teenager – Page 3 – Super Anemic

August 20, 1991

February 27, 2017

Tuesday – Marlene is going to come here by bus and we are going to have fun. (she will come Friday and stay ’till Monday). We will go to Fairview and movies and La Ronde.

I love how determined I was to have fun. I sound like an android. “We WILL accomplish this thing you call fun.” FYI, Fairview is a mall, and La Ronde an amusement park.

Speaking of La Ronde. My brother came into my room this morning saying he was going to La Ronde with his friend (he borrowed 20 bucks) so he wasn’t here to let in Bob (our stupid worker dude who is putting a third bathroom in our house) so I was sleeping and in my dream the doorbell rings and the other girl goes to get it and it keeps ringing and I slowly drift awake and hear the doorbell, by the time I figured out what was going on it stopped ringing. I fell back asleep again and then net time I woke up I think it was mom who came in the house. I fell asleep again and what woke me up this time (at 2:00 p.m.) was music so loud I thought the singer was in my room! I heard Bob and his little helper singing along (ooh, my ears!) then it sounded like they were in the kitchen eating or something. Like what are we paying them for?! Anyway, Bob the idiot doesn’t know I’m here and I don’t want him to, so I’ll stay upstairs and sneak around as best I can. I’m starved, oh well, I need to go on a diet anyway, and need to use the bathroom but I want to wait ’till they are in the garage and it doesn’t seem to be happening. Gosh, I hate this, why do I have so many goddamned problems?

I was cringing in pain as I transcribed this, but then the lament about having so many problems made me laugh. So here’s the deal: I’ve got social anxiety, but as a kid I didn’t know what it was. I just knew I was afraid of people. I was deeply ashamed of it, but afraid nonetheless. And because I didn’t understand what it was about, it was all the worse. I sound like a spoiled brat, hiding in my room, sleeping in until all hours, refusing to open the door for our contractor, forcing my mother to leave work to do it, and from an outside perspective I can see how ridiculous it seems. But I didn’t remain hidden because I was bratty, I was truly afraid. Afraid of what, you might ask? Any interaction that I wasn’t prepared for. I was panic-stricken and frozen in fear.

Even today I do silly things like this. As recently as a month ago I was in the bathroom taking selfies when the doorbell rang. I knew my significant other was home so I let him answer it. (I don’t answer doors when I’m alone unless I’m expecting a delivery). It was our contractor and he came in and proceeded to have an unnecessarily lengthy conversation with my SO. I figured I’d wait them out but… after half an hour it became ridiculous. They were right outside the bathroom door so I knew I’d startle the contractor if I suddenly appeared, but it felt equally awkward to stay hidden. I chose to stay hidden, and basically stared at myself, chastising myself for being so weird as I waited for him to leave. Oh well. Some things never change.

School starts the 28th. Maybe something good will happen then, maybe I’ll be popular and have a great boyfriend. SIGH.

I guess I still do this sort of thing too, i.e., hope for the impossible. Every time we hire someone new at work (which happens shockingly often) I think maybe it’ll be someone totally awesome and we’ll become fast friends and conquer the world together. But then it just turns out to be another utterly normal human being and I’m disappointed again. Still, I’ve made some progress. I’m much more capable now of enjoying the company of normal humans than I was when I was a teenager.

August 6, 1991

February 13, 2017

Tuesday – We have been back for a few weeks or one and a half or whatever and I have got to call Genevieve and Jane.

It’s a wonder I’ve ever managed to maintain any friendships in my life since I’ve always been utterly incapable of using telephones, due to anxiety. Nowadays we have texting, which is a life-saver, but back then the thought of picking up a phone was panic-inducing. I doubt I ever called either Genevieve or Jane.

I got a letter from Marlene and am going to make her a comic of Mia + Avril.

Mia and Avril were the alter egos my friend Marlene and I made up. These alternate versions of us were, unfortunately, no more exciting than the real deal. I’m not sure if I ever made this promised comic. Somehow I doubt it.

