Collateral Damage

I suppose being behind on my plans for writing these series of blogs isn’t such a bad thing, huh? At least it’s a deviation from my norm diary- like writings.

So, I don’t really have a clear plan of what ages I’m going to write about today, but I’m going to try to get through to the end of high school (2002).

During my 10th grade year (age 15; 1999- 2000) my parents enrolled me in some classes at people’s houses for home schoolers and kids that sucked in school and needed extra tutoring. I took an Algebra I class, a Biology class, and a beginning French class. My cousin, Genius Cousin was in my Algebra class along with her sister RooneyRoo (I believe that Genius Cousin was around 8 at the time). Things started looking up a bit for me. We moved out of the family friend’s house and in to our new one. That summer I had a surgery that involved my lips being sewn together for about a week and a nose job (mostly reconstructive but I did have some cosmetic work done). That summer my grandma also convinced my parents to let me attend public school. They agreed under the stipulation that I would attend a Christian club. I readily agreed. That fall in 2000 I started my first year (so to speak) of high school. I wasn’t required to take any standardized tests for some reason and they stuck me in some random classes.
If this were my autobiography, I would tell you all about being teased, dropped by my only friend at the time for the “popular crowd” and getting flashed by a stoner in my English class. This isn’t, though so I’m going to try to stick to my topic- my experience growing up in a Christian family and how it’s affected me and my view of Christianity now.
Now I’ve never had high self- esteem. In fact, it’s always been at an incredibly low level. As a kid I used to constantly tell myself I was worthless and hideous. My mom would always say to me, “Don’t believe those lies! That’s the devil speaking!” I’d roll my eyes because really? If there was a God like my family said there was, wouldn’t He not let me be born without my face fully formed? What’s the first thing you notice about someone? Their face! No one’s going to notice my impeccable sense of style first or my awesome haircut; they’re going to notice my face. The scars. Then my voice- it’s kind of high- pitched and lispy because of the cleft. I never went to speech therapy and (so I’m told) it’s amazing that anyone can understand anything I say. Still, I have to make a conscious effect to enunciate my words or I get people saying, “What? I have no idea what you’re saying.” Takes me back to my childhood and being teased. And that conversation I stated in the blog I wrote right before my surgery this summer:

“You’re trash.”
“No I’m not. God doesn’t make trash.”
“Ha, well then I dunno who made you!”

“If God didn’t make me then who did?” “If God did make me, why did He allow me to turn out so hideous?” These were the constant thoughts I had. Having surgeries always brings them to the forefront of my mind. As I’ve grown older I’ve come to, not necessarily be okay with the way that I am, but to just accept it. There isn’t anything I can do to change it. no matter how many surgeries I have I’ll never look “normal.”
But, I digress. Again.
Being in the Christian group at school- FCA- was an interesting experience. I got a crush on the group leader (who is now a pastor I believe with 2 kids and a really beautiful wife) who was amazingly nice to me. It was the first time someone had really been genuinely nice to me. Well, a boy at least. It was amazing and I had my first real friendship with a boy. Actually, in that group most of my friends were boys. A lot of them all went to the same church so I decided to start attending. I put my whole soul into Jesus and Christianity. Every time I talked, I couldn’t help but talk about Jesus. I felt a sense of happiness and peace. I really studied the Bible a lot. On my own. And I thoroughly enjoyed it. I constantly had debates with my friends about religion. People said my arguments were more convincing than any other they had ever heard.
Around the time of my senior year of high school, my family started falling apart. We always kind of were (which made life rather difficult and made it hard for me to see a “good side” of Christianity emulated in the adults) but it started getting worse and worse. I always felt drained by it and started resenting things again. Church suddenly felt like a chore. I started getting annoyed by the constant fire and brimstone preaching my new church was constantly pounding into us. I picked up smoking again and my best friend started bringing tequila and sometimes rum to school. We would be drunk by the end of our first block. The only time I ever felt peace that school year was when I wasn’t home. I started staying after school and taking the late buses home (I didn’t have my license or a car until a few months after I turned 18). I still went to youth group at my church but I’d hang outside skateboarding or smoking cigarettes. My parents stopped making me go to FCA so I stopped. Besides, the only boy who talked to me anymore was my stalker. He was really creepy so I would rather not attend anyways. At some point near the end of my senior year, my parents stopped making me go to church. Relief washed over me and I started to feel free. Or, “more free” I should say. Somehow my parents found out about the drinking. They threatened to take me out of school but didn’t. I started getting suspended (I had out of school suspension for one day at one point, but that’s as bad as it got) and I had detention pretty much every week. This was my first time really getting in trouble at school. I had always been afraid to but when I realised that the consequences weren’t that bad, I stopped caring. I pretty much stopped caring about everything. I applied to 3 colleges that year- 2 Christian ones (which I got accepted to but there’s no way I would’ve ever gone to them) and James Madison (which wait- listed me). I wanted to move to London and attend their year long program of the New York Film Academy. But that, obviously, didn’t work out. My home life worsened and I acted out more and more. Eventually my parents told me that once I graduated I had to leave. They couldn’t take it anymore and, frankly, neither could I. So, once school was out I packed my bags and moved to Salt Lake City to attend the community college there with the intention of getting an associates degree and then transferring to the University of Utah and getting my bachelors of arts (BA) in film. But, as you’ll see, not all plans work out.

Celtic on AOL radio.