression on my face does not mirror what I am feeling. So many times I have been asked….”why are you mad”….and I am not mad at all! How my expression is not how I am feeling is beyond my comprehension. I have been told I look mad, or mean, or whatever….and those are not emotions I have at the time. All I know for sure….is when I am concentrating intently, it shows on my face as something else.

So I never had any friends….because I never talked and it was rare for anyone to talk to me. And I am lacking in the social graces because I was humiliated, ridiculed, laughed at or ignored first by my classmates and then by my co-workers. It almost seemed that to offer me a compliment….about anything….was something that was pretty much impossible for anyone to do. Would it have been the end of the world for someone to say, “Nice job”? Yes, I was proud of myself….but it was hard to feel good without any support. Some of my employers appreciated my intelligence; some only cared that I could type fast. Some of my employers were good, most were not and it seemed they were actually trying to keep me down. (My Annual Reviews would concentrate on one or two bad days….not the hundreds of days I did great work….but the couple I had a hard time.) But I kept my mouth shut as much as I could and kept my head down and did my work as well as I could because that’s all I knew how to do. And after all, it’s not like I am special or anything.


A Reader

  • Cledwyn’s Pus Poetry

    “My mother was very opinionated; a bigot…”

    Haha. That was funny. Then again, who isn’t? Bigotry is a part of the common currency of our fallen humanity, one of the flaws to which fallen flesh is heir. State psychiatry itself is largely little more than institutionalized bigotry, though the immemorial sinister social currents converging therein are no doubt many and diverse, whilst nevertheless proceeding from the same sinister depths of human nature.

    Nevertheless, some bigots are worse than others. That I will concede.

    As for being called ugly, Calvin was right when he said that children are lumps of filth, at least for the most part, the love thereof being impossible for those whose flesh has found itself the object of the sinister designs of these little nano-predators, these cannibals in embryo.

    Within freshly minted flesh there abides a blood-lust of such terrifying dimensions, the removal of internal and external restraints thereagainst would lead to carnage on a frankly unimaginable scale; a flood (a blood-flood) of Biblical proportions would flow and a chaos of doomsday dimensions would prevail, tearing the mask of civilization from the sinister visage of humanity, laying bare the demons of its depths, demons that thenceforward would triumph completely over the better angels of our nature; all ethical principles and precepts would become luxuries that men could ill afford (as is the case in a society wherein each man, perforce, preys upon his fellows to survive); such would be the carnage, men would recoil from reproducing flesh, and pregnancy would become a crime prohibited under pain of the pillory and of death by guillotine (as it perhaps should be anyway); all trace of warmth, kindness and sympathy will depart from the human face, whose features will settle permanently into a terrifying, grotesque mold; every faculty, every fiber of our being would find itself in the service of the most base animal appetites. It would be terrible to see. Whence follows the need to discipline the little buggers.

    Seriously though, we humans have a native tendency – by some treachery of our biology – to defer to the judgement of others, yet the faculty thereof, like all others save the ape-like faculty of imitation, is rarely developed in most men to the point of maturity.

    A case in point is intelligence. Most people in our society disclose in many of their judgements a belief that intelligence pretty much consists in being able to stuff your head with the kind of futile facts (facts that, in the futility stakes – so futile are they – could give human beings a run for their money) no self-respecting intellect would deign to commit to memory. As if the capacity of one’s knowledge were coextensive with the depth of one’s intelligence, as if intelligence consists in burying your head in an encyclopaedia and engorging on epistemological junk-food. The profundity of one’s knowledge is rarely factored into our judgments of intelligence. So the egghead (an individual as frankly pitiable as an anorak or a collector of stamps, with whom the egghead, that masturbator of the trivial, shares both a rapacious appetite for collecting pointless possessions and a want of discrimination) acquires a reputation as an aristocrat of the intellect for abasing himself intellectually to learn inconsequentialities that any profound thinker would studiously avoid; for which reason, if he went on the Weakest Link or Who Wants to be A Millionaire, so poorly would he do (for not knowing when the queen was born, or who sang which song that should never have been written, let alone heard, or what precise color was Shakespeare’s shite), he’d be labelled an idiot by Anne Robinson or the hordes of people sitting at home with nothing better to do than learn things better not learned.