On the vacation we went (on the last day) to Ripley’s Believe it or Not museum, it was cool! And we also did some mini-put on the way back. In the States we also did mini=put, and I got a shirt, denim, and dad got a whole lot of stuff…

Riveting. But you know, those family vacations we took when my siblings and I were kids were a lot of fun. All things considered we were a pretty functional family. We got along for the most part and all had a good time. Even my sister, who was, and continues to be, the black sheep because she’s more sensitive and emotional than the rest of us, was a good sport about those family vacays and the cheesy things we did. Good for us.

August 16, 1991 – Friday – Marlene called me yesterday and said for me to call her (answering machine got it) so we could arrange meeting before school starts. I had a dream last night. In it I met a guy… SIGH. He had shoulder length blon curly hair, gray-blue eyes and was he cute. His name was Alexandre, we were on my driveway, there was snow, a bunch of other stuff happened but I only want to remember him… SIGH.

Yes, sigh indeed. I actually remember that dream. It wasn’t exiting in any way but back then dreams and fantasies were pretty much the only things staving off my crippling loneliness. Real interactions certainly weren’t helpful.

School starts the 28th!

I don’t think this exclamation point was excitement so much as dread. Actually, I probably was excited to be starting at a new school, because there was room for hope. So even though it was a completely unnecessary move, I think it was a good thing for me to switch schools half way through my high school career. Even that short-lived hope probably helped me sleep at night throughout the summer.

I switched because my friend Jane wanted to and since (or so I thought) she was my only friend, I decided to go with her. Academically I justified it because the new school offered art in grade 10, while my old school didn’t. Looking back I sometimes wonder how things might have turned out differently if I hadn’t changed schools. I hated my first high school because I was lonely, but in retrospect I was well-liked and had people to sit with at lunch. At my new school I just tagged along with Jane, disliked her new friends, and felt even more awkward than ever. Honestly, in the end, it wouldn’t have mattered where I was because my environment wasn’t the problem, I was.

Ultimately switching schools was the right move because it forced my younger brother to then go to that school (it was easier on my parents to have both kids at the same place [my sister had moved on to college by then]), and he ended up making life-long friends there. So you’re welcome, Keith!

July 12, 1991

January 16, 2017

Well, babysitting was just howdy doody. I went to Fairview with mom and Keith earlier and I got a new school bag; it’s one of those things you wear on your back – a back pack and it’s plastic but from a far looks like leather, it has a map on it. I can’t ’till PEI.

Why did I feel the need to explain what a back pack is? Who did I think I was explaining this to?

While at Fairview Keith and I got a bad case of “spontaneous combustion”, you know, the giggles. It was hilarious.

Nothing.

I circled “nothing”, like it was very significant that my life was an empty shell of meaninglessness.

I hope to paint tomorrow.

Bye.

P.S. Keith and I went to the depanneur and I am eating my runts.

P.P.S. It’s like 3:20 a.m. and I just finished watching a movie where people are in this huge scavenger hunt. It would be so fun to be in such a hunt. I’ve never done anything like that and I’d like to! I would be on a team with Taylor! By the way his last name could also be Morgan and his first could also by Tyler. Anyway, bye.

It’s interesting that I’m transcribing this entry literally two days after participating in a scavenger hunt of sorts. It was a photo relay for work which was meant to serve as a team building activity. The only problem is that it was about -20 degrees Celsius out, so a lot of people bowed out. Leading up to this hunt, I’d wondered how I would behave during it. A few weeks previously, I’d found myself in an escape room at a friend’s birthday party and I did not enjoy the experience at all. I just couldn’t suspend my disbelief or take it seriously. I knew, going in, that I’d be pretty chill about the whole thing because I have trouble committing to low-stakes situations. With no tangible prize on the line I just didn’t see the point. So for the work mandatory photo relay I worried that I’d again half-ass it, but the opposite turned out to be true. It seems that I view anything work related as high-stakes. My team started out strong, and early on I made a significant contribution which turned out to be part of the answer we needed. Once outside my team fell apart in the cold weather so I took it upon myself to finish the relay alone, where another clue came together in my mind and I figured out the answer to our team’s quizz (or rather confirmed the answer two other team members had suggested). Once back at our home base I took the lead in presenting our team’s findings. I was pretty proud of myself for stepping up in this way considering my poor showing at the escape room.

