collegiate diversion

A word on humiliation.

It’s a feeling I feel in my stomach and in my toes, even in all years that have passed. It’s just this tight, quick feeling, like how could I have let that happen? I recite the typical mantras: “know who I am,” “I’m secure,” “that was a while ago,” blah blah blah.

But sometimes memories are brutal.

Like I loved this cape, long dark and very Tolkien-style I saw in a magazine in middle school. For Christmas, my mother worked really hard on making it for me. When I was 12, I loved wearing it. It was a statement, it was glamorous, it was my Mom’s love, for me.

But after a day or two of wearing it to school after break, I was bunching it up in the bottom of my locker, embarrassed at how everyone else snickered. When my Mom and I went out for some post-Xmas season shopping, and we bumped into the two girls that made my life hell during those years, I tried to hide, because I was wearing that black cape. They saw me, and I was humiliated in having them see me run away. My Mom was embarrassed too.

Just horrible things you do when you’re a kid.

And I can remember in junior year of high school, bringing up this stupid point in class that is now very funny, but I know people still remember “that stupid thing Samantha said,” and I guess, if you think about these things a lot, they bring you down.(“Why don’t we just deport the ice caps into space?” as my ponderous solution for preventing global warming. OH. My. God!)

But blah blah blah, right? I’m bigger and better than that, I always tried to act like those judgements didn’t bother me, but sometimes they still can.

Talked to the ex, as all great contemplative moments of mine typically start. We talked about affairs recently, different relationships we’ve been having, and I mentioned my older-man fling. He was just 31, but it was still, I suppose, pretty faux-pas for someone my age.

And his response? “You’ve always been into older guys.”

For days I let that sit. How could he say that? I haven’t always been into older men, I was always just into him, horrible love of my life. In high school, I remember this North Andover cop grabbing me and kissing me before my meeting up with a date with my boyfriend. And it really sucked. I felt horrible. At the things we couldn’t do to prevent that…

And then my ex and I kissing outside the library on a park bench, and this pedophile-creep staring at us, this neighbor that once asked my parents if he could take me to the movies. Who had made his move when I was just 8. Or tried.

I mean, bad experiences. Teachers grabbing my ass, horrible men that don’t deserve to breathe if they think they can take advantage of a little girl.

Now that I’m older though, I’ve grown into the older crowd certainly, and who can resist that “open the door for your date” manner of the thirty-somethings?,
BUT
I just had to tell my ex how badly his judgement bothered me.

He clearly didn’t get it, and I suppose few would. I’ve been thinking about it more now, and it’s not ABOUT making him, or anyone, understand, it’s sadly a thing for me. I used to brush off the older guys doing their creep things, even romanticized it a little bit, and maybe Freud would have something to say about the older people I date casually now…I just didn’t want people to think I was weird because of those weirdos.

I mean, it had to be me, right? Or my body? My mannerisms? My Mom even yelled at me once, for being too funny and happy with that neighbor, who’s playfulness I didn’t and couldn’t understand at 7 and 8 and 9.

It was then just all so humiliating. In contemplation, I realized, it doesn’t have to be though. I don’t have to let that embarrassment plague me anymore. So hip hip hooray. Sorry this just turned so serious and “hurrah” ish. But it did feel good realizing these things.

It doesn’t have to be my fault.

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