What a stupid period in everyone's life. I mean, we all suck at being kids, then you throw hormones in on top of that, AND you lock us up for hours on end and lecture us until our ears bleed. Yeah, it's a pretty brutal battleground of emotional warfare.
Unless you're popular, then it's . . . less . . . brutal . . . ? I don't know, I was never popular in junior high school.
In fact, I was the antithesis of popular: I was a nerd. Mind you, I wasn't just any nerd, I was a skinny, math-loving, Magic the Gathering playing, video game fanatic-type of nerd. Like, I went to math competitions on a regular basis and just loved it. I saved up every penny from Christmas, Valentines, Birthday -- you name it, I saved it -- to buy more packs of Magic cards. I mean, I literally programmed games on my graphing calculator in my spare time. I always had my TI-83 plus manual in my backpack, in case I couldn't figure out a coding problem, and I used it so much whole sections of pages starting falling out.
So it's not hard to see why I wasn't popular. I mean, what "cool" kid wants to sit down and talk about the Fibonacci sequence and it's visual application in nature? I'll answer it for you, NO ONE DOES. But this chapter isn't about "those" guys, it's about the people who did want to sit down and talk to me about the advantages of including direct-damage spells in a rush down goblin Magic the Gathering deck. It's about the friends who accepted me for who I was and not for the social stigma that was associated with me.
And it's about how I ruined those friendships.
Let me start with two incredible friends I had around this time: Chris and Alex. Man, did we do everything together! They'd test my games, we talked Magic, we made our own card games. In fact, we redesigned chess so that instead of taking pieces traditionally, you'd target pieces from a range, eliminating the opponent's piece while keeping your piece stationary, giving the game a whole different strategic element. You see! I still remember the "nerdisms" we had together. And you know what, I loved it! I still love it! I still want to make that chess board and show all those noobs what's up! These were two people I looked forward to seeing everyday because they didn't care who I was or how I dressed or how others perceived me.
So it came as an absolute shock when my parents turned to me one day and said, "AJ, your friends are weird." I mean, how do you respond?! A rift was created between the two people that I love the most and the two people who love me unconditionally. And quite frankly, both of those descriptors applied to both of those groups of individuals in their own respective way. How could I ever abandon these friends who had supported me socially when no one else did? Yet, how could I ever face my parents when I associated with people they didn't approve of? I so wish it was one of those one-off "your friends are weird, but we still love you." That wasn't the case.
Socially, they had a point. The people I spent time with were weird. I was weird. I don't think they knew how to handle a weird child, and were probably worried about my social development, me being the outcast and loner that I was. I mean, I still remember one of the few friends I had in ninth grade, coming up to me and saying that everyone in my section of choir made fun of me regularly behind my back. How do you handle that social rejection?! I hardly had any friends, and those I did weren't accepted by my parents. And those who weren't my friends frequently made fun of me. Can you see just how isolated I had become from society?
Because, from that point forward, I couldn't take my friends home anymore. In fact, I still don't take my friends home anymore because those moments of disapproval from the ones I loved the most persisted well beyond that group of friends. I could not face rejection again when all I had ever faced was rejection.
And even still, I couldn't be friends with the friends I had. Inside me lingered the idea that I needed friends who weren't weird. I needed to surround myself with those my parents would approve of -- not that I'd ever again give them the chance TO disapprove -- so that I could once again be accepted somewhere.
It's in our nature to strive for acceptance. Absolutely no one wants to be left alone in the cold while others feast in the warmth. No one wants to be the last picked, or the butt of the joke, or the one others pity. People want love. They want a friendly smile, and a pat on the back, and words of affirmation that everything will be alright. They want a place to go Friday nights when they're feeling lonely or a person to talk to when life gets just a little too out of control. Honestly, it doesn't take much to be accepting of others.
But for me, in that time, I didn't get that. It was "choose my friends" or "choose my family", and I choose neither. I ran away, emotionally, from my parents, from my friends. It was easier to accept the isolation and bury myself than to have others bury me instead. Somehow, I felt if I brought the solitude upon myself, it wouldn't hurt as bad when others verbally assaulted me. I couldn't face my parents and their disdain; I couldn't face my friends and the negative social stigma they brought with them.
That's why I ran. I looked for acceptance by leaving those who accepted me. I looked for happiness by deserting the happiness I blissfully enjoyed. I started caring so much about what others thought of me, that I forgot to think about what I thought of myself. I buried myself so far behind a mask that I no longer knew who I was.
So when Blake, one of the greatest and most loyal friends I have ever had, came into my life, I was elated, for a season. Until I found more popular friends. And since he wasn't cool enough to hang with my more popular friends, I abandoned him. He merely became a stepping stone to a higher level of social acceptance.
And to this day, deserting him is one of the biggest regrets I have in my life.
I wish I could go back in time and slap myself for thinking that being popular was happiness. I wish I could show "past me" what those people that "past me" wanted to aspire to, had aspired to. I would show "past me" that the little blip of popularity means absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things. I would scream to "past me" that true and loyal friends are so hard to come by, and that you must cling with every fiber of your being to those who really accept you and are willing to stick by you and ignore all the other voices that tell you otherwise. But I can't. And even if I could, I don't think I would've believed me. So all I have left are the memories of desertion, and isolation, and the pain and the longing associated. All I can do now is be that kid who talked Magic with me, to someone else.
All I can do is atone for my mistakes, and move on.
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