Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Girl's Girl

I'm not a "girl's girl"... I used to be, for probably the first three years of my life.

Then I agreed to turn four.

I'm not entirely sure if I mentioned it here, or if I did so somewhere else, but I no longer feel ashamed of admitting it:
My "babysitter" abused the fucking shit out of me when I was a kid.
I'm pretty sure I mentioned some of her methods... that idiot girl-- the one who allowed me to get concussed at a playground as I walked across the pony-shaped swings in search for my mother.
The abuse was never sexual, thank god, but it was definitely physical and emotional/mental.

While my mom thought this idiot was taking care of me, she was really just torturing me for her own amusement. She'd say mean things, slap me around... lock me in a room for hours (telling my mother we were just busy playing)... refuse to give me a drop to drink or a bite to eat for hours, or the contrary-- feed me toxic shit... that sort of shit... shit you should never do to a four-year old little girl... not if you have a heart... or a motherfucking conscience.

Thanks to her, I learned people could be mean... really mean... mean for no reason... mean even when unprovoked... simply provoked by "your stupid face."

That same year, I had that aunt of mine throw dirt in my face and call me ugly... that story I've told tirelessly... the story I immortalized by turning it into a short story.
I started making the connection that Yo... girls can be crazy as shit... and they don't have your back, Baby AnoMALIE...
But still, STILL I attempted to be normal and have a normal relationship with my fellow ladies.

Things were great during 1st and 2nd grade. Girls thought I was awesome, and tried imitating me.
Third grade started getting shady... mainly because I became the weird little Mexican girl in all-English classes. I had a different jargon, thanks to being HBO-educated (as in, all my English knowledge came from movies on HBO), and my anecdotes all had to do with the life of a Mexican ranch girl... in the city of Las Vegas.

Then 4th grade happened... TWENTY years ago (goddamn!)... the pivotal year that made me lose faith in my fellow ladies. The year I spent getting the fucking shit beaten out of me EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. by the two girls I considered my "best friends." I was a good, calm girl... trying to make sense of the whole situation. I'd never fight back... I'd never provoke the beatings... but they would happen. Every day at school I'd be humiliated in some way... and physically abused for NO REASON. I've described only some of my more vivid memories of the beatdowns... because I could write a short story on quite a few of the beatings.... a short story PER beating... so I won't rehash some of them on here-- just know they were brutal and soul crushing.
What crushed my soul most was that through all these moments of torture, not one person came to my rescue... or wait, not one FEMALE came to my rescue.
The time of a nasty beating in the bathroom, I remember some girls were going to use the bathroom, but upon finding the scene, rushed the fuck out-- not alerting a single adult to what was going on.
My female classmates? They did nothing to stop the beatings. Sure, they didn't find it funny, or even fair, but they never did anything to get the girls to stop. They'd just catch me alone and then ask me why I still hung around my tormentors-- but NEVER offering to have me chill with them-- NEVER.
After getting my ass kicked, I remember guys being the ones to come up to me, gently patting me on the back, asking how I was doing... helping me straighten my hair... DUDES... DUDES would straighten my hair... GUYS (what the fuck do they know about fixing a girl's ponytail, right? These boys knew ENOUGH, enough to get a smile out of my reddened, sometimes swollen face). One time, I remember three of my guy classmates shielding me, pulling me away from the two bitches during lunch time (it was seriously a tug of war. Boys had one of my arms, the two crazy bitches had the other), keeping me in their company for that short time... they saved me form getting my ass beat at least that time.... which only pissed off the crazy broads... which only made them beat me with all their might the moment they had me in their grasp later that day... and the following day beating the fucking shit out of me before school started.
Ahhhh, and my teacher that year? A woman. I remember telling her numerous times, even trying to hide behind her one day during recess when the two cunts were actively trying to grab me to beat me, and I told the teacher what was going on, and she laughed, pulled me off her, told me they were "just trying to play," and that I should go ahead and just "play." She pushed me toward the cunts... and I just gave up... like a lamb to slaughter.
And when I tearfully opened up to my mom about getting my ass kicked on the regular? She screamed at me for "being an idiot."
I remember my first day of 5th grade, I was placed in a different class from my tormentors, but had the same lunch time. I remember being outside of the cafeteria, alone (OF COURSE), and the two bitches gathering EVERY.SINGLE. GIRL. from their new class so they could chase me and beat me up. What was crazier was that the girls AGREED to beat my ass... FOR NO REASON... just to know what it was like to kick someone's ass. I remember running as hard as I could towards my classroom (it was a portable), and just as I was on the second of the three steps leading up to my classroom's door, I felt the fastest girl's grip the back of my ponytail, yanking me back. The pain in the pit of my stomach, I'll never forget that feeling... just KNOWING, THINKING "Oh no... another year of this... and now it's an entire class..."
I remember getting yanked off the stairs and getting slapped a few times by two other girls as they pushed me against the wall, but this time, I fought back... just wildly swatting at them, pushing them away from me. I remember the group growing to about eight girls... and just looking at all of them... just... feeling so fucking defeated... ready to to just start crying (when I'd get my ass kicked in 4th grade, I never cried... I just dealt with the blows and tried to regain my breath as soon as possible. I learned the importance of "tightening my core" on my own, as a nine year old)... but then I made eye-contact with one girl, Tosha, a smart girl with whom I had my G.A.T.E. classes since 3rd grade... and she just stood there, as though suddenly slapped out of some hypnosis.
"Wait! WHY are we doing this?" she asked the group.
She was a tough girl... a cool girl... a girl with an older, tougher, cooler sister.
"Let her go. Don't touch her," she said. She walked up to me, and grabbed my shoulder, looked me in the eyes, and apologized to me.
"AnoMALIE, no one's touching you this year. You're free. No one's going to hurt you. Go into your classroom."
And sure enough, no one ever put a finger on me after that.

