I slept badly that night. I woke up before everyone else, fidgeting all night with nightmares about my life taking turns I didn't want it to take, worrying about my future, so scared about making the wrong decision. I want badly to succeed, to do things no one else has ever done. I want to direct and write and act and make music and art, and a million other things all at once. It seems impossible, but if you knew the want, this feeling that drives me, you'd understand why it seems possible, if only by a very, very slim chance. I'm terrified of screwing up.
So, you could probably guess that I started off with a bad morning.
Breakfast. Nothing but granola, today, and trying to find a seat with people I don't know yet again. Frustration, boiling over, mixed emotions about what's coming as soon as I get back to College Station, and suddenly mixed emotions about what's going on now. I'm almost angry at Fish Camp for being so amazing, for the counselors for their understanding and kindness--anything that's making me doubt my plans. I've lost my security, and I'm grasping for something, anything to hold on to. "Throw me a lifeline!" I'm practically screaming. "Someone. Anyone! The world is spinning underneath me, and I need help!"
Except I'm not screaming. I'm retreating into myself, as I so often do. And as I pull in, I want more to run, to get away. I need movement, I need energy. Something to do.
Yesterday's activities would have suited me better today. Today, though, it's something different. Something I have dreaded since the first time it was mentioned, and now I don't even remember when that was.
Sharing. God, how I hate that word.
We're supposed to share within our DG's a "defining moment." I immediately know what mine is. The problem is, it embarrasses me on a ton of levels. How do I explain this? I think. How do I make them understand how important it was, how much it changed my life?
I know it sounds stupid. I know that it's almost impossible to tell this story quickly, succinctly, and yet for people to still understand it. First of all, it centers around a guy, and more guys play important parts in it. I hate to think that someone else has had such an important effect on my life because I had a stupid crush, but it's unfortunately true; and yet, if I hadn't felt the way I did, it would never have had the impact it did. Second, it involves me being something I wasn't--and if there's one thing I pride myself on, it's being ruthlessly true to myself. I don't change because someone else wants me to. A memory of acting like someone I wasn't--it's painful to think of. Then, there are the myriad small embarassments: what led to the situation I was in, my own lack of confidence, the fact that even two years over this one person's words ring in my head every time I lose control, like even now he can take me aside and thoroughly chew me out, although I haven't seen him since he left for college. It seems so ridiculous to be so completely out of control of my own mind.
I can't tell the full story here. It's still too raw, too painful, although it's easier than it once was. Still, it would be unfair to tell so much and then not explain to some degree.
We'll start at the beginning. I had a terrible time in elementary school and junior high, so by the time I got to high school I was scared, scared, scared. I had no self-confidence, and that wasn't helped when the first few weeks of school I would sit down at a table and the people there would literally ask me to move. You remember Mean Girls, when Lindsay Lohan's character ends up sitting in a bathroom stall eating her lunch every day? That was me as a freshman.
Then, I got fed up.
I already had a taste for Gothica by the time I hit high school. My best friend was a little vampire in basically every since of the word, and I'd been listening to punk and metal since I was a little kid, with encouragement from my oldest brother and my dad. Edward Scissorhands has been my favorite movie since the tender age of 7, and I've been watching The Nightmare Before Christmas ever since I could remember. It wasn't so unnatural, then, the route I took; but it definitely wasn't all of who I was.
I went Gothic.
Now, I wasn't crazy Goth even then; I was, after all, playing at it more than anything else. Still, I dressed in black every day, wore thick black eyeliner and skull earrings, chains. My parents, at least, had some sense, and refused to let me dye my hair or pierce anything but my ears, and only them once. It's thanks to them that I don't look at photos from my freshman and sophomore year and want to burn them. Now, I just feel a little silly; but what I didn't do in dress, I made up for in attitude. Sarcasm was a weapon, to be used on anyone in the vicinity. I projected, as often as possible, an attitude of cynicism and anger, and woe betide anyone who came near. I came to the conclusion early on that I hated everyone, and everyone hated me, although I desperately craved friendship and open acceptance. I was terrified of more rejections, more pain. I came to the conclusion that it just wasn't worth it.
Sophomore year, that changed. There's more things to add to this story; I went through a tough time, for a long time. I hit my low point by the time a senior boy came into my life and changed it forever.
I met him working a show, and, of course, hated him immediately. He wasn't any nicer to me than I was to him, and it wasn't until months later--after my life blew up in my face--that that really changed.
In some ways, I feel like he forced me to be friends with him. There weren't many people to talk to. Proximity, really, was the only catalyst to this strange friendship. The end result was, though, that we were friends. Uneasy friends, but I respected him and, yes, developed a schoolgirl crush on the guy. Well, he was ridiculously cute.
He said something to me once, right before he went to school, that really stuck with me. We were talking about the people around us, and he asked me why I didn't like people; for once I was honest, and told him that it wasn't that I didn't like them, but it was just...easier. He just sat there for a moment, and I started to feel awkward, started wishing I had said nothing at all. Then, out of the blue he tells me not to hide, that it may be easier, but it isn't better. Then he left, and I don't know that we ever really talked again.
It doesn't make sense, that something so random should have so totally changed my life, but it did. I realized I was just scared, scared to be myself and scared of everyone around me. I didn't want to be scared. I quit hiding, though it took a while. I started reaching out to people, became involved. Stopped hating everyone around me on principle, that's a big one. My senior year, I had so many friends! It's amazing how the attitude you project affects your life. I even got elected to thespian officer for my school. It amazes me still, how great that year was, and I know who I have to thank for it, even if he doesn't.
The problem is, this story makes me really emotional, thinking about how different things could have been. I was borderline suicidal by the time this guy came into my life, and if he hadn't, things might've ended up very, very badly. So, this was my defining moment; but how on earth do I tell them that?
