Bully for You

So here is where I finally talk about my latest "artistic hiatus." (That's my gentle and somewhat self-serving euphemism for writer's block.)

In the fall, I had finally begun to feel like I could work around the residual effects of my concussion syndrome.  I was blogging again and had made progress developing a story idea with some serious potential when the news of a complete stranger's death came and kicked my inspiration out from underneath me.

In October, I saw a news story about a young local girl named Amanda Todd.  Her picture was of a pretty, sweet looking young teen who looked like she could have grabbed the world by the tail but the story behind it was one of victimization, bullying, loneliness, desperation, and eventually suicide.  Hearing Amanda's story was a strangely intense moment for me.  I got nauseous.  I felt hot and prickly and I began to sweat like I had just run a marathon.

I was horrified.
I was sad.
I was angry.

I was really confused by my visceral reaction to Amanda's death. Obviously, I didn't think it strange to feel sad, horrified or angry when someone so young is driven to suicide but I couldn't figure out why I reacted as strongly as I had or why I suddenly couldn't write a single new creative word: not one. I wondered why the death, however tragic, of a complete stranger would have that effect on me. Then in late January I found myself struggling to write a short guest post for my friend Janet's website and it all came into focus.  I felt that way because, like Amanda, I had been bullied.

Wikipedia's entry about bullying is pretty damn dry:

          Bullying is the use of force or coercion to abuse or intimidate
          others blah blah blahdeblahblah. Yawn. zzzzz

That doesn't (and couldn't) give a reader an accurate picture of the intensely personal and utterly horrific experience of being bullied. How was I bullied? Practically everyone excluded me. They mocked me. They spoke about me and over me as though I wasn't there. They kicked, punched, tripped and threw things at me and on a daily basis I was told I was ugly, stupid, worthless and unlikeable so many times and in so many ways that I quickly (and mercifully) lost count.  Those that didn't overtly participate enabled by staying silent and it wasn't just kids who saw what was going on and did nothing - teachers did too. Not once did any of the adults at my school step up and say that what was being done right in front of them was wrong.

By the time it ended, I hated myself more than these kids ever apparently hated me.  Oh...and when I say "it ended" I don't mean these small town high school kids woke up one morning, looked at themselves in their mirrors and had life-altering epiphanies that resulted in a collective pledge never to bully again and a group hug. Nope. This ended when my parents actually sold their house (at a loss), packed us up and moved away.

I'm here to blog, to mash my face on my keyboard on a daily basis as I write my first novel, and to hug my daughter a thousand time a day because one amazing friend stuck by me during my tour of hell despite the risk of being sucked into that abyss herself (Janet!) and because my parents were willing do do whatever needed to be done to protect me.  Saying thank you to those three special people just doesn't cover it, you know?

Even if you weren't bullied yourself, chances are that you do know someone who was although they probably won't talk about it as honestly as I just have.  We are, all of us, potentially Amanda Todd.  I was bullied. What if it was you? Your sister or brother? Your partner? Your friend? Or, even worse, your child?

Bullying clearly killed Amanda but isolation and silence did too.  Step up, people, take that chance and speak up: for her, for you, and for us all.

Herbie - The High School Years

I recently wrote a guest post for my friend Janet's authorial and very entertaining website where I talked about my decades-long obsession with "How Soon is Now?" (the best song in the history of the world for those whippersnappers too young to remember the 80's).

I know it is hard to believe (ahem!) but I spent my big haired, blue eye linered youth being the miserably awkward odd girl out instead of blithely skipping through a decade I look back on as the epitome of substanceless gloss and excess: Big Hair! Neon Clothes! Cocaine! Brat Pack Movies! Blahdeblahdeblah. As a result, I spent a lot of time listening to what would now be called goth and pre-goth music like "How Soon is Now?" If it was deep, dark and depressing, you can be sure it was in my record collection. 

Soon after I wrote my guest post I got into my car and realized that my phone's playlist wasn't syncing to my radio properly.  No matter what song I cued up, my car's display showed this:

 

 

The resulting battle was one I was doomed to lose.

 

Me: Car, I want to listen to Deadmau5.

 

Car: Nope. How about the Smiths?

 

Me: Well, you know I love them and this song in particular but after the day I just had I'm thinking something a bit more mindlessly upbeat might be to our advantage. Maybe Calvin Harris?

 

Car: Nah. "How soon is Now?" is plenty upbeat. (begins playing song)

 

Me: Umm...how about we compromise: Radio Head? Depeche Mode? Thomas Newman? Massive Attack? City and Colour?

 

Car: "There's a club, if you'd like to go

         You could meet somebody who really loves you
         So you go, and you stand on your own
         And you leave on your own
         And you go home
         And you cry
         And you want to die
         When you say it's gonna happen now,
         When exactly do you mean?
         See I've already waited too long
         And all my hope is goooooone."

 

Me: aaaaaugh.

 

I shouldn't be surprised that telling my car I've been there and that someday it will look back on this as a minor bump in the road is falling on a non-receptive speech recognition interface.

Shameless Plug

So you'll notice I took a not-so-brief powder (again) on the blogging.  I wish I could say it was because I won the Lotto Max and I've been living off the grid in Thailand for the last few months but that would be a slight exaggeration.  Instead, picture this idyllic scene: get up, realize you're still in Banjoville, groan, schlep to work, die a little inside, leave work, pick up child, rush through nightime routine, put child to bed, fall into couch coma, sleep 2 hours too little, wake to cat hacking up a hairball on your duvet, realize you didn't write the pages you had promised yourself the day before, rinse and repeat.  Le sigh. 

I'll talk about my blogging absence in a future post but today I'm writing to plug my bestie since grade 4, Janet Cameron.  The other day, Janet tweeted to ask if I would mind doing a short guest post for her website's countdown to the March publication of her book, Cinnamon Toast and the End of the World. Instead of the ohsoboring "buy my book" kind of tweets so many aspiring writers spam me with to flog the fruits of their creative labours, once a day she's blogged about a song that her protagonist, Stephen, might have listened to as he struggled with teenage ennui, life in a small town and an intimidating emotional bombshell.  (For those of you too lazy to click on the link I've thoughtfully included above, the book takes place in 1987 so she's been blogging about 80's music.)

I'm a child of the 80's so when Janet came a'knockin' I was a bit overwhelmed by the choice. Should I pick something ironic? Should I critique the craptabulous? Should I bare my soul and reveal that (at times) I earnestly listened to the schlock, drek, and drivel that made up 95% of the 80's music scene? Tempting, but no. Instead, I chose a song that I've been obsessed with since 1986 because the music is insanely haunting and the words accurately described my seemingly endless adolescent experience of alienation and loneliness. Good times.  

Here's the rub: the lazy amongst you will now have to bestir yourselves to click on yet another link below to read what I wrote.   It's all part of the evil plan, people.

http://www.asimplejan.com/index.php/65-80s-songs/166-song-32#addcomment