#Ugblogweek: School things and Self Esteem

Did school make me better?

The answer to that question is… I have no freaking idea. I loved and loathed school in equal measure. I loved it because it brought me closer to my one true love: books. I’m a bit of a nerd. Well, not just a bit — a whole lot. I’m not ashamed to say I was the teacher’s pet. But I wasn’t one of those kids who looked forward to assignments, homework, tests, and all that. Those kids are wild. I just loved learning for learning’s sake. Still do.

I hated school because kids can be really mean. When you dared to stand out or be different, you were treated like a pariah. School taught me to conform to the standards set by the powers that be, and let me tell you, I’m not sure I’m better for it.

I looked… different. I was chubby. I had a stubborn milk tooth that was somehow always forgotten by the mice that leave coins behind pots… wait, was that the tooth fairy? Nope, definitely the mice. I tend to mix up my fairy tales and mythologies. Blame all those storybooks.

How many of us still get The Princess and the Pea and Sleeping Beauty mixed up? I do. In my head, the princess slept on twenty mattresses with one pea stuck between the bottom two (twenty! What in the world?), and she slept uncomfortably because of it… but she was also in a deep slumber brought on by an evil witch and her red apple. (Why are apples always blamed for everything?) Then she was woken up by true love’s kiss… right? Right?

Anyway, I’m pretty sure the mice hated me too. I always had my nose in a book. And I smiled a lot (still do — unfortunately? fortunately?). Maybe I looked bully-able. I hadn’t yet mastered the stoic art of being a badass. I was painfully timid, and I became a target for some ruthless bullying. And the girls were the meanest. Probably why I have very few meaningful relationships with the fairer sex… even though I’m fair myself. Just saying.

My memories of school, particularly O-level, aren’t the rosiest. Of course, there were stolen moments of happiness, some solid friendships that have survived the test of time, and boooooooks — always the books, those little things that keep me warm at night. I was once asked what three things I’d take to a desert island. My answer: a lifetime supply of books, a lifetime supply of food, and then top it off with a lifetime supply of more books.

But the other stuff was really bad. Talamelirundi bad. My lifelong struggle with self-esteem started — and peaked — during adolescence. (Yes, I know it’s the same for many adolescents, but back off. This is my story.) I remember avoiding mirrors because I was convinced the person staring back at me was a monster, an alien. I’d been led to believe the way I looked wasn’t normal. No flat stomach, no smooth skin, no perfect teeth meant “different,” and “different” meant “not one of us.”

Do I still struggle with that self-hate? Absolutely. It doesn’t switch off overnight. It’s better than it used to be, but it lingers.

So, school — did it make me better or worse? …What? Look, I’m bored already. Gotta go. I still don’t know. Don’t really care.

Okay, that was a lie.