Speak

I just finished watching this movie. Happened upon it while scrolling through Netflix on line a few weeks ago, and since it debuted at the Sundance Film Festival (2004), I figured it might be really good and it sounded interesting. I didn't realize until just now it's based on a book, and I will definitely be reading it.

It moved me beyond words. It is amazing to me how although my teenage years seem so far behind, I can at the same time feel instantly transported to those awkward, awful periods. And while I did not experience the exact things Melinda did, I could still relate and immediately recall the feelings of being shunned, invisible, alone and sad, but for different reasons. Melinda was raped (I was not, obviously). Instead I feel like I was robbed of my innocence on other levels and forced to grow up in a sudden, awful instant when I was only 14.

I wish for my daughters an adolescence unlike my own. I want them to be carefree and happy and outgoing. For many reasons I was none of those things. Sooner or later I have to take responsibility for myself, but conversely I think my dad's revelation couldn't have come at a more complicated time in my life. I had to feel feelings that no one else my age would even begin to comprehend. I had no one to share it with. I was utterly and completely alone. Like Melinda, I confided in a teacher, which ultimately proved to be a mistake because it later became another source of angst for me as people misperceived (i don't think that's a word but i don't care) our relationship. People thought I was sleeping with my writing teacher (and honestly, people, this is ME we're talking about), when in fact nothing could have been further from the truth. Like Melinda, I often ate lunch in my teacher's room for lack of friends to sit with. I don't know what would have happened if I'd tried to reach out more. But I was too scared so I'll never know. It is hard for me to even write this because some of those days are still so raw and fresh in my mind. If I could go back, what would I do differently, or would I even be able to? Would people really see me? Was I too much in my own head? All I wanted was a normal teenage existence. I got a bit of it in random spurts here and there. But mostly when I look back, it makes me sad. And I don't want that for my girls.

My senior year of high school things finally turned around a bit for me. I'm not sure if it came from within or if other people were also starting to grow up. I was also relishing the idea of going away to college and being able to start over where no one knew anything about me, and I could have a blank slate to fill as I wished.

Why do I still think so much about the past? About how I was? About the pile of old journals I can't bear to open that are hiding in an old backpack in my basement....last time I looked back in them and read snippets, I cried. I wrote so much and I wrote all the time. I like to think it helped me through some rough things. I've often thought about burning them. I don't ever want anyone to read/find them. But part of me can't let go or something. I don't write much anymore. Part of it is not having the time, and perhaps the other part is scared of what might come out or how it might sound.

I am me. I am okay. I want to be okay with being me.

I am a little pre-menstrual. sorry.