Day 11: Sticks and Stones
Sometimes, when I'm alone with my thoughts (which is not as much as you might think - I steal moments during gym time), I wonder what made me this way.
I know I feel stunted or angry when I think about what my college boyfriend(s) said to me, but sometimes I can't remember what they said. And sometimes I don't even think it was them. It was other males I ran in to, who were associated with them. I remember that one told me to get in the kitchen and do dishes, because I was a woman. I remember another's roommate. He was a beast. A huge, hairy, chauvinistic, asshole beast.
He thought I needed to be "disciplined" because I told him to "fuck off" one day when he was ordering me to pressure a rushee who he considered to be dorky to NOT pledge their fraternity. Within earshot of said rushee. Who I thought was very sweet. For the next three weeks, all he said to me was "fuck off." Oh, he did me the honor of varying tones, but he humiliated and ignored me until he launched a verbal tirade against me with a huge laundry list of all my faults while we were at the pub on campus. During a very public lunch. I could tell he enjoyed berating me, as his voice strengthened and resonated over the songs on the jukebox while he nearly shouted out all my faults. I was a child. I opened my mouth without thinking. I had no right to speak to him that way. It was his place to show me my place, and on and on until I couldn't have left the scene if I wanted to - my legs were frozen with defeat.
Even writing about this, I feel the heat of anger rise up in my gullet like too much kimchi. Had my 30 year old self known him, the self-imposed "disciplinarian" of my 16 and 17 year old self, I'd tell him to shove it up his ass. And may be some more few choice words. If I saw him now? I'm not so sure. He's a lawyer for his dad now.
It seems like lost time, that I feel so angry about this, now, but I guess it's because I haven't processed it. Just tucked it away, like a bad secret. The humiliation. It was easy to drink him away in the big easy. You just had to nose yourself up to the bar. Which I did, again and again, and again. Because if I was drunk, then I could pretend that I didn't feel so small.
When you start drinking to hide something, it's easy. But I didn't start that way. By this time, I'd already wrapped myself around vodka and OJ's. I found intoxication intoxicating.
I just read a book, recently "SMASHED", about a girl who drank heavily from 14 to 23. I couldn't relate, which I found surprising. She drank to escape. The first time I picked up a drink? It was for fun. I WAS FUNNY. I WAS CHARMING. I WAS BEAUTIFUL. BOYS wanted to kiss me (which is an entirely different motivator), and girls wanted to be my friend.
I guess the liquid courage took a turn when I started encountering people like Mr. Lawyer, who acted out of maliciousness. Then I got angry, and that's when I got mean. Another night, another demon.
Jane Says: Could you look me in the eye?
I know I feel stunted or angry when I think about what my college boyfriend(s) said to me, but sometimes I can't remember what they said. And sometimes I don't even think it was them. It was other males I ran in to, who were associated with them. I remember that one told me to get in the kitchen and do dishes, because I was a woman. I remember another's roommate. He was a beast. A huge, hairy, chauvinistic, asshole beast.
He thought I needed to be "disciplined" because I told him to "fuck off" one day when he was ordering me to pressure a rushee who he considered to be dorky to NOT pledge their fraternity. Within earshot of said rushee. Who I thought was very sweet. For the next three weeks, all he said to me was "fuck off." Oh, he did me the honor of varying tones, but he humiliated and ignored me until he launched a verbal tirade against me with a huge laundry list of all my faults while we were at the pub on campus. During a very public lunch. I could tell he enjoyed berating me, as his voice strengthened and resonated over the songs on the jukebox while he nearly shouted out all my faults. I was a child. I opened my mouth without thinking. I had no right to speak to him that way. It was his place to show me my place, and on and on until I couldn't have left the scene if I wanted to - my legs were frozen with defeat.
Even writing about this, I feel the heat of anger rise up in my gullet like too much kimchi. Had my 30 year old self known him, the self-imposed "disciplinarian" of my 16 and 17 year old self, I'd tell him to shove it up his ass. And may be some more few choice words. If I saw him now? I'm not so sure. He's a lawyer for his dad now.
It seems like lost time, that I feel so angry about this, now, but I guess it's because I haven't processed it. Just tucked it away, like a bad secret. The humiliation. It was easy to drink him away in the big easy. You just had to nose yourself up to the bar. Which I did, again and again, and again. Because if I was drunk, then I could pretend that I didn't feel so small.
When you start drinking to hide something, it's easy. But I didn't start that way. By this time, I'd already wrapped myself around vodka and OJ's. I found intoxication intoxicating.
I just read a book, recently "SMASHED", about a girl who drank heavily from 14 to 23. I couldn't relate, which I found surprising. She drank to escape. The first time I picked up a drink? It was for fun. I WAS FUNNY. I WAS CHARMING. I WAS BEAUTIFUL. BOYS wanted to kiss me (which is an entirely different motivator), and girls wanted to be my friend.
I guess the liquid courage took a turn when I started encountering people like Mr. Lawyer, who acted out of maliciousness. Then I got angry, and that's when I got mean. Another night, another demon.
Jane Says: Could you look me in the eye?
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on Wednesday, May 31, 2006 at 4:57 PM.
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