Journey(ing) to the past

The past and future are two of the scariest places in the world. The past is unchangeable and the future is unpredictable. Every choice we make determines the next step into the future.

Over 10 years ago I moved from the little town of Salem, NH, to Ithaca, NY, when I was 13. From eighth to eleventh grade I visited Salem almost every other weekend in order see my father. When I entered my senior year I stopped going as often; I think I went once a month, if that. Once I entered college in the fall of 2012, the first time I went back was the summer of 2015. Now in 2017 I’ve been back to Salem twice in less than five months.

The first time was an impromptu visit for my family’s 4th of July party and then from Nov. 22 to 26, my family and I celebrated Thanksgiving and my grandparent’s 50th wedding anniversary celebration in the 603. It was a great four days in my least favorite place in the world.

I never thought it would become a place I’d hate going to. My whole family, immediate and extended, are there and that’s what continues to bring me back but it’s not my first choice as a vacation destination.

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On a whim, I decided to drive around town to see if either schools I attended were open that Saturday of our holiday weekend. To my surprise, the middle school was.

I contemplated going in, my chest trembling as I starred at the unchanged brick facade. I popped in my headphones, took a deep breath in and made my way through the metal doors. The entire time I walked around the halls where my sixth and seventh teams were, I was listening to “Waving through a Window” from the hit-musical “Dear Evan Hansen” on repeat. I’ve loved that song since the soundtrack to the show was released but it never resonated with me until I walked around Woodbury Middle School 10 years later.

On the outside, always looking in
Will I ever be more than I’ve always been?

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Even though I am a changed person, a better person than who I was at 13 years old, I retracted to the person I was, instead of the person I have become, as I walked those halls.

I saw the lockers I had in sixth and seventh grade with vivid images of where my peers stood gathered around each day, where I was pushed, shoved and ridiculed on a daily basis, the (new) parking lot where I was blamed for defending myself from a bully and later became suspended from school.

I walked through the cafeteria and sat at the exact table in front of the vending machines where a group of boys yelled and flipped me off for no reason every single day those two years, the place where I got gum thrown in my hair before first period one morning, the library where I had to work with my worst enemy to be made in my entire life, that same library where I threw a Twinkie in a boy’s face after the same group of boys made fat noises at me at the end of a school day. I remember which classrooms I was sexually harassed in and the names of the boys who did it even when I said, “No.”

I remember so distinctly standing emotionless outside the counselor’s office where I told two people I couldn’t forgive them for bullying me after a teacher gave a report about the bullying happening to me each day.

I even remember crying at my computer screen over the Myspace profile someone made of me with a picture from environmental camp in seventh grade with a blue background with little Twinkies embedded where I read everyone’s true opinions of me.

When you’re falling in a forest and there’s nobody around
Do you ever really crash, or even make a sound?

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10 years later I remember the names of all who tormented me, who made me feel like I was nothing and those who witnessed what was happening but decided to say nothing. I didn’t want to be saved, I wanted the burning hell that encompassed me on a daily basis to die. I wanted someone to listen. I needed someone to believe me.

10 years later I knew I had to go back to my roots to fully understand the growth and accomplishments I have made since moving to Ithaca and finally talk about what happened to me growing up.

Because thank God, I have changed. I got out of the town that made me feel like I was a something instead of a somebody, an easy target to the people I grew up with. I left the town, the people and the school administration that was inevitably going to make me fail. I am so incredibly happy I became a new person the minute I stepped onto Ithaca soil.

I’ve learned to slam on the brake
Before I even turn the key
Before I make the mistake
Before I lead with the worst of me.

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I developed proper social skills and made friends, I had teachers willing to help me in my classes, I wasn’t being bullied anymore, I fell absolutely in love with (musical) theatre, I graduated high school with high honors, I became a leader in college, I found my voice and I graduated college with two bachelor’s degrees. If I didn’t leave I wouldn’t have experienced all that I have and met those who built me back up from the black ashes of the people who tore me down.

