It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday...

Have you ever had a wound that you just couldn't stop picking at, even though it hurt every single time you did it? If you haven't, then congratulations! - You are absolutely nothing like me.

Which may not be a bad thing necessarily. But I digress.

For the last two and a half days, I've had an emotional/psychological wound that I just can't stop picking at. I know I should - I know I should just step away - but I can't.

Let me explain. A Facebook page was started for my "class" in middle school. Call it a cohort, a bunch of kids who happened to born around the same time and ended up at the same school together - whatever. I was added to the group a couple of days ago, and I probably should have just politely left the group. But no,   I am one of those people who likes to poke that wound over and over again.

And my, oh my, do I have some crazy emotional wounds from middle school.

I know I said in my first post that I was going to be honest, but there are some things I still am not going to be upfront about. A good deal of that had to do with 2 out of the 3 years I was in middle school. A lot of stuff happened, a lot of it not good and beyond the pale of the typical awkward-pubescent-experience. But there are some things I am willing to be upfront about. Like having been bullied. My goodness, did some people have a field day with my awkward, giant-eyeglass-wearing, no-fashion-sense, head-always-in-a-book self.

There's a thread on that FB page about what your most embarrassing moment was in middle school. People have posted about various silly things they did that everyone laughed about. I have not contributed - no need to be Debbie Downer and point out that my most embarrassing moments were pretty much all instigated by the same people posting in that thread (or their friends).

Like I said, I really should stop poking.

I guess what makes things so much more painful is that my Older Boy is currently dealing with a bully. He starts kindergarten on Monday, and I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I look at his cheerful, bubbly self and think back to the little girl I used to be at that age - cheerful and bubbly. Before the bullies metaphorically knocked me to the ground.

I want to post on that board: "What the f*$k are you all smoking?!? Talking about how great junior high was? Or don't you all remember the nerds and peons you stomped into the ground with your comments and sneers?"

But that was over 20 years ago. Most of them have forgotten, I'm sure. Hell, I wish I could forget. One of the down sides to having a great memory is that you don't forget.

*sigh*

I've always wished that I could have stood up for myself more. That I would have stood up for myself more. I've wished that I could have said those things, as a 13-year-old, that I thought to say as a 20 or 30-something-year-old. I've grown up, gone on.

 I'm not that girl anymore

Mostly.

Maybe.

Or maybe she'll always be a part of me. A reminder, a remnant.

But I wish I could just forget and let go. Or at least just stop poking.