I was pretty nice growing up. Definitely a bit weird, but a sweet kid with overall sweet friends until suddenly, middle school struck like an epidemic. An epidemic that turns 11-year-old girls who all like one another into 12-year-old girls who could probably make Vladimir Putin feel fat and lonely and ashamed of bringing his lunch instead of buying it. We were all friends for years and then one day, we weren’t. Or, rather, my friends were still friends… just not with me. I was ex-communicated. In middle school girl traditions, this basically means I sat at the end of the lunch table until I just gave up and made new friends, vowing to never be treated that way again.
Of course, this was over a decade ago and I rarely think about it, but in the past few years, I’ve tried to figure out why I act the way that I do and how it pertains to my past. Being that I don’t remember a lot of my past, this gets a little tricky, but I definitely remember those long, painful nights of feeling like the most loser-y loser that had ever existed in any real or imagined realm (I also played a lot of Diablo II, which didn’t exactly help with my preteen cool factor).
For about seven years, I was a mean girl. Not in the sense that I picked on people who couldn’t defend themselves; on the contrary, I only was cruel to people whom I was jealous of or felt otherwise threatened by. So, you know how commenters always say “YOU’RE JUST JEALOUS!!!1!” whenever bloggers criticize anybody ever? That was true of me, but IRL. Sometimes it was just because I was bored with my own life, which is even sadder. Aaron Samuels would totally judge me.
My high school best friend and I would be downright mean about everyone we knew behind their backs. Literally, everyone. There was nobody off limits. Everybody was a target and that was just fine, because for some reason, people hadn’t always been particularly nice to us so it made sense. But even when people weren’t necessarily mean to me, I would find myself being angry at them for some reason and I could never figure out why.
In high school, that pervasive seventh grade attitude still lingers, but when you hit 18… it’s just downright sad. But did I chill out come college? Hell no!