I told Jake about it, but because Cory and I had both experienced bullying at school, where as Jake has not (to my knowledge), it just wasn't the same.
Since I can't tell her, I'll share with you:
If you're a regular reader, you have already ascertained that I was an underdeveloped, quiet, and meek child in school. The traumatic sclerosis check of 7th grade that caught one poor classmate and I out bra-less, bare chested, and humiliated is forever burned into my memory and can be read about on this blog. But as I often say when dishing with a good friend, wait...there's more.
So I recently bought a pair of black faux suede slouchy over the knee boots. Do you know the kind? My plan was to pair them with a sweet ruffly flowered dress so there was maybe an inch of bare leg showing in between. When it gets colder, throw an over-sized, cozy sweater over top (maybe even one of Cory's that I brought downstairs) and I'd be good to go: my fall uniform complete. When the snow begins to fly, I'll put on fleece-lined tights and trade out the faux suede for leather and pop a hat on top of my head. I love dress-tight-boot weather. It completes me.
So finally this hot weather broke and I was able to give my new boots a go. They are the sort that pull on and then you tie them securely in the back, just above your knee.
I put them on with one of the previously mentioned dresses from my closet and I was off. Within an hour of walking around, the boots were steadily sliding down my legs and starting to bag around the knees. This was not only annoying, as I had to keep reaching down to the pull them up, it was also making me very anxious. I ducked into the nearest bathroom and surveyed myself in the mirror, honestly wondering if these boots looked stupid, if my body was all wrong to wear them, and if people would laugh and talk about me when I walked away.
Some unpleasant memories had come flooding back:
being in ninth grade, repeatedly and loudly made fun of by a group of girls in my sixth hour. "Ugh, you're disgusting. What is wrong with you? You look EMACIATED. Why don't you eat something?"
These comments continued for weeks while my face burned with embarrassment and I began to choose my routes in the hallway and my seat in the lunchroom strategically.
"Don't your momma feed you? Here, you skinny white bitch, eat a fucking sandwich!" This last bit said, screaming laughter, as she threw a half eaten sandwich and an open bag of chips in my general direction.
Of course, her friends laughed. My friends tried to ignore her. Some of the surrounding kids laughed, too, but most just looked uncomfortable. Me? I was mortified. Already shy. Already anxious in social situations. If the earth could've opened up and swallowed me, my whispered thanks would've been my only response. Back then, when I believed in a higher power, Lord, deliver me from Northwestern Middle School was my prayer.
After Christmas that year, I came to school elated to be sporting a brand new pair of Guess jeans tucked into Guess slouchy socks- the ones that had the logo on the side. I was feeling like a million bucks...in other words, pretty much the way I feel when I wear boots these days.
So I got to sixth hour and sure enough, the laughing and pointing began.
"Damn, girl, you so boney, your fucking socks can't even stay up!"
Now slouchy socks were supposed to slouch, but sure enough, she had gotten into my head. I was at home that night checking them out in the mirror, wondering if maybe they weren't slouching just a bit too much and wishing I had a bit more body fat, spread out nicely to my not-yet-existent breasts, rear, and legs. The mirror stared back at me, reporting a decidedly still-boy-like physique and the waiting would continue pretty much until after I bore my first child.
So this harassment continued for several months and through it all, I had been deemed "Bones Davidson". To this day, I am sensitive to remarks about my weight.
So fast forward about thirty years, and here I am with these damn slouchy boots, knowing my body is the best it has ever been (man, I could've gotten into some really fun trouble if I'd had this confidence level way back then) and having flashbacks that trick me into to doubting my self.
I really wish I could tell Cory how it is normal to be affected by mean things that people say, but that it doesn't make them true. And I know Cory could've commiserated because of her own experiences being bullied at school.
Cory's experiences being bullied at school happened during the time her illness was first rearing its ugly head. She didn't share any of it with me (much as I didn't share any of mine with my mom) until afterwards. I was completely taken off guard by the phone call from her grade principal telling me she had beaten a girl and would be suspended for ten days. I remember asking first if he had the right student. I remember hearing some details of the incident from him and wondering what in the world was happening? My girl had never been in trouble at school...not once.
The whole story, in Cory's words, can be found on this blog. From my point of view, I could not believe how out of character her actions were. Something was really, really wrong. I had her drug tested. When they said nothing was present and referred us to Summit Pointe, we were there at the next availability. It was much later, having heard what happened in Cory's own words and getting more information about her illness that the pieces fell into place. At that point, she'd been hearing voices for a year, without telling anyone. This girl had been teasing and laughing at her for months. And as she described to me, "it was my clothes, Mom. She made fun of the way I dressed. I know I don't have great self-esteem, but the one thing I'm proud of is my fashion choices."
Oh, Cory, you were so my girl. My heart. My soul.
The outfit that led to the incident? Cory had seen Blaire on Gossip Girl wear red tights under shorts and loved the look. So did I, actually. Cory's tights were either red or pink, I can't remember which and she's not here to confirm. So the girl started up making fun of her on the bus, and Cory, already carrying the stress of a brewing mood/thought disorder and tired of dealing with her day after day after day blew up. I could not picture her having to be pulled off of another person. I couldn't picture her kicking the girl while she was down. It was hearing her friend that was there describe it and Cory's own account that finally painted the picture for me. And in it, I could so clearly see her father's face. Out of control rage.
Many years later, Cory would share in the dark while we sat up late talking. "That day, Mom. I couldn't take the laughing. It got louder and louder in my head. Her face got bigger and meaner. And then this voice in my head just said, 'Get her.' So I did. I couldn't stop myself. I tried to act like she deserved it and I was proud, but I wasn't. People were giving me high fives in the halls and calling me champ and I tried to act cool about it. But not on the inside. I knew it was wrong and I was in trouble, not just at school, but big trouble, like life trouble...and I was afraid. What what happen to me if I couldn't control myself?"
Well, what happened for Cory is that she learned she could tell me anything and she learned coping skills. She was never in a fight again.
What happened for me? I looked in the mirror again and saw those boots are supposed to be slouchy. And maybe my legs are a little less thick than other people. But that's okay. Skinny thighs can be sexy, too.
I found out, too, when I googled it, that LOTS of people are having issues with these boots sliding down- it's a fabric and design issue, not a "your legs are too skinny" issue. Amazon even sells something called a Boot Bra to hold your faux suede over the knee boots up where they're supposed to be. And, well my birthday is coming up...
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