This all relates to some recent soul-searching I’ve been doing about my paid job. I work at a hospital foundation but I don’t have a genuine interest in philanthropy, healthcare or fundraising, so why do I work so hard? I guess I just have a strong work ethic which is obviously a good thing but sometimes I feel like this devotion to my paid job holds me back from pursuing my dreams. Should I just take the plunge and quit to concentrate on the work I actually want to do, such as finish that graphic novel I’ve been working on? Or would I fall apart without the stability of my routine? Or is this concern about losing my routine just an excuse to mask my fear of failure? Ultimately, am I still just circling the word “nothing”?

May 29, 1991

December 5, 2016

I am in English class again (another loose leaf transfer). I went to the eye doctor this morning, the eye infection is still there. Got some ointment. It seems pretty good. I won’t put eye drops in but it’s a kind of gel that you put in the eye (gross). Well I’ll see how it feels. Jane is going to break up with her boyfriend. I think that’s good. I don’t like being single when she’s not. Crystal’s grad ceremony tomorrow.

Ugh, I’m so ashamed of how petty and jealous I was about Jane. I was such a terrible friend. I still am actually. I mean I’m not petty and envious anymore but I’m very limited in how many people I can care about at any given time. According to science we all are, and the average person can only handle about five close friendships at a time, but I think my number is one. If I’m hanging out with a specific person then I’m very attentive to them, but out of sight, out of mind.

June 11, 1991

Crystal’s ceremony was nice. I screamed but she didn’t hear. The Sunday next my eye got swollen, went to eye doctor following thursday, got drops, is getting better. I also have to put warm compresses on it (eye, left). Jane dumped Kyle ’cause he was a “mama’s little boy”. I met Luba last Saturday! She is neighbour’s friend. I went over and got her autograph. Nancy Fontaine invited me to the 6th grade reunion on the 15th (Saturday). I’m gonna call Marlène and ask if she can come down for it. I hope I can bring Jane too.

I wasn’t even a fan of Luba’s. I guess I just liked the idea of meeting a celebrity. I have very much gotten over that since then. In fact, meeting Luba was so unremarkable that it may have cured me of celebrity worship.

June 25, 1991

The reunion was pretty boring. I could have lived without going. Marlène didn’t come. I didn’t call her ’cause she had a performance the next day. Jane went to New York. The good thing about all of that was that at the McDonald’s I got a “43” penny in change. Wow.

I collected pennies. I still have the collection, which I keep in a little gum ball machine. Pennies were discontinued in Canada about a year ago so maybe the collection will eventually be worth something… or become and increasingly obsolete paper weight.

It’s Crystal’s prom tomorrow and Mom and Dad’s anniversary (21 years). We are going to eat out and then Mom and Dad are going to Crystal’s prom for 30 minutes while Keith and I lounge around the lounge. (heh, heh).

In Canada, or at least in Montreal, prom is actually called grad ball, and it’s not exactly like what you see on American TV shows. Parents show up for a while to dance with their kids and then the kids do their own thing. My sister’s grad ball was at the Ritz so that’s what I meant by lounge in the lounge. I also ended up making an appearance at my brother’s grad ball but I never went to my own because 1993 was pretty much my peak of depression and self-loathing. It’s interesting that this diary entry is so stark, and point-form, as opposed to an exploration of how I was feeling. I think it’s an indication that the depression was beginning. Good times.

