Call of the Feral

I didn't have friends in high school. People tend to say things like this, but in my case, it's true. I had habits and acquaintances. Nothing more. I would sit at a lunchroom table on days I wanted to play the game and listen to these people talk about what they'd done that weekend. And inevitably they'd ask what I'd done.

"Not much. Hung out at home. Went to a movie with my family." Every week more or less the same response.

And I always sat there wondering how no one noticed that I was never there for any of the out-of-school activities.

I only blame myself for those lonely days, so if you knew me then, don't be offended. Because I know you tried. I had too high of expectations. I blame my idyllic childhood self and Saved by the Bell for that.

In order to survive the life I'd carved for myself, I proclaimed myself an eccentric. Granted, I think I've always been quirky, constantly in the pursuit of eras that are long gone and probably never existed out of literature, but I took it to another level. No one could ever understand me, so why should I try?

And then I went to college and started to wipe the delusion from my eyes.

Despite having friends that I feel privileged to call mine, I often felt separate from most people.

It's a running joke that I'm the forgotten one. The one hiding in the corner, always the last to be discovered. One time in particular has always stayed with me. For one FHE activity, we played waterballoon volleyball. Of course it was a partner game, and I was the odd person out. It shouldn't have been a big deal, but for whatever reason it was. That night I realized that I might be overcompensating. In order to not show my fear or my shyness, I might appear to be fine. Content with being a solitary, instead of the quaking little girl in the shadows I see myself as.

I just can't believe that I fooled anyone for a second. That makes it sound like I'm weak. That I wasn't okay alone, but that's not true either. I was handling it. In the clinical sense, I was mentally healthy and led a functioning life.

Despite having the best friends I'd been craving, the feeling of separateness persisted and fueled my philosophy essay the following year.

It's one of the few pieces of writing I'm truly proud to have authored. I've since lost it because my computer crashed, so it might not have been as brilliant as I remember, but it was something that had been a long time coming.

I set out to write about how much can be gained by being a solitary. I felt a need to prove that I was somehow okay, maybe even better off, because I had spent so much time alone in high school.

The theme revolved around feral children.

My obsession with feral children stemmed from what else but a TLC documentary. Instantly, I was so desperate to learn about their human spirit and their experience with learning. In some ways, I felt like I had exiled myself so long that I was a feral child in terms of my social ability.

I remember it clearly, the moment of self-discovery.

I was walking on campus by the Kennedy Center, and as I was crunching all of the impossibly large leaves under my feet, the spark lit, and I knew I'd been so utterly wrong.

We need relationships and connections! We cannot become much without interaction with other things, and most importantly people. The entire time, I was lying to myself in the dark in order to justify the way I lived my life.

There are accounts of feral children who were unable to feel extreme temperatures. One boy, found in France, would put his bare hands in the fire in order to eat a potato; his body couldn't even react to the pain because it never could afford to. In the same sense, I'd made myself numb because I thought I couldn't afford to be alone after an honest try. I was okay being a solitary because I'd conditioned my vulnerability out of the picture out of necessity. Or so I told myself.

That time of intense study of human nature and principles of learning shaped my social approach going forward. I'd survived basically alone, so I knew I could do it again if I had to, but I also knew that it's a stagnant place to be. It's very easy to grow tired of yourself if you spend too much time a part from the rest of the world.

Now I'm better at explaining myself and accepting that people often won't understand where I'm coming from, but they won't dismiss me either. I hide less. I don't always let the feral child in me run away from people.

With the move, I've had the pleasure of meeting new friends. The other night I said I was shy to one of them, and he adamantly disagreed with me. I have to say I'm still pretty shocked by this. Although I no longer feel like the helpless feral child, I still think I come off as a timid--like to the point of being pitiful-timid sometimes.

Maybe I faked it so long I made it? I can't seem to decide because the call of the feral is still strong in me, but I know I'm firmer in showing my confidence. All along I genuinely liked the core of myself, but I wasn't strong enough or smart enough to share it with others.

It's a work in progress, but at least I'm not still lost in the forest, the only one able to hear the falling trees and my own voice.

At 23 & 1/2

I own real furniture. Not just those cheap bookshelves from Big Lots.

Because I can't wake up on time, I have to shower at night.

I have 17 pairs of boots and an entire drawer designated for tights and leggings.

Sometimes I think I'm smarter than I give myself credit for.

I have to jump to get on my bed. And I'd really like for someone to explain to me why making one's bed became such a standard practice. I think it's a pointless chore.

I'd like to wear hats more.

Jellyfish are still my favorite animal.

Lately, people haven't been hearing the sarcasm in my voice...and I haven't really been correcting them.

I've always known that the real struggle would be figuring out what I really wanted to do with my life, not in the achieving it part. I'm still on step one.

The last three episodes of Dawson's Creek are just waiting for me to watch them, but I can't seem to do it. It's too soon to say goodbye or goodnight. Plus I need to prepare myself for the exorbitant amount of tears that will flood my face.

Nothing sounds better than picking up everything and traveling anywhere and everywhere for a year. I can't decide if that would be a voyage of self discovery or if it'd be plain running away.

I'm in the middle of reading Anna Karenina.

I wish that I could call myself an artist.

Today's Obsession: Keaton Henson's "Lying to You"

I really wish I was still in my Sex and Gender class because I have so much to discuss about this song and video and how it pertains to gender roles and expectations in society. I'll spare you my essay though and let the art speak for itself.