Respect the ghosts
It's amazing how little it takes to bring it back. But something has changed in the way that I see my childhood -- finally. I'm still hurt, still angry, still betrayed, but the tears stop faster. There's a numb layer of scar tissue over the tender places that used to be raw, seeping wounds. My past made me, but it doesn't define me anymore. I've doubled my age since I got away, and I've now been shaped as much by events of my own choosing as I was by the ones inflicted upon me that I just had to survive. It was a close thing more times than I care to admit. Those who know me now would probably find it shocking that I started out as an extrovert. By age 6 I was well on my way toward introversion. I was first suicidal at the age of 10. Spite was my savior then, making me determined enough to keep living, keep going, even if only as revenge. Hate became my shield, and rage was my cold, precise weapon.
So why remember it now? A few days ago I got a message on FB from someone from my childhood; I grew up with her to age 16. We were 11 months apart in age, but by a fluke of birthday dates were in the same grade. We went to the same Baptist church and the same Baptist school, and our families were very involved, which meant we went to mostly all the same evening and weekend things, too: choir, AWANA, gymnastics, youth group, church camping trips, etc. We both got straight A's. She made the cheerleading squad, while I didn't, but I was in band. There was a long time where I thought she was my friend. Maybe there was a brief period I was. Gods know I tried. Not only with her and that family, but with so many others for so very many years. I was sometimes appreciated for my usefulness or willingness, mostly by adults. Peers, though, mostly tolerated me. I was invited to birthday parties if everyone else was. I was thanked for the Christmas presents I gave. Others would say I was involved. The problem was that I wasn’t included, no matter how much I tried to be what I was supposed to be. I was useful, but that just meant I got used; fuck me, but I was grateful for even that. It would have been a kindness if someone had just told me I wasn’t wanted, let alone welcome, instead of waiting for me to give up, go away, broken and defeated. I was too tenacious for my own good, but we all have limits, and I eventually reached mine.
She was one of the golden girls, though, of the family of four of them. They got the popular teachers at school, they got the solos and starring roles, they got the boys. In short, they were popular and pretty and loved. Did they do it on purpose? Mostly not, though some more than others. Were they mean? Not overtly, not to me, and so far as I know, not behind my back, either. I know now that it’s hard to see your own privilege. It’s something I’ve made it a point to learn more about and recognize, in my present and in my past.
So what was in this FB message that inspired so much reflection on my part? That’s the funny thing. It was a mostly copy and pasted message inviting me to learn more about the products available through her new independent consultant business! She said she found my FB posts hilarious, but she’s never liked or commented on a post of mine, and if I asked her to name anything I’d posted in the last year without looking at my wall, I doubt she could. Based on her beliefs, she’d probably be actively offended by a lot of things I post. The throw-away phishing message constitutes the first time she’s “said” anything to me in 19 years. Once again, I’m good enough to be useful. Good enough to be used. A shame that I grew some self-respect and shed that skin a long time ago.
When she first publicly posted about the great opportunity and wonderful products, I actually looked into them. I like to support people that I know in growing their own businesses. I’m a regular and good customer of several people I know who have started their own companies. But what I read about Rodan + Fields puts them in the same MLM bucket as Mark Kay, Alticor/Amway/Quixtar/etc., Herbalife, MonaVie, The Pampered Chef, Pre-Paid Legal Services/LegalShield, and so many other companies that seem to prey on people prone to religious levels of faith, devotion, and ecstasy. The products share the same ingredients as many others available for much less money, and while effective for some are not for others. Nothing groundbreaking, nothing exceptional. I started blocking her posts about the company. I had read that, like most MLMs, the company encourages people to spam their social media and reach out to friends to get them buying or consulting. Many people stopped selling for that very reason -- they didn’t want to pester their friends or use people in that way.