While my faith in girls was long gone, that interaction in 5th grade allowed for that tiny silver lining, that optimist in me to continue with life. MAYYYYYBE things could change?
But they didn't. While no one was beating my ass, I was being ostracized... viciously.
High school came around and that was the last straw. 9th grade... well, must I elaborate on 9th grade again? I wanted to die, bottom line. I was done dealing with the world. 9th grade I had ONE girl make the girls in my classes shun me. ONE GIRL. She was able to convince girls that I was a mean cunt (because I was a quiet, shy, terrified new girl)... and that was good enough to have me cast into solitary. During P.E. I'd always be picked last, the team captain forced to keep me ALWAYS complaining about having to take me (this despite always proving my worth-- how regardless of how large a frame I might have had, I'd make up for in strength. I'd hustle hard at everything I did. I could play any sport like a boy, yet no one wanted me on their team).

After twelve years of having girls abuse the shit out of me... how the FUCK was I expected to be a "girl's girl?" I was not. I wasn't antagonistic towards girls, but I certainly didn't seek them out. I was just... I had accepted the role they had cast me in: the quiet, lonely girl... weary of other's intentions.
Like an abused dog, I approached with caution when I absolutely had to (like group assignments... goddamn motherfucking group assignments).
The humans with whom I was meant to best identify, were the ones so adamant on alienating me.

Then I met Kelley.
August 2001, assigned seat in my first class of the day.

SHE is easily the best human being on this planet.
She very patiently (no, seriously... she is ridiculously PATIENT), and gently showed me that I could have a best friend... that I could identify, and get along, with another girl. She proved that not all girls are horrible. She proved that I could have a female best friend who'd respect me, support me, and be the absolute best person in my company.
And while I was SO damaged... SO mentally/emotionally fucked up... SO paranoid and reluctant to believe such good people existed... she very patiently worked on rebuilding my trust in... people-- making me better. This all despite the number of times I hurt her with my paranoia... as though I were some feral dog she had rescued off the street who was so hellbent in defending itself from the one person trying to save them. She never lost her patience, not ONCE. She just healed her wound, and then would go back to trying to teach me how to heal my own.

She's my sister. My entire family loves her, despite me never telling her this. They are grateful that someone is capable of understanding me... more so than they can sometimes. Grateful someone has kept me form jumping off the edge. And they even wish they could have a Kelley of their own... she's a rare gem.

She's responsible for so much of the positives in my personality, so much of my sense of humor... shit, she's even responsible for my awesome vocabulary/curse words of which I'm so fucking fond. She's responsible for about 80% of my grades between 2001-2007. She's responsible for 90% of my taste in english music. She's responsible for this nickname-- AnoMALIE. She's responsible for Henry David, my gnome I've been taking on my adventures since 2006. She's even responsible for some of my wardrobe. She's responsible for my gym membership-- she held my fucking hand through it for a good couple of months, before I felt secure enough to go on my own. She's responsible for my more relaxed view of life (yeah, I'm actually more chill about life now than I was before... I was tight-wound like a motherfucker ten years ago). She's responsible for A LOT of my courage. She is largely responsible for healing my VERY fucking mutilated heart.
She is an ENORMOUS part of my life... motherfucking HUGE part. The absolute BEST part of it.
I can't properly... adequately describe how much I fucking adore this human. I owe her so freakin' much.

The time has come where... well, things are going to change. The time has come for semi-giant changes.
What she told me last week put my life on pause, made me rewind and re-evaluate... everything. Made me appreciate my last 13 years.
It's not my story to tell... so I won't go beyond that.

She is my best friend. She is my sister. She is the one who restored my faith in... humanity.
I admire her as much as I do my parents and brother... maybe more, because I am always so fucking amazed by how she handles the fucking BULLSHIT life can throw her way. She is so, SO MUCH stronger and braver than too many people give her credit for. She's a motherfucking beast. Unstoppable. Resilient, creative, responsible, and resourceful AS FUCK!
The memories we've made over the last 13 years... are awesome. Rad. Hilarious--cramp-inducing hilarious. Maddening. Slightly scary. Some horribly sad.
All life lessons I probably would have never accumulated had I not been seated next to the girl in the crutches with pink pom-poms in her hair, in our 11th grade physics class-- our first class, of our first day of school, on our school's first day as a school.

Goddamn... I was so fucking scared... it took me a week to catch my breath and collect my thoughts.

But I am only wishing the best of the best for you. Always.
Do things as you deem fit, and best... do it YOUR way. I will always support it. I will always respect it. I will always defend it. Always.
Thank you. For everything.
Everything will be awesome.

This is not the greatest write-up in the world, it's only a tribute... of the greatest write-up for the greatest person in the world.

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