Being new at a school was something I knew very well growing up. When I was about 15 years old, we moved from a small town in Colorado (where we had lived since I was 5) to a “big” city, Dallas. I was about to enter Lake Highlands Junior High School, and to this day I don’t remember if I started school at the beginning of the year or the middle of the semester – I’ve probably blocked it out.
I don’t think I ever had a doubt that theatre and the arts would mean something to me in my life. Both of my brothers were/are actors as well – when you are up on stage you are playing a character, another person, not yourself.
You don’t have to be the girl who walks into the lunchroom during lunch and stands there, in the corner, scanning the crowd to find some sort of friendly face. You don’t have to be the girl who clutches her fake Dooney & Burke purse so tightly that her knuckles turn white – the purse you begged your mother to buy you so that you wouldn’t be so glaringly outside the lines of what is considered “cool”. Maybe if they don’t look too close…
But even in the theatre crowd, cliques are present and rejection rears it’s ugly head. I managed to get through the rest of junior high and went on to Lake Highlands High School, which boasted a theatre department that is prestigious and has a record of turning out accomplished artists. I was cast in the chorus of “Hello, Dolly!”, and let me tell you, that cast party was enough to make anyone’s insides churn. I had perfected this mask: one where on the outside I was “normal”, but on the inside I was screaming for release from the irrational thoughts that reigned there. Inside, I just wanted to be wanted. Pursued. Approached with a smile.
Low and behold, junior year came and so did a new town and a new high school – one where groups of friends had been formed since kindergarten – and although the newness of being a “city” girl in my new smallish town lasted all of the summer, when September rolled around it was very clear where I did not belong. Having spent time with these girls I thought were my friends and flirted with the boys I thought were into me, the reality of the first day of school was like a brick thrown into my glass house.
I should have taken the hint when some of the girls I had been hanging out with were supposed to pick me up for a party on someone’s “land” (a popular destination for kids who drink in a small town), and after painstakingly applying my makeup and picking out just the right outfit, I sat outside on my back deck to wait for them.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Until the clock showed they were two hours late and it appeared they weren’t coming at all. I will never, ever forget that feeling. I don’t really remember what happened at the end of that summer but I do know when I approached the lunch table filled with my “friends”, I was instructed to find a new place to sit.
Please, put me out of my misery.
Lucky for me I met a kind theatre friend who brought me into her fold and I wasn’t so alone anymore. I had a place to sit at lunch. But I toiled there for two years, waiting and waiting to be set free from the bonds of high school.
I’ve been thinking a lot about these moments lately. I’m not bitter, I’m not angry, in fact, I’m sure most of those girls are normal, grown-up women now (one would hope), some even moms. I’m just trying to learn more about my patterns – and pathology. Pathology is defined as “the study and diagnosis of disease”. What disease, you might ask? Well, in my case, it’s the all-consuming sickness called insecurity.
I’m going to be 33 years old next Friday. When I was in high school, I’m sure my thirties were a very distant thought – or maybe I never thought of them. Who knows. I thought I’d have this sickness kicked by the time I reached my 30’s – but it appears it’s hanging around, nipping at my heels, waiting for me to crash and burn.
So once again I am the “new” girl. And although I am an adult, and a grown ass woman, I am still that girl just wanting to be liked and seeking a fold I can be wrapped up in.
