This is Me, Unemotional

I don’t exactly know when it happened. I know, as a little girl, I let my true emotions show: when I was angry, as I often was at children who didn’t understand what was being taught, I showed it. When I was tired, I slept; hungry, I ate. Even basic needs such as those are thrust aside for things seemingly more pressing in life, but almost no one can help that. My biggest waste of time then was mixing chocolate milk colour out of finger paints, but even that held a purpose – I think I painted a turkey out of it.



Still, in kindergarten, the only people who knew me were my parents, at the start. The first assumption my peers created for me was my own doing: my goal in life was to get married, and it wasn’t uncommon to see me working on a picture of my “wedding.” Everyone else had goals like becoming a vet, or owning a pony; I wanted a husband. Out of this, the “Reese is boy crazy” …opinion, for lack of a better word, was formed.



From then on, I let myself be encouraged by my “friends,” as they told each other and myself that I was obsessive, aggressive and wanting – at the time, “boy crazy freak” summed that all up. I naturally believed this, and hammed it up for the attention for a while. Left to my own thoughts, I would have pursued a fraction of the boys I did, and in a less than obnoxious way.



As it were, after a few years, I was legendary amongst my classmates. Everyone knew – or thought along with the rest – that any boy would one day be my prey. Boys teased me, taunted me, pretended they were afraid of me; girls laughed at me, muttered about me, called me names…well, everyone did that. I was caught up in it all, but I still had a full set of emotions. Girls bugged me when they laughed; boys made me mad when they teased me and ran away. Without the public display, I still would have liked a boy or two…just not as many as I “chased.” It was like I was famous, and I went to extremes to stay in the limelight.



People were still nice to my face, a wonder, but their reasons were “pretty, smart, weird, artistic…” People did like me; I’m sure most of their censure was a façade as well.



Aside from obsessive, “weird” was a big one that I let myself believe and indulge in for years – I still do. I am weird, I know; my mind is not a normal place. But I’m not as weird as what I put on for my “friends.” If something weird I said was mildly funny, I drew it out and it would get too weird even for me – though I didn’t admit it – and people would stare, or laugh. I went on random tangents frequently.



I remember almost breaking down after one night of so much strange antics at Jenny’s house and screaming, “You’re not me!” at everyone there, because they were trying to tell me how I thought. I’d believed them for so long, but I snapped then, and they laughed. No one took me seriously, not even myself, as I was soon laughing too… But I still had emotions.



I can’t exactly remember when I began to delude myself into thinking I was happy and nothing else – high school, I know that. People always told me I was fun and easy to tease, and as I met people in grade eight, my friends met them too, and soon it was common knowledge I was easygoing.



I am easygoing, to a point, but I lost that point and let myself think nothing bugged me. If it did, I barely even noticed: I buried it and laughed, thinking, “They don’t mean it, this is what I’m good for…” In high school, I allowed myself to think I was good for art, academics, and being teased.



The happiness thing was kind of there along with my “easygoing” nature, as I slowly lost the ability to mean any emotion, especially anger. I believe being known as “happy-go-lucky” was there while I was dating Tyler (obsessive was back in full force then too, but almost truthfully deserved), and I tried to maintain it after him, which is why I threw myself full force into flirting, especially with Matt, and then Danny. People told me I was a flirt, I stepped it up. The more people noticed, the worse I got – a re-occurrence of every opinion of me.



I calmed down as I entered LSS (new people!), and even before that, meeting Alexis. I hardly liked any guy, I did and said what I felt and barely acted on people’s supposition…until I entered the Secret Room, I think…maybe before, but I don’t remember much of grade eleven.



I think Rylan may have re-began it, in fact, with her “terrible mother” and “fuck everyone” attitude, I guess to her I was always happy…but no, in the Secret Room and carrying into summer, for the most part I let myself BE.



It was the happiest I’d ever been in school: I got a few “Reese, you’re weird” comments, but no jeering laughter, no almost circus-like attention that freakshows got. I could sing, paint, be lazy and wear frog slippers without people saying I did so because I was this or that. I did it for myself.



Summer I shoved all the opinions somewhere else and just didn’t care: when I told Mel, Meagan and Laken I liked “Michael P,” I no longer cared about what preconceived notions they had of me, or what opinions would form. I stopped caring.



I took that summer to meet people I hadn’t, to do things, to be happy without being told or laughed at.



When school started, I began to be known as “the happy one,” one half of an adorable, happy couple… I don’t know when I let all this affect me; maybe it was Rylan telling me I was so happy, maybe it was Carly telling me that Michael and I were cute, maybe it was Catherine telling me I was amazing…probably all of it.



And that was fine, until I got it into my head that I couldn’t be anything but happy – I couldn’t let everyone down! I told my dad one day that I couldn’t feel anger or sadness: he looked at me and said, “I beg to differ.” My father knows me; he doesn’t impress who I am upon me, he’s always let me figure it out – or try to.



His statement was a hint; it unfortunately flew right over my head. I’m not an optimist, and was trying to be an extreme one… I think it got noticeably fake after France. France I was myself, France I let myself LIVE.



Back at home, there were expectations as to what I was: the happy friend, the smitten girlfriend, half of the perfect couple. I was done acting, or so I thought; I acted even more fakely happy, and I acted as a complete bitch. Maybe I was feeling bitchy, maybe I was both – I lost myself, I think.



It took me a while to snap out of the bitch, but even then I was acting. Michael stopped putting up with my bullshit and launched into philosophical, distant mode. I wasn’t letting myself really FEEL…I was only thinking, thinking about my next “move” …I was gone.



Crying today has brought together all the little epiphanies I’ve had all my life, about who I am and who I’ve been playing… But what really did it, what really helped, was having someone whom I truly love to cry on. I thank him for giving me the ability to see myself for who I am, and to help myself; he means the world to me.