The Precipice
High school was as smooth as it could be while living in a narcissistic environment. In fact, it was relatively awesome because I survived it. For the most part, I was selectively mute – mainly because of the high level of anxiety that it took for me to unchain my voice. I did not talk a lot – particularly in class, if at all. I stayed focused on my goal of graduating and going to college as an escape.
I worked part-time after school and during the summers. I kept myself as busy as much as I possibly could to save money and keep from having to interact with my parents at home. I was a depressed homebody, but at school I was a social butterfly (for an introvert). I participated in relatively normal school activities even though I did not date.
I did have a longstanding crush and strong soul tie with a guy I have since dubbed as The Narcissist I Almost Married, but we were mainly friends throughout high school. He dated other girls, and I was not really interested in that scene. Although I realized that I liked boys enough, I only chose to entertain them as friends. In fact, I had a lot of friends that were boys. I was a mediator – a matchmaker of sorts.
Most boys came to me for homework help or simply because they wanted to talk. I would not say I was a therapist, but they liked that I listened to them. Usually, I did not say a whole lot, but when I did, they took notice. I did not fear them like I thought I would when I was a lot younger.
Fortunately, my mind did not remember the time when I had been brutalized by “them” – two in particular. That memory had long been buried and compartmentalized within my mind. At that time while in high school, however, my focus was not to be distracted in lieu of my goal to leave home for college. So I did not let anyone get in my way even when I had a platonic “relationship” with a football player that lasted all of six weeks.
The football player was cute … handsome even but not intellectually interesting enough for me. He was extremely shy, and that made communication difficult. Although I am introverted to an extreme in many cases, I have never considered myself to be shy. Most of my classmates found that I could talk circles around them on an interesting topic, but I could not even make a mark with the football player.
The football player was just too shy – almost frigid when it came to speaking, and I was selectively mute. We made for an interesting pair. Later on, though, I realized his true intentions had very little to do with my personality. He only wanted to be physical. He announced his wish to take it a step further with me during one lunch period.
The football player’s announcement was not a private moment with me though. Instead, he proclaimed his physical desires for me in front of his guy friends to my amazement. They all laughed at me – including him. Someone sitting near him threw an unopened condom wrapper in my direction. When it landed near me, I felt a twinge of disappointment.
I looked at the football player. His eyes were strained with guilt. I could tell he was sorry even though he was too sheepish acting to say it. Instead of hanging around, though, I got up and walked away. I sought refuge in my favorite place – the library.
In the library I waited for the anger that did not come. Back then, anger was an emotion that became harder to find when I needed it. I simply could not react. I was too numb. I felt void of any other emotions. It was as if something crushing that had happened to me had not really happened to me at all. I was so detached and above it all as if to be untouchable.
A week later, after avoiding the football player like the plague, he attached a letter to my locker. He requested to meet with me at the start of my class after lunch. I agreed. We met. He apologized for hurting my feelings. I could tell he was sorry. He even admitted that he had allowed his friends to pressure him into doing something stupid.
Although I accepted the football player’s apology, I told him that I did not think we would work out. He was a jock, and I was not. We had different goals and interests. I was desperate for good grades, and although he may have felt the same way, he never gave me that impression. Oddly, I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Then I smiled at him leaving him stunned and walked away.
It is so strange how the football player and anyone else that I disconnected from became invisible to me even though we were in the same school world. I was like this with a lot of people. Once I was done, I aimed for no contact. Anger never showed up. No emotions ever showed up. I was numb. My focus was so very one-track. I cared but I did not care. It was strange.
Life was being lived, and I was coasting along in a sea of depression that no one readily saw. Although my dad did take me to talk to a friend because he realized something was wrong with me – that I was not happy, always in my room, and not engaging with the family – his friend was not a professional. His friend could barely do much to help me except talk. I bided my time with her and tried to make the best of the fact that my dad did seem to care.
At one point, a young couple who had just begun starting a family began pastoring at the church I attended. They were like a God-send to me in the very beginning, and although I thought I had made a connection with them, they mistook my lack of a desire to date and selective mutism as signs that I had problems with my sexuality. I was dumbfounded.
The couple insisted that because my very best friend at school was a gay male, that I had to be struggling with my sexuality. I was incredulous. My best friend was who he was, and his sexuality never had any baring on my own. It had never once even crossed my mind. I was baffled by this couple’s thoughts to the contrary and felt totally dismissed by them.
To think that the pastor’s wife said she had the gifts of prophecy and word of knowledge to discern and know a person’s issues, but she had no clue that I was a survivor of sexual traumas. I was not even focused on my sexuality at the time. It was a mute topic to me. The young couple caused me to wonder if God was playing some cruel joke on me.
My hope at making a connection to climb outside of an abyss of depression had been soured by judgmental thoughts that were all wrong about me. I plunged into an even deeper state of isolation because I felt so misunderstood. It appeared that the people I wanted to see “me” did not see me as clearly as they believed that they had. Everyone had completely iced me out of the truth of my own life and the events that happened to me in favor of burying the truth.
Despite the fact that my mind had buried the truth of my past, my body had not forgotten. My body actually reminded me constantly through heavy and ongoing menstrual cycles that seemed to have no end. How did anyone figure I had time to think about my sexuality, let alone sex? No one had a clue what I was going through mentally, emotionally, or physically.
My body had held onto those deep and buried emotions, and a crescendo was building upon the fact that enough was absolutely enough. Anger did not erupt though. Anger was kept at bay. I could feel nothing but numbness. I could not even cry.
The only time I cried during high school was when I felt overwhelmed with an internal sadness that I could not shake. I was dying on the inside, and for whatever reason, when the librarian pulled me into her office to ask me if I was okay, I broke. She allowed me to sit in her office and softly cry until I stopped.
All other moments when I wished to cry, I stuffed down. Those were the times I fought to contain an anger that felt more like rage. Eventually I continued to stuff it all down until it was all buried, and I simply felt numb. I stood on the precipice. I could not move.
I felt empty, disconnected, and far away. If I sat still long enough, I could feel a deep inner sadness. It was a gripping pain … very isolating, but very overwhelming. If I focused on it for too long, I feared I would be swallowed up by it and lose control. I did not want to lose control. The people I needed and wanted to care did not seem to care anyway.
Nevertheless, I managed to finish out my final year of high school with great success. I had also come so far out of my shell, that I was the go-to person for homework help, the one who would proofread papers and even ghostwrite papers for cash, and the one who would generally listen to people’s problems. It was hard to believe that I could manage all that as an introvert, but I was a helper by nature.
I had two very good friends that seemed to just get me when I needed to be got, and they were a girl a grade below me who shared my name, and my very best friend, who was more like a brother. I do not know what my school life would have been like without either of these two friends when I wanted to inwardly crash and burn. They both understood depression, anxiety, and were always willing to listen. We always gave space for each other.
Midway through my senior year, I was accepted into a considerably prestigious college that brought the librarian and my English and history teachers to tears. I had bravely attended my prom as the first girl in the history of the school to have ever gone without a date (known then as going stag). I also graduated with honors while listening to my family cheer me on loudly like I had never heard them cheer for me before.
Triumphantly, I made it through high school. I managed to achieve what I did not think was possible, and I did it in spite of the ridicule of others. I had also managed to work a part-time job while maintaining my grades. It was the most accomplished time of my adolescent life. I was excited about the future even though I could not completely envision it. I believed I was heading for great things, but I was also on the edge of a precipice … slowly teetering off into a huge gulf of anger just waiting to erupt.
Stay tuned for the next post.
My Voice Unchained 