May 28, 1991

November 21, 2016

I am so tired I could die. I wrote this in English class and am now transferring it to my diary. We did the Endurance run today. 2nd period and boy am I tired. Even now that it’s 4th period I’m still tired. At least I’m not sweating like was in ITT (3rd period). I walked a lot of it but still we had to go around 6 times. I finished after the bell rang. It was pretty embarrassing. I collapsed when I was done and started crying ’cause I couldn’t take it. And I’m not even sure how many times I went around.

I vividly remember this. I’ve even written about it before on this blog, without realizing a first-hand account lay hidden within the pages of my old diary.

I often wish I wasn’t anemic. I wish I had energy and I wish I was a fast runner and good in sports and an all around good athlete. I wish I didn’t get eye infections. I really wish I had 20/20 vision. Sometimes I wish my skin wasn’t so pale (but sometimes I like it because it makes me different). I wish I was pretty. I wish my fat was in the right places (ahem). I wish I wasn’t so shy. I wish boys liked me. But I like myself, if I had the chance (except for having 20/20 vision and not being fat, I’d stay the same except for the skin rashes).

This last part was scratched out and then rewritten elsewhere on the page. I can’t tell what I’d originally written. But I can tell you that none of those wishes ever came true. My sight began to weaken when I was about four years old; too young to be able to express what was going on. My mother thought I was going crazy because I told her I could see angels. Turns out I was trying to tell her I could see halos, i.e. lens flares. Eventually she figured it out and brought me to an optometrist and I got glasses. My sight continued to deteriorate so I had to get new glasses every year. When I was about ten I got contacts and when I was fourteen or fifteen I got my first eye infection so it was back to the glasses. I finally sought out eye surgery when I was thirty-three, but my vision was too poor to be a candidate for lasik so I got intraocular lens implant surgery, which is a whole other story for another time. The skin rash I refer to is eczema, and that also merits its own post because it relates to my distrust of doctors.

What I really wish is that I lived in a place just like Star Trek: The Next Generation. With all the people, just like in the show. But I’d settle for being a regular on the show. Oh life is so depressing! If they do the Endurance run at BHS I will try to get out of it somehow!

I was obsessed with TNG, and I fantasized about living on the Enterprise all the time, but I was also realistic enough to know such a thing could never be, so in an effort to make my fantasies more attainable I fantasized about being an actor on the show. So, about 1% more attainable. Really, I just wanted any escape from my life, but it would take at least another decade for me to learn that I really wanted to escape myself, and still another decade to learn that what I actually needed was self-acceptance. The good news is that my next school, BHS, did not, in fact, enforce the endurance run.

May 24, 1991

November 7, 2016

I just sent Keith away to the dépanneur to get me 5 chocolate bars. Yes, I know I’m a pig but what can I do about it, that’s just the way I am.

I wish I still had that metabolism, and that carefree attitude.

7 days left of school! Then the Géographie and French exams. I’m sure to get recommended for Math, I got all 90s but I just wish he would give me the recommendation. I got recommended in English. On our last poetry test I got 100%. The first one in 5 years said Miss Allain. Annabeth (nerd) Napolitano got like 55%. That’s a pretty good feeling.

I went to an English high school but took “French immersion” which means half of our classes were in French, which is why I spelled Geography in French. I don’t know what this obsession with “recommendation” is about. I have no recollection of what it meant or why I cared. Interesting that I felt confident about my math scores since I have no memories of ever being good at math. I do, however, remember that poetry exam. I always hated poetry because I didn’t often understand it, so it made me feel dumb, and my self-perception at that age was wrapped up in being smart. I knew I wasn’t pretty (I was wrong) but I thought I had above-average intelligence (I was wrong about that too). I was never at the top of my class but I also never put any effort whatsoever into school work. I guess my ability to perform well without effort is what made me feel smart so any time effort was required I resented it. In any case, I’m shocked that I made fun of a classmate for being a nerd. Didn’t I think of myself as a nerd? And how petty of me to be glad she performed poorly. Teenaged me was an asshole. At least I never mocked anyone to their face.

