I have always been a writer of the mundane. I got my first diary when I was 8 and over the years continued to use one, switching from Dear Diary to a journal to eventually a number of blogs over the years. Last night I was going through a box of old books when I came across a red book with Tigger stickers all over it. I recognized it as a diary. I opened it up and the first entry was dated December 27, 1994. My 12th birthday. I laughed reading it, the ramblings of a 'tween, as I went through the pages. I could see myself evolving over time, as my worries went from sleepovers to boys. And more boys. Lord, I was boy crazy. The journal was a thick one and the entries went up until mid '97. I found one from when I was 14 that upset me. In it I start complaining about how unhappy I am with myself. The ironic part is, I had no reason to be. Apparently that day the family had gone out to eat and my brother had started making fun of me about my weight - which again is odd because I was right where I should be. He may have only been 11 but had quickly figured out the way to upset a girl is to call her fat. I talk about how he spent the whole meal calling me fatty fatty 2x4 and blubber butt and lard. I talk about how he and my step-dad kept looking at my meal and laughing at me and how hurt I was when my step-dad told me that I was going to eat so much I'd blow up like a balloon and float away. I talk about how I refused to eat my sandwich. How I sat in the restaurant and cried. How then my youngest brothers (who were 5 and 3) joined in on the name-calling. I vow to stop eating. I made myself throw up. The next entries are all about dieting.
It's depressing to read really. I wish I could go back in time and give that girl a hug. I wish I could tell her it's not okay for people you care about to treat you like shit. I seem to let that happen a lot though. Looking back over the years, I can see the pattern. In all my relationships - platonic, romantic, and the blurred line between the two - I let stuff slide. Stuff that shouldn't be forgiven, stuff that if it was one of my friends it would happening to, I'd be taking names and kicking ass. Looking back, it's embarrassing. I wonder what some of these guys thought. Treat Nicky like crap and she'll still come back for more! I always thought I just had a "thing" for assholes and now I realize I was just used to being a doormat.
So what's that all mean? I'm done with it. No more. Next time somebody treats me that way, I'll be taking names and kicking ass - for myself.