I rate a copy and paste spam message after 19 years of silence. I wonder if there was even a moment’s thought to how that would be received, to what I would think…. a pause as she maybe realized that I deserve more respect than a cold call, that I was a person that she once shared a lot of time and experiences with, that maybe reaching out for its own sake would be appreciated, while being contacted like this would be the lowest of insults. I’m not good enough to talk to, but I’m good enough to make money from, to be used, to be exploited. I’m not real enough to be considered as a whole person with feelings, thoughts, and reactions of my own. She has no idea that I visited her sister’s grave the very next time I was back in southern California after she died. I respect my past, the people in it, the experiences I had. They aren’t all to be treasured. Some deserve the very worst kinds of hell… but they are to be respected. I am worthy of respect, too.
So why remember it now? A few days ago I got a message on FB from someone from my childhood; I grew up with her to age 16. We were 11 months apart in age, but by a fluke of birthday dates were in the same grade. We went to the same Baptist church and the same Baptist school, and our families were very involved, which meant we went to mostly all the same evening and weekend things, too: choir, AWANA, gymnastics, youth group, church camping trips, etc. We both got straight A's. She made the cheerleading squad, while I didn't, but I was in band. There was a long time where I thought she was my friend. Maybe there was a brief period I was. Gods know I tried. Not only with her and that family, but with so many others for so very many years. I was sometimes appreciated for my usefulness or willingness, mostly by adults. Peers, though, mostly tolerated me. I was invited to birthday parties if everyone else was. I was thanked for the Christmas presents I gave. Others would say I was involved. The problem was that I wasn’t included, no matter how much I tried to be what I was supposed to be. I was useful, but that just meant I got used; fuck me, but I was grateful for even that. It would have been a kindness if someone had just told me I wasn’t wanted, let alone welcome, instead of waiting for me to give up, go away, broken and defeated. I was too tenacious for my own good, but we all have limits, and I eventually reached mine.
She was one of the golden girls, though, of the family of four of them. They got the popular teachers at school, they got the solos and starring roles, they got the boys. In short, they were popular and pretty and loved. Did they do it on purpose? Mostly not, though some more than others. Were they mean? Not overtly, not to me, and so far as I know, not behind my back, either. I know now that it’s hard to see your own privilege. It’s something I’ve made it a point to learn more about and recognize, in my present and in my past.
So what was in this FB message that inspired so much reflection on my part? That’s the funny thing. It was a mostly copy and pasted message inviting me to learn more about the products available through her new independent consultant business! She said she found my FB posts hilarious, but she’s never liked or commented on a post of mine, and if I asked her to name anything I’d posted in the last year without looking at my wall, I doubt she could. Based on her beliefs, she’d probably be actively offended by a lot of things I post. The throw-away phishing message constitutes the first time she’s “said” anything to me in 19 years. Once again, I’m good enough to be useful. Good enough to be used. A shame that I grew some self-respect and shed that skin a long time ago.
When she first publicly posted about the great opportunity and wonderful products, I actually looked into them. I like to support people that I know in growing their own businesses. I’m a regular and good customer of several people I know who have started their own companies. But what I read about Rodan + Fields puts them in the same MLM bucket as Mark Kay, Alticor/Amway/Quixtar/etc., Herbalife, MonaVie, The Pampered Chef, Pre-Paid Legal Services/LegalShield, and so many other companies that seem to prey on people prone to religious levels of faith, devotion, and ecstasy. The products share the same ingredients as many others available for much less money, and while effective for some are not for others. Nothing groundbreaking, nothing exceptional. I started blocking her posts about the company. I had read that, like most MLMs, the company encourages people to spam their social media and reach out to friends to get them buying or consulting. Many people stopped selling for that very reason -- they didn’t want to pester their friends or use people in that way.
I rate a copy and paste spam message after 19 years of silence. I wonder if there was even a moment’s thought to how that would be received, to what I would think…. a pause as she maybe realized that I deserve more respect than a cold call, that I was a person that she once shared a lot of time and experiences with, that maybe reaching out for its own sake would be appreciated, while being contacted like this would be the lowest of insults. I’m not good enough to talk to, but I’m good enough to make money from, to be used, to be exploited. I’m not real enough to be considered as a whole person with feelings, thoughts, and reactions of my own. She has no idea that I visited her sister’s grave the very next time I was back in southern California after she died. I respect my past, the people in it, the experiences I had. They aren’t all to be treasured. Some deserve the very worst kinds of hell… but they are to be respected. I am worthy of respect, too.