(no subject)
I have never told anyone this story. I'm sure you'll know why, because it is what I believe is the most mortifying moment in my adolecent life.
Eight years ago my parents sent me away to a sleep away summer camp. It was called Camp Applejack and was upstate New York. It was the first time I'd ever been in the wilderness, but that wasn't what scared me. I had gone to the same school since Kindergarden and wasn't sure if I could live up to meeting new kids. We lived in an elevated log cabin and every group had a name. I don't remember what ours was, and I don't remember our counclers, ony that she played a Snoop Dogg CD the first day. I didn't know who that was. I stayed in a room with five other girls. I slept on the bottom bunk. Every day after lunch we would get mail and have oppurtunities to write to our parents. Actually, we had to write our parents. It was our ticket into dinner. I don't remember a time in my life where I've cried more than on that bottom bunk. Blubbering while reading a letter from my mom about the weather, the cats, and what movies she'sbeen watching. Despite my anxiety about meeting people, I had made a few friends. The only ones that I remember are Carly and Leslie. They were both from New York and liked to sing. Earlier in the year someone had asked me where I was from. I suppose I was still rattled from being in a new place I said the first thing that came to my head. This moment is probabbly the most regretted moment of my childhood. I said that I was from Long Island. I am not from long Island, nor had I ever been there. I don't know why I said it and I don't think I ever will. The area which I live in is referred to as Long Island City, and perhaps that's wheret the confusion came from, but I don't know. Now, instead of correcting myself I stayed quiet. I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of all these girls, and the councler who liked Snoop Dogg. So I kept it up, who was it going to hurt? My lie snowballed and after a few weeks I had my first anxiety attack. I didn't know it at the time, but upon reflection it's the same feeling that I still get sometimes. I feel as if there is a giant knot inside my chest, and I slowly have to unwravel it. I have a visual of a huge black spiderweb and I have to untangle it before I can feel better. Every Sunday the camp would gather on this large field and talk about what had went on that week, and what was going to happen next. After all of that there was a time where everyone would sit in silence for about five minutes. They didn't stress any religious undertones, but told us that it was a "spiritual excercise" (yes, it was a fucking hippie camp and I hated it). During these times I would think about what I had gotten myself into while I braided grass, and burned myself on that grass with the little microscopic razors on them. After a few weeks I got so upset about the lengths I had gone to convice these people that I was indeed from Long Island. When Leslie, who is from there asked what school I went to, I told her to guess and said yes to the first one. I remember thinking that I probabbly should have waited for her to guess more, but she got excited and kept asking me if I had known so and so. I alternated answering yes and no, more often no than yes. I was playing social Russian roulette and just hoped that she wasn't good friends with any of these people, or worse making them up. After that lunch I said that I had to go to the infirmary. I can't remember if I had really made myself feel ill, or just needed to go somewhere else for a little while, but the truth was that I knew there was nothing wrong with me. I told the nurse that I had to lie down and she just told me that I was dehydrated. I spent a good 3 hours in that dark room. I was lying on a cot with a plastic matress, so no one could pee or puke on it. All I remember doing was closing my eyes and imagining every room in my house. I walked though the kitchen, in the basement and even tried to remember what my tennants part of the house looked like. Then I moved on to visualizing my best friend's house, and anywhere else I had been. I don't know why I did this, but I know I just needed a place to lie down and not think about my stupid lie for a few hours. When I finally got up to leave it was dinner time. Before dinner we would have to line up in rows according to where we lived. on this particular day I remember standing in front of Carly when she asked if I was really from Long Island. I don't remember most of the conversation, which is suprising because I vividly remember everything before that moment. After I told her that I wasn't from Long Island things were a little different for awhile, but she eventally forgot and were good friends the next year.
But I still think about this stupid mistake I made eight years ago and I wonder if I've really learned anything from it. While I've never told anyone that I live in Long Island again, I still find myself telling little lies sometimes. It's usually to embelish a story, and to give it a funnier ending than what happened in real life, but it's still fundamentally the same thing. It's not like they are white lies, because they aren't really benifitting anyone. I suppose in my old age I have learned that it is ok to tell little lies sometimes, as long as you can cover your tracks.