One word at a time, it seems. Slowly, I got the story out, choking on every word. One of my counselors patted my back when I was done. It wasn't the worst story, not by far, but I was the only one in my group to get emotional, and I was horrified. I don't think anyone really knew what to say when I was done. I felt shame just cover me, and I shut up really quickly after that.
That mood stayed with me most of the day. I didn't want to be around anyone, didn't want to see anyone, just wanted to run. We had free time, and I laid down and listened to music, hoping, to calm myself; it didn't work. And here is what it was: all those feelings I'd felt as a freshman, scared and confused, and just wanting to do right? It all came back from the place where I thought I'd banished it. I was afraid again. I wanted to hide.
Eventually, I had to go back to the rest of the camp. I really didn't want to do that. I got there too early, sat by myself, listened to music. People kept asking me to join them. If anyone could have felt the rolling wave of nausea and anxiety that hit me every time, they might have understood better why I said no; as it was, I couldn't explain, and they couldn't understand. They left me alone after a little while, and I was grateful.
Except, unfortunately, one counselor, someone I respect an awful lot, who insisted on sitting by me and dragging it out. How do you explain when you just want someone to leave you alone, to let you get through it, knowing it will pass? It adds another level of disgust at yourself when you feel bad about rejecting someone's help. I didn't want to cry or get emotional; maybe later, if it was still there, but not now, when we're about to do all kinds of fun stuff. This kindness--ah, man, that was hard. Feeling like I did, it was all I could do to keep from breaking down completely.
Eventually, though, he let me be. I think I may have hurt him with some of the things I said to make him go away, and I'm sorry for that.
(I want to interject the storyline here to say something. I said when I started this that I would be ruthlessly honest. Some people are going to be weirded out by me posting all this emotional crap on here, and I understand that completely. I keep wanting to press the delete button; but that wouldn't be honest, would it? This was a part of my fish camp experience, an important part. So just keep reading, and try not to think I'm completely insane.)
To continue:
We went to another yell practice from there, which was exactly what I needed. I got rid of the nervous tension that kept me emotional by screaming my head off, and I perked up pretty quickly. No, I'm not bipolar, movement just makes me feel better.
We went to lunch then. That concerned counselor saved a seat at a table for me (thanks for that, again) and a few people asked if I was ok. I was incredibly touched. I think that things had started to change, right with that.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. We had another mixer (I left this one early, too, this time to play mini-golf with a girl in my DG and then watch an epic foosball battle at the Aquarium). We went back to the camp, for our final campfire.
This time, it was us speaking.
There was a strange mix of somber and light-hearted feelings as we all shared experiences from the camp. At first, I wanted to just stay seated; no point in getting emotional twice in once day! And yet, as the discussion went on and on, and more people were thanked, more people were happy, sharing things that changed them...I wanted to share. I wanted people to know how much they'd touched me, how they'd turned my world around. Yet I didn't. That old foe, Fear, was building up inside me again, keeping me firmly planted on the ground.
Finally, I had to choose: I would do it now, or I wouldn't.
I did it.
I still don't know how. Never in my life have I been so completely terrified. A room full of people, most of whom I didn't know, who didn't know anything about me...but I'd stood up already, and I couldn't back out now. So, somehow, I choked out a few words of thanks to the people who had welcomed me, set me at ease, made this something I was so glad to have been a part of instead of something I cringed to think about. Campers, counselors, everyone had made such a huge impact on me. I was shaking so hard, I don't know how any of it was intelligible (and I'm not sure how much was). I got it out, though, and sat down again quickly.
I expected awkward silence for a moment, and then someone else to get up and say something. I didn't expect thunderous, immediate applause and cheers, and hugs, and people coming up to tell me I was brave or how strong I was or just to say thank you, what I said meant so much--which was what happened. I was completely overwhelmed, and that's when I did get emotional. This was the good kind.
Later, of course, I started second-guessing myself. It seems I got lucky with my counselors; I muttered something about feeling stupid to one of them, and all he said was, "They cheered you, Kat. That's it. That's what it's all about." And, as much as I hated to admit it, he was right.
We split up into our DGs again, to write down something we wanted to let go of, something we wanted to leave behind us in high school. Maybe it's cheesy, but I knew what I wanted to write immediately: FEAR. I scrawled it in big, block letters, folded it up. We trudged down to the lake, lit them on fire, threw them in the lake. It's ironic that mine wouldn't freaking burn. Still, I like the symbolism better in what ended up happening: I watched that little piece of paper slowly sink under the surface, and I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
As for that symbolism? I like it because it's more realistic. The fear's not gone forever; I know that now. But it's a little less, and it surfaces for a shorter time, every time it makes its way up from the dark place it's hidden in. It seems fitting, somehow; and maybe eventually it will completely dissolve, with only traces to show its passing. I'll find out, I suppose.
We came back from the lake, and I was happier than I'd been in years. We went to a rave, the first fish camp rave EVER, and had an amazing time. I let go and enjoyed myself thoroughly; talked to people, danced, chilled, laughed. Was happy. I am happy. I am glad to be here, at this school, with people like those there on that night. Because that's when it all changed. I am no longer a 2%-er, I no longer want to transfer. I am an Aggie, through and through. I think I may have been all along--it just took fish camp to show it to me.
So thank you, one last time, fish campers and counselors, and then the emotional BS will stop, I promise. Thank you for showing me what being an Aggie really means, thank you for caring, thank you for the support, thank you for the kindness. Thank you for my happiness.
That's what it's all about.
Signing off, this is Kat Hinson, a Theatre Major from Arlington, Texas, but most importantly I'm the loudest and proudest most redass member of the fighting Texas Aggie Class of 2014...AAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!
GIG'EM!
No comments:
Post a Comment