It’s kind of like we’re viewed as aliens sent from another planet.
Obviously, we don’t interact with others much. We hardly say a word to anyone, and to someone who enjoys the company of others often, this puzzles extroverts. Are they antisocial? They might ask themselves. Do they have any friends? Why don’t they talk more? They don’t have to be shy. Why doesn’t she go out with us and have a good time? If I was stuck in the house all day, I’d go insane.
These are the questions I had to answer over and over as I was growing up and in socially-required environments such as family gatherings and job opportunities. I cannot tell you how many times I had to explain myself for something I simply do naturally–actually, I’m so caught up in my own world that I hardly notice that I’m not participating in the group or not interacting in general. If anything, I participate in conversations using my mind without realizing it and forget that I have to actually use my vocal cords.
For those of you who are doing college classes this summer, or planning to in the fall (or if you’re just a nerd like me who happens to like to learn a lot), here are a couple methods for remembering what you studied for in your classes, increasing your chances overall for passing those exams:
As everyone pretty much agrees, teenage years were very awkward, confusing, frustrating, and maddening, to say it lightly. Just as I was talking about selfishness, at this stage in life, I was very selfish–and confused, and self-critical, and just angry with myself mostly. I was passive-aggressive, quiet, and quite vicious when the wrong buttons were being pushed–and because I let those buttons be pressed by, what I call, “mental terrorists” (okay, I admit–Dane Cook said that), the anger just built up, like constantly shaking a soda can. You shake it, constantly, wondering “what would happen”, and–
I became a terrible, terrible person to the people I loved, and those strangers who enjoy public dramas thought it was the best thing they’ve ever seen–turning a quiet, laid-back, genuinely nice and sweet girl into the beast they wanted to see.
M loved animals. From taking an injured squirrel to her home to take care of to putting back a Robin’s egg back to the mother’s nest, M was a very caring, nature-loving girl. It’s why we get along so well–although we both grew up around the urban capital of the U.S., in our hearts we were rural girls. Or, at least we wanted to be. For 13 years we’ve been through many of life’s tests, from teaching each other different ways of coping with our stressful families to being each other’s rock when the rest of the world seemed untrustworthy and dangerous (more stories about our friendship later).
I remember being there when M picked out Skylo. He came from a family of beagles, with several other pups. M wanted a dog so bad–and I didn’t blame her. Her last dog was put down simply because he was a pitbull, and the neighborhood believed that he was aggressive and a “danger to the community”, even though he has never hurt a soul.
Regardless, after mourning for a couple years, M received her new shaky, scared yet adorable little creature named Skylo. Her family was delighted by his presence.
How many times have you heard that in your lifetime? Especially as a teenager and young adult?
Yet, unfairly, our mothers do the same thing. So do our fathers.
As human beings, we do care for others–but being at such an awkward stage in life can have its emotional tolls. From religious beliefs to core values, it can be difficult being young and wanting independence. As soon as we turn 16 we want our own apartment, our own phone, our own way of finding some kind of sanctuary–or our own party hub. Whichever we prefer, I’m sure our parents have worried about this for a very long time.
(Source) (I actually have brown eyes, but this is beautiful nonetheless!)
My father…took me into the city, to see a marching band… (any MCR fans out there? God, I wish they’d reunite.)
I was adorable, I have to admit. The way I snickered when I put a little prank on someone, knowing the amount of trouble I’d get into.
But then, it dawned on me. When I was mischievous and mean to others, I realized that I was the bully. I was the one causing them pain. In the long run, they would ask themselves, “what have I done to her to deserve this?”