I hope I have a daughter one day. I hope she is artistic in some way. I hope she is creative and imaginative and unmaterialistic (in short I hope she’s like me, only prettier. I mean here’s my picture. Pretty depressing, huh?)

It’s like I was fishing for compliments from myself. Did I really think I was that ugly? WHY?

15-year-old-nique

I hope she’s smart too. I hope we have a good relation with each other.

This again, is not so much bad grammar as a Frenchism.

I would want her to know that she could talk to me about anything. About sex or drugs, or any problems she is having anywhere. It would be great to have a daughter I could teach and talk to and have fun with. But that will probably never happen because I’ll probably never get married or anything ’cause guys are scum. But if I did have a daughter I would give her a cool name like Bliss or Psyche or Anez-Jade or Jasmin-Kay or Aragel, not a loser name like Nicole! I would name her after a goddess or a jewel or something beautiful like that.

This is sad because this yearning for a daughter was really a longing for a friend. I felt very isolated at this age. But thank god I never had a kid, because those names are awful. Anez-Jade??? Aragel??? WTF?!

Well, talk to you later. I’m gonna eat a mint aero now!

Yum.

P.S. In English class I was passing notes with Matt Topner. He was telling me he thinks his family is going bankrupt and stuff… yeah… will wonders ever cease?! Bye. NY

I remember this too. I was never friends with this kid, and that didn’t change after our note-passing experience. (I guess kids today just text each other?) I suppose he reached out to me simply because I was sitting next to him. I hope everything turned out ok for him. That wasn’t the last time a boy randomly started passing notes with me. Looking back, I wonder if they were trying to tell me they liked me. I was really bad at picking up on such signals at that age. Actually I’m still bad at that sort of thing. Oh well.

May 19, 1991

October 24, 2016

Yesterday, at supper, Crystal was telling us (the family – oh yeah, Keith wasn’t there and he didn’t even get in trouble when Crystal would have)…

This is interesting to me. Crystal, my older sister, was much more mainstream than my younger brother, Keith, and I. We were big nerds and rarely left the house. We were very self-sufficient so our parents mostly ignored us. My sister did normal teenage things like party with her friends, so my parents actually monitored her activities. But what I find interesting is that I noticed the disparity in the ways my siblings were treated, and seemed to find it unfair. I don’t remember noticing or caring.

…that she wanted to use the video camera to do a show for her French class. She was saying the names of the characters in the show and couldn’t remember her character’s name, so I go “was it Johanne?” and she goes “yes, how did you know?” Pretty neat, huh? My mom thinks I have ESP. I hope I do that would be cool.

*Eye roll* I was obsessed with Star Trek: The Next Generation at this age. I was a huge fan of Lieutenant Commander Deanna Troi, who had telepathic powers. I really wanted to be able to read other people’s minds, because social situations were very difficult for me. (I realize now that this was due to social anxiety). I was always worried that others were judging me so the ability to know what they were thinking would have been helpful. How disappointed I would have been to listen in on their thoughts and realize they were only thinking about themselves, as do we all.

Look at back of this diary.

back-of-this-diary

On the last page of the diary, I literally wrote “back of this diary”, and drew a half-assed fairy. ???

We just took the carpet out of my room (me and mom) and we put in a small one, and we put up my drawing table. It looks good. And the table is a handy thing, I like it. I hope Keith comes home soon because I’m bored and I want him to see my room. I think I’ll do some drawing now. Bye. NY Art-Rejel <— rule in German, meaning art rules and with the NY in front it means Nicole Yager’s art rules and Nicole Yager is the ruler of art. It’s my new logo and I think it’s pretty cool, don’t you?!?!?

No, Nicole. No it’s not cool. It’s deeply embarrassing and ridiculous, and a bit random and weird. I mean, why German? I guess because my last name is German I took some mild interest in Deutschland. Thankfully I never revealed this silly “logo” to anyone else and promptly forgot all about it until now. And now, it shall be buried once again.