The People I’m Around Got Less Judgmental As I Got Older
Or I just stopped caring.
Or it’s both.
Kids judge each other for everything. I got bullied for playing with dolls…we were in second grade. The real question should’ve been: why weren’t they still playing with toys? I also got bullied for crying…and yes, I was sensitive and still am, but again, we were children. And everyone cries.
Well, some people don’t anymore, but generally, people cry and shouldn’t be judged for that.
Sports was never my thing either, but if you weren’t good at it, you got yelled at.
I grew up watching my every move and knowing everyone else was watching, remembering, and judging me for…me.
“They’ll forget about it.” No, they won’t. They will hold it over your head until they leave your life.
I used to watch movies depicting high school, and I knew they were unrealistic since I knew the actors in most of those movies weren’t teenagers at all, but I couldn’t help but feel worried about getting to high school especially seeing high schoolers around me (who, from my perspective at least, were awful). It seemed like things would only get worse for me in high school.
Middle school was okay, I got picked on a little but it wasn’t much. It was a massive difference from elementary school and I took it. I started thinking, “maybe things won’t be so bad anymore.”
We got quarantined for COVID-19 when I was in eighth grade, so I was suddenly dropped back into in-person school in an entirely new school full of people I don’t know that next year, and the people I did know I didn’t talk to. So, I didn’t talk to anyone, but I did watch. And…I deduced that I would have a bad time.
I realized I had developed Generalized Anxiety Disorder that year as well (that, or I already had it and it got worse). I was — and still am terrified of social interaction, loud noises, too many people, and pretty much everything. Not only that, I was taking P.E. in my first year, and…we had to play sports. That’s when I realized I still had scars from people being mean to me for not being good at sports, scars so deep that the thought of playing a sport gives me anxiety, and don’t get me started on actually playing sports. The last time I tried to play soccer, I had a panic attack and had to be taken away from the group. The people on the team I was assigned to were laughing at me.
I explained to the person taking me away that I was afraid to be bullied. I was scared it would all come back.
The next time I had that class, someone talks loudly about me. She says “no one is bullying her.” I had the urge to ask her if she was deaf because I never said people were bullying me, I said I was afraid to be bullied. I was afraid of the prospect, obviously, and I wanted to say that but I was too scared so I said nothing. I told my best friend I thought everyone would hate me by the end of the week.
The same person asked me if I was afraid of a small crowd talking in front of where we were when she found out I got anxious in crowds, and by her tone, I could tell she meant it as scorn.
At this point, I thought the younger me was proven right, but I was wrong.
I started slowly coming out of my shell in the middle of the year and making friends. I started to feel better in this school and talking to people. The year ended before I came out of my shell completely, but I had more people I felt comfortable talking to by the end of the year.
This year, it’s way easier to talk to people (though, sometimes I still tense up when I need to talk to people I don’t know). I’m more confident (most of the time), and I feel like I belong in this school, which is the exact opposite of how I felt last year. I feel like I’m a part of this school rather than feeling like an outsider and that everyone knows I don’t belong.
At this point, I realized that not many people I encounter at this school and on my way to school (as I usually ride the bus with at least two people from my school or my school’s sister school every day) judge me. My style is seen as creepy or demonic to some people, I carry a stuffed animal and sometimes dolls around, and I do a lot of things that people may see as strange…but no one calls me weird. Don’t get me wrong, there are some people, but most people don’t pay me any mind. To be honest, I get complimented a lot.
So, I find it ironic I felt like things would only get worse for me because they didn’t. People don’t care about how strange I am anymore and I’m glad.
That, or again, I just stopped caring, which is also a good possibility because sometimes I’ll stop in the middle of buying something and think “people are going to think I’m weird as hell for this” and then shrug my shoulders and buy it anyway.
Or, “people are going to think I’m the spawn of Satan for dressing this way” and then just do it anyway. I get some weird looks, but most people don’t pay me any mind and even if they did, it’s like…who cares?
Though, it does feel like everyone stopped caring. It’s high school. People have more important shit on their minds, what’s the point in sparing a second to look at the goth kid? Most of us don’t have room in our brains for that.
I’m glad because dealing with people who judge people all the time is annoying and draining. Anyone who judges me now, I usually have something to say back. I never usually say anything out loud, but I’ll say it in my head and be satisfied.
I’m glad things are different.
Okay, I get to the end of these articles and then I wonder: “Wait, why did I start writing this again?”
With this particular one, pretty sure I started writing this in February, and now it’s the end of March, it’s the last day of school until spring break, and I’m up at almost 2 a.m., randomly deciding I wanted to finish this because I’m not going to school anyway and I haven’t posted in a bit.
I have three more drafts that I started writing even longer ago.
I think sometimes I just have thoughts and/or ideas that don’t go anywhere else, so I’ll write it, stop writing it, and then I’ll come back, finish the thought and think: “Why did I write this?” or if I’m feeling particularly useless: “Why did you write this? No one cares.”
I hope whoever reads these finds them an amusing/enlightening insight into a teenager’s brain, at least.