Eight years ago my parents sent me away to a sleep away summer camp. It was called Camp Applejack and was upstate New York. It was the first time I'd ever been in the wilderness, but that wasn't what scared me. I had gone to the same school since Kindergarden and wasn't sure if I could live up to meeting new kids. We lived in an elevated log cabin and every group had a name. I don't remember what ours was, and I don't remember our counclers, ony that she played a Snoop Dogg CD the first day. I didn't know who that was. I stayed in a room with five other girls. I slept on the bottom bunk. Every day after lunch we would get mail and have oppurtunities to write to our parents. Actually, we had to write our parents. It was our ticket into dinner. I don't remember a time in my life where I've cried more than on that bottom bunk. Blubbering while reading a letter from my mom about the weather, the cats, and what movies she'sbeen watching. Despite my anxiety about meeting people, I had made a few friends. The only ones that I remember are Carly and Leslie. They were both from New York and liked to sing. Earlier in the year someone had asked me where I was from. I suppose I was still rattled from being in a new place I said the first thing that came to my head. This moment is probabbly the most regretted moment of my childhood. I said that I was from Long Island. I am not from long Island, nor had I ever been there. I don't know why I said it and I don't think I ever will. The area which I live in is referred to as Long Island City, and perhaps that's wheret the confusion came from, but I don't know. Now, instead of correcting myself I stayed quiet. I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of all these girls, and the councler who liked Snoop Dogg. So I kept it up, who was it going to hurt? My lie snowballed and after a few weeks I had my first anxiety attack. I didn't know it at the time, but upon reflection it's the same feeling that I still get sometimes. I feel as if there is a giant knot inside my chest, and I slowly have to unwravel it. I have a visual of a huge black spiderweb and I have to untangle it before I can feel better. Every Sunday the camp would gather on this large field and talk about what had went on that week, and what was going to happen next. After all of that there was a time where everyone would sit in silence for about five minutes. They didn't stress any religious undertones, but told us that it was a "spiritual excercise" (yes, it was a fucking hippie camp and I hated it). During these times I would think about what I had gotten myself into while I braided grass, and burned myself on that grass with the little microscopic razors on them. After a few weeks I got so upset about the lengths I had gone to convice these people that I was indeed from Long Island. When Leslie, who is from there asked what school I went to, I told her to guess and said yes to the first one. I remember thinking that I probabbly should have waited for her to guess more, but she got excited and kept asking me if I had known so and so. I alternated answering yes and no, more often no than yes. I was playing social Russian roulette and just hoped that she wasn't good friends with any of these people, or worse making them up. After that lunch I said that I had to go to the infirmary. I can't remember if I had really made myself feel ill, or just needed to go somewhere else for a little while, but the truth was that I knew there was nothing wrong with me. I told the nurse that I had to lie down and she just told me that I was dehydrated. I spent a good 3 hours in that dark room. I was lying on a cot with a plastic matress, so no one could pee or puke on it. All I remember doing was closing my eyes and imagining every room in my house. I walked though the kitchen, in the basement and even tried to remember what my tennants part of the house looked like. Then I moved on to visualizing my best friend's house, and anywhere else I had been. I don't know why I did this, but I know I just needed a place to lie down and not think about my stupid lie for a few hours. When I finally got up to leave it was dinner time. Before dinner we would have to line up in rows according to where we lived. on this particular day I remember standing in front of Carly when she asked if I was really from Long Island. I don't remember most of the conversation, which is suprising because I vividly remember everything before that moment. After I told her that I wasn't from Long Island things were a little different for awhile, but she eventally forgot and were good friends the next year.
But I still think about this stupid mistake I made eight years ago and I wonder if I've really learned anything from it. While I've never told anyone that I live in Long Island again, I still find myself telling little lies sometimes. It's usually to embelish a story, and to give it a funnier ending than what happened in real life, but it's still fundamentally the same thing. It's not like they are white lies, because they aren't really benifitting anyone. I suppose in my old age I have learned that it is ok to tell little lies sometimes, as long as you can cover your tracks.