I was "not like other girls," ...and it was awful.

 

"...it don't make no difference. I ain't everybody..."

Trigger and content warnings: this post contains mention of incest, child abuse, sexual and physical abuse (particularly of children), racial abuse, bullying, stalking, and so on and so forth. If that's not for you (which it isn't for me, either!), this might not be the entry for you. I have previously spoken about these things here, here, here, here, here, and beyond.

For most of my life, I was not like other girls. In fact, this was not limited to "other girls;" I was very much different from the vast majority of my peers for the vast majority of my life. Unlike Not Like Other Girls, I was not trying to be different. I didn't, and don't, see other women as being inferior to me, or my rivals, I didn't, and don't, need or seek male approval, and I do not see myself as the "Other" type of girl, like the "alternative" to "mainstream" girls--whatever the fuck that even means. I was not like my peers,  but not by choice. Again, I did not want to be different. I did not want to be perceived as The Other--of anything. I was different, and I was socially and systemically punished for being "different." I do not see the appeal of wanting or needing to tear down other women to be more appealing to men. Because, let me tell you, there is nothing quirky or cutesy or appealing about actually being othered. 

Let me tell you what it was like actually being different from everyone else.

I didn't want to be different. I hated being different. I hated being othered.

Just to retread on this lightly, I was born into poverty and domestic violence to two Indigenous parents, was raised by a single mother and her parents, and severely physically and sexually abused, terrorized by break-ins and stalking throughout my entire childhood and well into my adulthood. I was ostracized at school because of who my father was and what he did to me (and somehow what he had done was a reflection of me and my 6 year old person), other children were not allowed to talk to or play with me, go to my house after school (long after I had moved to a safer location, etc., etc.). I dealt with several kidnapping attempts. I was subject to socio-economic and racial bullying, as well as physical violence from my classmates. I went to a school where the vast majority of my classmates came from means (whether they thought so or not). I was diagnosed with PTSD when I was six years old. My past haunted my life for most of my life, and these bad things that happened to me were seen as badness on me. They were basically on my social warning label. 

There wasn't anyone else I knew that was like me, and it was a lonely, heartbreaking, isolating experience. Even today, as a 35 year old adult, I have difficulty connecting to other people, which I know now isn't only because of my years of isolation, but a symptom of C-PTSD. I don't feel comfortable with people trying to lengthen their (largely superficial*) experiences to my life, like I am some weird trauma avatar. (* and, like, LOOK, I am NOT the trauma policia, but you not getting your way isn't the same as your life being ruined, fucking STOP, you are not a early-2000's theatre kid, and I am not Éponine. Stop projecting your fucking shit onto me.) 

In addition to the NLOG's incessant need for male approval or placing yourself ahead of the pack in the picking order (or being seen as a more of a stand out choice in the Jane Austen society of eligible whatevers), Americans (and  very specifically Americans), love  underdogs. (Unfortunately, though, there is not enough love for this one.) They are obsessed with being perceived as outsiders. People love this idea of "the outsider looking in," which is just WILD to someone like me, a Native person, for reasons I hope are obvious. The American obsession with underdogs stems from the American Revolution mythos--kindly neglecting to mention the reasons they won (aside from the plucky determination fisticuffs narrative): Native, Black, and French assistance, on top of the British not really wanting to fight the war (and why they had to hire Hessians, etc., etc.). Far be it from me to upset the applecart of the American Revolution fairytale America has formed its entire identity around, though. It's wild to me that so many people refuse to acknowledge that they have had any kind of leg up--and they all try to downplay any privileges they have.

It's similar to how people who liked Ender's Game in high school viewed themselves as being isolated because they were so much more intelligent than everyone else, not that they were awkward or downright insufferable. Or how Tim Burton views himself as being the ultimate "other"--despite, you know, leaving out actual marginalized people from his work and somehow circumnavigating all oppression  conversations back to him. Or, you know, the Ichabod Crane incel "nice guy." The entire coming-of-age film genre is filled with examples like The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Ghost World, Garden State (and any of the innumerable of the bumper crop of the 2000's "cynical social outcasts" narratives). Everyone seems obsessed with the idea that they "don't fit in," and some how that is a badge of honour. As someone who actually did not fit in to serious ramifications, I do not understand this obsession.

Listen, and I mean LISTEN--I was so improperly and poorly socialized because of such severe ostracization, I did not even know HOW to "mask." I knew how to mask (sort of) in front of my family. I say sort of. Because I can look back on those photos and see how absolutely fucking miserable I was, how in pain I was, and that no one around me noticed. I did not even have friends for huge stretches of my adolescence--I had "friends" that I drew, literal fictional characters I created for myself, that I cut out and laminated with tape so that I could have "someone" to talk to.

