PRETTY IN PINK
(Bear with me on this one, it has been bubbling at the edges of my brain for the past week and I just need to get it out. Fuck and here I thought I should have bought stock in Duracell to be a millionaire, turns out Kleenex would have been a good bet too).
So last weekend I went to the cottage with my best bud Patricia Jones. We met these older dudes from the cottage next door and after making fun of them (they were from Oshawa, it was almost too easy) for their girlie pina colada drinks and well, just about everything they invited us over for a campfire that night. Well that night Trish and I had a great meal and a little bit of alcohol (by a little bit I mean she drank a bottle of wine and I had a few beers), we had reminisced and caught up and just reconnected again. This girl, she's the best friend I have ever had....and when I called her a cunt stain when we were playing cards I said it with love. We giggled, we laughed....it was exactly as it is every time we are together. So around 11 we headed over to the neighbours for the bonfire - turns out they were far drunker than we were so the fire was going by they were all on the porch of the cottage shooting the shit. We had the best time ever, we laughed so hard especially after Patricia told them I had called her a cunt stain earlier in the evening. That was like any semblance of class was completely doused by then and we just all let loose. I called one guy a pussy because he kept complaining that the mosquitos were biting his butt and it was itchy....and I said what butt? So he dropped trou and showed us. We teased the living hell out of each other - trash talking, and Roman (the owner of the cottage) kept threatening to kill someone. As in, "if someone doesn't clean up these beer bottles I'm gonna kill someone." I dunno guess you had to be there. I felt so relaxed, comfortable in my skin and entirely, completely me. Anyway, the one guy called me Pretty in Pink.... because I was wearing this pink shirt. That and I'm pretty sure he couldn't remember my name because of his girl drink buzz. It was innocent, it was sweet, it was genuine... and it fucked with me.
So I have been wondering why this week that line has messed with my head so much and today I figured it out as I was driving home from the gym - it's funny how you have the clearest mental moments when your body is so completely spent. When I was in grade 8 I went through what could only be called an awkward stage (one that lasted approximately 23 years).... my Mom had made me get my hair cut super short and permed, I had these huge glasses than 80-year old wouldn't be caught dead in and I was about 230 pounds. Well my Mom bought me this outfit, it was light pink pants and a pink sweater (fuck you, it was the 80's and yes my Mom dressed me!). She kept telling me pink looked great with my skin tone and red hair. Anyway, I wore it to school one day and I remember after lunch they rang the bell which signaled us to line up and get ready to go into the school. As I walked by this group of guys one of them said "look at the baby pink elephant." Loud enough so I and the other people in line could hear. I was so embarrased, my cheeks went bright red, I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. He and his friends laughed. I had tears in my eyes but I wouldn't cry. They would never fucking see me cry. I walked away...and I tortured myself for days after thinking of clever retorts I could have made. Bad names I could have called him. How I could have made him cry with my words (because trust me, I have that super power). But what really happened that day was that a part of my heart got shut down. The walls came up. I became that Wendy that no one would ever see cry or hurt or vulnerable. I always had a smile, a joke....most times at my own expense. I would make you laugh at me so you never had the power to hurt me first. I became an expert at that, hurting myself. Putting myself down. I'm going to be 40 in three months....thirty nine years on this earth and today, today I feel pretty. I no longer look in the mirror and see that pink elephant. I see a beautiful woman who has been scarred and damaged - but I look past that and in my eyes I see wisdom. Tenderness. Vulnerability.
I blame you for causing tears to my eyes at work. Fine, I shouldn't have read your blog at work, that was my own doing. But after reading 'I'm NOT an addict', I found myself clicking on this story and reading it as well. I remembered reading half of it the other day and without thinking, I started reading the whole story now. And it brought tears to my eyes. Because it's sad and beautiful at the same time. Because I recognize some of the things you've experienced, in myself. Because -eventhough we hardly know each other- you capture me with your posts and inspire me with the way you're changing your life for the better. And, well, because I'm jealous of your talent for writing. Okay, that last thing isn't part of all the things that brought tears to my eyes, but damn it, woman, you can write like I wish I could! Keep it up ;-)
ReplyDelete(You don't know me by the name of 'Grofweg', but I can't post without a profile and I only have this one. I won't make a mystery of who I am though: Anke Heesemans)