I might always be the fat girl who didn’t have any friends growing up in Salem, NH. I might always have the connotation of being an immature bitch, the naive girl who had no where to sit during lunch, the girl who was shamed for trying to be someone, the girl everyone threw to the side like a piece of garbage. Maybe that will always be the image for those who knew me 10 years ago.

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But here are words I hope you read, from the woman who you can know now, 10 years later:

We’ve all changed. I am certainly not the same person I was back in the day and I hope you aren’t, too. I hope you’re well and I hope our paths cross again in our lives. I hope we can talk, catch up on our life endeavors.

Anyways, thank you. Truly. Thank you for making me realize what pure happiness feels like after knowing what complete humiliation entails. Thank you for breaking me down just to be brought back up by those who only wanted to see me succeed. Thank you for teaching me about character and good judgement for those who pass by in my life. Thank you for showing me what it means to be a friend, kindness and understanding. Thank you for showing me that, “Even if you’ve always been that barely-in-the-background kind of [girl], you still matter.

Thank you for making me the confident, takes no BS, compassionate, empathetic and badass woman I am today. Without you, I would have never gained the courage to leave, stay in Ithaca, “step out of the sun” and experience the beautiful second chance at life I was meant to live.

And yes, I forgive you. I forgive you for whatever you did, no matter how shitty it was. I tell you this in print and I would say it verbally. But please know I can’t forget what happened, I will be remember that part of my narrative vividly for as long as I live. You might not have meant it then or you might have thought it was cool because everyone else was doing it but those words and actions stick, even 10 years later.

Three weeks out of school – so what’s next?

Well, I finished college three weeks ago now. I know, scary.

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All I’ve done thus far is cry over the overwhelmed feeling inside me from all the things I had (and still have…) to unpack from school, I’ve moved back to my college town for the summer a week after graduation, start my summer employment and have binged watched three, going on four seasons of “Shameless” in five days.

I only hold a little shame. No pun intended.

But I keep asking myself; what’s next? And to be honest, I’m not too sure.

I can only imagine how many times parents and guardians say, “What’s next?” repeatedly to their recent college graduates. If I got a dollar for every time someone asked me, “What’s next? What are your plans?” I could pay off all my student loans.

I just spent the last five years in this little bubble, changing my major too many times for me to really know in my indecisive brain what I want to do. I have to figure out some sort of idea before Nov. 13 as that’s when my grace period for student loans stop and the real “adulting” begins.

That is a lie. Being an adult began the minute I walked down the ramp at graduation.

I studied theatre in my undergraduate career and most of us in our various, respected programs know what we want to do, where we want to end up and are determined to figure out the steps along the way.

I don’t know what I want to do or where I should end up.  I don’t even know where I fit into the theatre realm anymore. I love theatre, it is my home and has been my world for so many years I could never say goodbye to it. My aspirations, goals and interests have changed since I started studying communications and began my journey as a journalist. I can’t ignore the signs that lead me to new opportunities and knowledge I’m hungry to earn.

For the last year, every decision I make derives from the, “eh, we’ll wing it,” approach. I’m proud to say the “winging it” mindset hasn’t failed me yet! Check back in a few months, I could possibly (read: most likely will) have a different answer to this approach.

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In all seriousness, I don’t know what I want to do. I’m not sure when I will find the answer, or if I will truly find it anytime soon. And that’s okay.

As I approach my first year out of public education (yes, these last 17 years have been through public schooling, secondary and collegiality), I plan on finding a job that will:

  1. Allow me to make money in order to save, pay off loans and budget effectively
  2. Make me self-fulfilled professionally and personally
  3. Let me enjoy coming to work every day.

I’m not too picky right now with finding a job. As my summer employment nears the end by early August, I will start applying to various positions within the Ithaca area towards the end of July. That will be next month…

Right now, we think about tomorrow.

I plan on enjoying my last summer in the town home to my Alma mater. I plan on spending time with my friends. I plan on getting in shape. I plan on spending time with myself. I plan on mapping out a game plan for these next couple years. I plan on looking at graduate programs for communications.

I plan on doing all the things I’ve always wanted to do. To conquer my fears and just do it.

“So what’s next?” they ask.

That’s what’s next,” I respond.