There is a safety, I think, in presenting yourself as an othered person, as an ostracized person, without the very real consequences of actually being one. I know no one wants to be perceived as "basic," and that being "edgy" (or perceived  as edgy) is fine--from a touchstone of safety, a home base of normalcy with little to no consequences. I think maybe people think that otherness gives them an air of credibility, because they so desperately crave that unattainable specialness.

These were the consequences for me:

• I dressed different from my peers because we could not afford nice (or even new) clothes and I was trying to hide my developing body. I didn't (and don't) look down on "feminine" girls,  I didn't hate other girls, I hated my sexually abused body, and I hated any attention being drawn to it.
• I didn't hate "other girls," I  very specifically hated the girls who bullied me, asked me if my mom was "a maid," or that my biofather was "Injun Joe" or if I enjoyed being raped and molested. 
• I didn't want to disassociate myself from "other girls," they disassociated themselves from me, because their parents told them to--because of who my father was and what he did to me.
• Lemme just say, that having "unique and special interests" (which I now understand are Special Interests) that no one else had was so incredibly painful. No one else I knew had seen my favourite movies. No one had the same favourite Disney characters as me. No one understood how deeply I loved the Samurai Pizza Cats or Oliver and the Artful Dodger (which is literally Hanna-Barbera Oliver Twist fanfiction). Even in later years, when I tried to relay to my friends (as an adult) how much I loved certain things (Oliver and the Artful Dodger being a prime example) and had them watch it with me so that I could share something I loved with them, they were so fucking shitty about it, like I was so annoying to have wasted their time.
• Unlike the vast majority of my peers, I have always had to work harder for less. Although societal expectations predestined me for failure, failure was not an option. I didn't get to coast, I didn't get to be mediocre. You know, it's a lot for a 6 or a 7 year old to be told that your life is destined to fail, that it's basically over. In fact, when I run into people from those days today, most are surprised I am still alive. They seemed surprised, but also there's this weird hint of disappointment  that I did not fail. (Or my life gets used as some weird shame-y respectability politics bullshit, like LEAVE ME OUTTA THIS, FFS.)

All of this obviously does not come without bad side effects. You very rightfully do not trust other people. It's an intersection of self-preservation that  most people don't even have to think about. It's awful.  Sometimes you think it's safe enough to let other people in. When you finally think to yourself, "finally! THIS person is a safe person!" and then they try to downplay Amb3r He@rd's arrest for [alleged] conduct against her WOC then-partner in broad daylight in a crowded airport because they see that godforsaken trial as some weird  creepy ass self-insert fan fiction... and you reconsider that designation. You keep tabs of these things in the Rolodex of your brain, ways in which these people cannot be trusted. I am not saying that I am not Ammit waiting to eat your heart during the final judgement. I am just trying to keep myself safe. This person has been flagged as unsafe. I am not talking about stupid things like leaving a gum wrapper in someone's care or forgetting to pay someone back for a Starbucks drink. I am talking about  stuff like White Knighting James Barbour as an example. You don't say anything when it happens, because you are afraid to. If you haven't severed that friendship outright, albeit quietly, you put a pin in it to save it for later. And each and every time I have not protected myself or allowed myself to be gaslit out of running away in a fashion that is nothing short of à la  Brer Rabbit, I have, um, deeply regretted it. my general distrust of others doesn't materialize from nothing.

As a child, and even now as an adult, I identify with Huckleberry Finn. (Certainly not the recognizing Jim's humanity bit, OBVIOUSLY.) He isn't different because he wants to be different, or is trying to be different--he IS different. There is a painful wall between him and the rest of the world. Whereas Joe Harper and Tom Sawyer wishes that they could be Huck Finn, Huck IS Huck Finn. He doesn't get to play different and then retreat back to the safety of normalcy and food security. Huck is othered. Huck is painfully isolated. We love a good scrappy underdog narrative, in many ways, because we want the world to be fair. People identify themselves as the slighted underdog because they don't want to recognize they are more closely aligned with the oppressor--the exact same way that Tom Sawyer is.

For most of my childhood, I was not like other girls, but I was like boys, either. I wasn't like anyone. Because they wouldn't let me be. I was  a 6 year old pariah because of bad things that happened to me I had zero control over. I wasn't just not allowed to be not like other girls, I wasn't allowed to even fully be a child. I wanted to belong and be loved so badly, and I was told no. Like Huck Finn,  I was made responsible for the bad actions of adults I had no control over, and now as an adult, I get to watch adults with internalized  misogyny play "otherness," and put away when they're done with it.

And for the few people who let me be treated like a person in those days, thank you.