What causes a thick skin...

[Author's Note: I woke up at 6 this morning with this essay running through my brain. At 6:30 I realized that the only way I was going to sleep was by writing it and getting it off my mind. I wish my mind wouldn't go off into so many dark corners on a Saturday morning but that is just part of who I am. In a better mood now, thanks to the people who know they are responsible for it, but I'm still listening to every Josh Rouse CD I own until I lift the gray from my own eyes. And find the Josh Rouse song I sang to myself last night before I fell asleep that I have an unnerving feeling doesn't actually exist. Here we go.]



(I may have told this story in the past. If I did it was probably for a different purpose. But right now I really need to use it to explain a certain aspect of my personality that not too many people know about.)

I’ve written before about being picked on and beat up as a kid and along with everything else that falls under the 75% rule most people wonder just what part of that is true. For the record, I’ve never been in a fight in my entire life. I’ve been pretty lucky in that regard. I come from a big family so I always had numbers on my side while growing up. I also figured out early on that by being funny you can defuse most situations before someone starts throwing punches at you. Fear of getting beat up helped to form my self-deprecating brand of humor. I realized that if I called myself a geek and a nerd, played up my own awkwardness, that I could avoid confrontation. Who wants to beat up someone who is already beating up themselves? What is there to gain from it?

So while I was never given a black eye by a playground bully I have been picked on for pretty much forever. It goes with the territory. I happen to be an extremely intelligent gawky guy with glasses and slightly inadequate social skills. Those qualities tend to bring insults along with them. I’ve never quite understood why. I could never comprehend why people would fault me for wanting to learn things and viewing the classroom as my playing field. But it is apparently fine to make fun of someone for knowing the presidents over being able to throw a tight spiral. For the most part when I talk about being picked on I’m not referring to that. What I am usually referring to are moments like the following, which still ranks as the worst moment of my life.

I was probably fifteen at the time. Puberty was not kind to me. It still isn’t given the fact that I might still be going through it. Basically all of my gawkiness and awkwardness was emphasized as I tried to figure out how to deal with a six foot one frame and these weird things called emotions. I remember that I was happy when this story started. Don’t know why but I was feeling good about myself. It wasn’t a rare occurrence but it was always nice to leave the house thinking that I was doing things right for a change.

I left the house to go return a movie at the video store. It was just a couple blocks so I walked there in my usual blissful ignorance. Walking down the street I saw these two girls sitting at a bus stop and I gave them no notice. Didn’t know who they were, hadn’t seen them in my entire life. As I approached them they started yelling at me, “Hey faggot. What the fuck are you doing faggot? Where are you going faggot?”

(I remember being taken back by the insult. Last time I checked I wasn’t gay so I was really confused by it. That and the fact that having your manhood questioned at fifteen is not enjoyable in the least.)

Remember that I hadn’t spoken a word to these girls. I was just walking down the street with a few movies in my hand. The only crime that I had committed was my very existence. Yet these girls insulted me as I walked towards them and as I walked past them. I was nearly two blocks away and I could still hear them yelling at me. I got to the video store, returned the movies, looked around for a little bit and hoped that the bus system was working that day. I left and decided to cross the street early in an attempt to avoid confrontation.

Didn’t work. They were still there and still calling me a faggot and wondering why I crossed the street. I walked home silently, just listening to them rip on me in every way imaginable. I didn’t say a word the entire time. I just took the abuse. It was the worst feeling I have had in my entire life. I just wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

This story bothers me to this day. It literally was more than half a lifetime ago and I still hate thinking about it. I was a few blocks from my home, one of those places where you should always feel safe, and I felt like I was going to be attacked for nothing more than just existing. Like my very presence made people just out and out hate me. Hate is really the right word for this. That is what I encountered that day.

As a result of this (and other instances like kids throwing rocks at me when I walked home from school when I was seven) I am really, really sensitive to being picked on. I simply can’t stand it. Seeing it brings up all of these emotions in me and I go to a very bad place mentally. Now that I’m an adult I realized that if people start insulting me I can just get up and leave. I’ve done it on occasion with people thinking I can’t take a joke. They don’t realize that insulting what I’ve accomplished in my life is an unforgivable sin in my eyes. But I also feel the same way when I see other people being made fun of. It kills me to see people I like treated badly. It makes me just want to tell everyone to go to hell if they don’t want to be a compassionate human being for once in their existence.

Of course I don’t actually say that. The politeness gene in me is too strong for that. Instead I just stew there silently, hating myself for not being brave enough to speak what is on my mind. For all of my visions of being the gallant white knight in this world, fighting for honor and integrity and chivalry, I sure do a sucky job of it.

I wish I wasn’t like this. I wish I could take good natured jokes for what they are instead of viewing everything as a personal affront. I wish I could just relax around people, take down the masks and the walls and not worry what people think. To live life without being afraid of getting hurt. It’s caused me to cocoon myself much more than I would like. It’s easier for me to hide behind a façade, to live life from behind a computer screen because that way people can’t get to me as easily. It is not the person that I feel that I am and certainly not the person that I want to be.

So when I say that I was picked on as a kid this is what I am referring to. It’s having people who never accomplished anything close to what you have done hate you for simply existing. And it’s why sometimes it seems like I can’t take a joke. Because for as long as I live I will never let anyone make me feel that way again.