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My Michelle
Sometimes I feel consumed by my own conciousness.
As I do things, I see myself from a distance. I picture myself as I am doing something. As I say things, I can see my facial expressions. I think about what I look like to other people. I look stupid, or I look smart, or, hey I like the way my mouth moves when I form a certain word.
I often hate being so self aware.
Why can’t I be a drone, mindlessly living like so many others in this world? Doing things without thinking of every consequence.
I don’t know if I’ll ever find an answer. And trying to live mindlessly doesn’t work. I feel guilty when I attempt it.
This realization of self, that I was living, started very early. A little too early I think. As a child, I didn’t easily forget people and their actions and I took everything personally. These aspects in my childhood self, caused many painful memories.
Vicious teasing at school, chairs pulled out from beneath me as I tried to sit down, name calling. These are all things I remember vividly. And for a long time I hated those who were the perpetrators.
What are children but honest, and painfully so at times? Children do nice and mean things to each other, and for most of their younger lives, they don’t care or know how their deeds affect others. But I knew. I knew what cruelty was. I knew what love was. I saw both but only acknowledged the worse.
Why does the human mind like to focus on the most sad and tragic events of the life? Perhaps it doesn’t, normally. Why did it do so for so long, for me? Why did I love to dwell upon all that which made me sad?
Not only did I dislike those whom I felt had done me wrong, I felt the same way about myself. I felt I was ugly my whole young life. I hid under baggy clothing, bangs hanging in my eyes, an air of defiance and a look of “I don’t care” constantly etched on my face. But I did care.
By the time I turned 14, I was dying for a friend, a confidante, someone who understood and appreciated me. Though my parents loved me, encouraged me and always expressed their belief in me, I didn’t put much stock in that, as many teenagers don’t. I suppose God knew that if it came from a friend, a peer my age, I might actually believe it. So he sent Michelle.
I met her the day she moved in. She was wearing a short plaid skirt and a black shirt. She had neck length brown hair and bangs. The moment I saw her, I knew I wanted her to be my friend. I knew this was my chance. She was new, she didn’t know me as an elementary school geek. I decided I would put all my effort into making her like me.
I now realize that you don’t often make people your friends. You find them, or they find you. You meet a person and something clicks. I think perhaps it took longer for Michelle and I to click than I wanted. But it happened, and with life changing consequences for me.
I would often see her walking down the street with other acquaintances of mine and I felt so incredibly hurt that they didn’t come and invite me to go with them, wherever they were going. I actually got the courage to talk to Michelle about my feelings and she told me that she had expected that if I saw them, I would come out and join them. That thought had never occured to me. I was always waiting for an invitation, desperately hoping to be included. I can’t believe I really thought I needed an invitation to enjoy life! So I tried it one day, tentatively. I saw her with some of her friends, went outside and they welcomed me. They really weren’t trying to exclude me, they just figured if you wanted something, you went for it and felt everyone else thought the same way. Michelle was confident, laid back and enjoyed being silly and having fun.
And I, I was trapped. I was caught in a web of self-doubt, and self-hatred, that I had woven over the course of many years. The web was so very thick now, so hard to break, but she helped me do so.
At first I often felt like I poured more into the friendship than she. She was often grounded because her room was so messy, and I felt she didn’t care enough about being with friends to clean it. So I would come over and clean her room with her or for her. She got angry with me once for folding her underwear. Wow, I was desperate.
But in the end, I didn’t make her my friend, I found a friend in her. Cleaning her room with her offered lots of time to simply talk, and I began to learn. Gradually her influence transformed me.
I learned that much of what I think others must be thinking of me, is based on my perception of myself. I learned to stop taking myself so seriously. Instead of being angry when I tripped up the stairs, I learned to laugh at it and share the story to give my friends a laugh too. I learned to shrug off mean people and situations and go through them with grace and a positive attitude. I learned that friends can buoy each other up when they are both going through times of great grief and sorrow. I learned that I might actually be someone worthwhile.
She was my angel. At a time when I desperately needed someone like her, she came and made me see that life was worth living. Though I still struggled at times with depression and self doubt, she was always around to listen to me and help me through.
I love her deeply, always.
This was posted as part of my Group Writing Project, A person who changed my life. Entries are still being accepted, through August 19, 2007. I would love to hear the story of a person who changed your life!
Comments
6 Responses to “My Michelle”
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That was amazing. That feeling of self-awareness? Such a curse. Such a blessing. I identified with this post on so many different levels.
Overall though? I’m in awe. You are an amazingly talented writer.
What a beautiful story.
Beautiful post, Summer.
Oh, this is beautiful. Peers are so important, and can tell a teen something that a parent couldn’t or that they wouldn’t believe themselves.
Thanks for sharing.
This is just awesome.
And I like it when you said this:
I learned that much of what I think others must be thinking of me, is based on my perception of myself.
So true. Could’ve said that myself.
You really have moved me.
Such a vulnerable child.
The invitation to live…. Yea. I know that.
I always feel people don’t come into each others lives for no reason.
Michelles reason was obvious, looking back.