    Then of course there’s the judgements men emit pertaining to works of art, or the sensory rape that often dignifies itself under that name. Why set store by the judgement of men who can’t distinguish between the output of a Bieber and a Brahms, who would rather read biographies of sports stars and celebrity hardbacks than the work of people who can actually write? Oh, but it’s all relative, isn’t it? The spirit of democracy often demands the suspension of our faculties. The vulgar tastes and aberrations of judgment of the masses must be respected, which in our society takes on the form of the strategic invocation of the relativity of all judgement whenever a man, confronted with his own mediocrity, demands the same respect for the trash to which he is partial as is accorded the works of genius.

    So the judgement of men isn’t to be taken seriously. Why expect a person to be anymore receptive to the beauties of a face than that of a great musical composition? When you actually look at the faces of some of the people considered beautiful in our society, it beggars belief that such a gallery of grotesques could acquire such a reputation. Perhaps some women (certainly not any men) can be called beautiful, but as Schopenhauer said, nature gives beauty to the woman for a few years at the expense of the rest of her life. A face in full bloom may be beautiful, but it isn’t long before the decay sets in, and when it does the former beauty will be condemned to the torments of regret, for within a time-ravaged frame the same heart throbs and pulses with the same desires and passions as in times when the skin that housed it was serviceable to their demands, as in times when in the marketplace of desire, wherein the business of life is largely transacted, the heart had enough fleshly capital to silence (for a time) its yearnings and cravings.

    Anyway, such beauty is mostly manufactured, two of the principal seats whereof being the hair and the skin, which like everything else is carefully manipulated to lend an illusory appearance of harmony to a person’s features where there is none (shave off the hair of the average woman, and her beauty disappears).

  • all too easy

    Abbott meet Costello! I can’t stop laughing and I can’t decide which one of you two idiots is funnier! Become a team, that’s it!

    Hey Reader, why didn’t you reach out to others who were as sad and homely and miserable as you? Can you explain why you always waited for someone to reach out to you in your agony, but you never reached out to those who needed a helping hand? Hmmm? Why is that? LIAR

  • all too easy

    Have you ever noticed that this particular phony always mentions her high IQ? And how anti-psychotics always bring her down a notch or 3? Try a new line there honey

  • all too easy

    Oh, BTW, who said you were intelligent? Did you turn your father-rapist and your grandfather-rapist in to the police? Did they rape your two prettier sisters or just you, the ugly one?

    For you, it may be difficult to recognize when someone is being dishonest. For me, it is like breathing. Lying, as the anti-psychiatrist zealots are prone to do over and over and over (it’s enough to make you puke) does not help their cause. But, then, most everything they offer is total nonsense and that explains why they have no impact on the ever increasing sales of psychotropic medications. “Between the mid-1990s and the late 2000s, prescriptions of antipsychotics for children rose about sevenfold.” Nick Kristof

    That is some crumbling sandcastle

  • doppelganger

    LIAR. Guess who has WAY less credibility than an incest survivor. A METH HEAD who uses a fake ADHD “diagnosis” to justify his amphetamine habit, you, that’s who. You have ZERO credibility, pal. As for your imaginary superpower of lie detecting (LOL!!), that sort of magical thinking is what is known in the biz o’ madness as a “delusion,” i.e. “psychosis.” No surprise there. A well known adverse effect of “ADHD” amphetamines is – psychosis! Check out the list of “side” effects for the ADHD drug Desoxyn (generic name METHAMPHETAMINE). “Psychotic symptoms” is on the list along with another adverse effect from which you are obviously suffering – “aggressive behavior or hostility.”

    But when it comes to credibility, ya GOT NUTHIN. Beat it, dingbat.

  • S. H.

    Holy smokes! I read the novel from Cledwyn and posts from all too easy. Its just mean spirited folks. You asked if Reader ever gave love or help to anyone. I would hope she has and in reality abused children until they understand the concept of giving love enabling you to receive love, well lets just say you can’t give something to someone when you never received it. Even if Reader is fabricating the story, a modicum of love and concern should be given. If for no other reason than the fact that she is a human being.