Socialization Stories: High School

This is part three of a four-part  series on my socialization as I aged. Previous posts have covered the elementary and middle school years. Today, I delve into high school.

I was rebounding from the dark depression when I met Kelsey, who had begun to come to English extra-help, where I spent each week working on improving my “voice” in essays. She and I got to talking, and she invited me to sit with her at lunch the next day. Reluctantly, as I was finally reconnecting with Justin, I agreed. the next day at lunch she invited me to come back to her house after school, and how could I possibly say no? Somewhere in the coming days, a friendship began to bloom.

When Kelsey and I were first becoming friends, she liked to give me “advice.” “Cale,” she’d say, “Don’t you know no one else wears their bangs like that (or wears flannel anymore or carries a black backpack or reads Dostoevsky on a back bench after school)?” And since her advice made sense and was accurate (no one else did have my bangs or wore flannel), I tended to follow it.

But pretty soon she seemed to be making all of my decisions for me. I couldn’t go out to lunch without consulting her about the menu first. She accompanied me to the library to pick out my next round of books. She’d call me before we went out to the park or beach to let me know which outfit she thought I should wear (not that she liked anything I owned, but she’d settle). She scrutinized and controlled every aspect of my life.

We had good times together. We watched foreign language films, both subtitled and dubbed. We tried out every restaurant in town, including some with exorbitant prices. We swam in her pool and went to her family parties and had, from all appearances, a very normal and healthy teenage relationship.

But no one knew about everything that went on when she and I were alone together. The way she’d criticize my every flaw, no matter how minute. The way she’d call me every day at least four times to find out what I was doing or who I was with. The rages she would fly into if she found out I went to Justin’s house without asking her to come along. She was a strong fan of “hate declarations” which were times where you sat each other down to tell the other person everything you hated about them. Some of the recurring themes in her talks with me were:

• I hate the way you make weird sounds when I’m trying to tell you a story. (I never knew I did     this until she pointed it out to me, and have since made a conscious effort to stop).

• I hate the way you never look at me when I’m talking to you. I’m not off in the corner;I’m right     in front of your face.

• I hate the way you never seem to have the right expression on. Do you simply pay no attention     to me?

• I hate the way I could have every conversation I have with you with myself, and it would be  equally as unhelpful. Why do you never say anything interesting or provocative?

She had a collection of other hates, but these were the ones that stood out to me the most, because they gave me the feeling that I was somehow infra-human. Why didn’t I naturally respond the way she wanted me too? What made me so different from everyone else?

Kelsey also cried. A lot. And I never, not once, had the right response. Efforts at sympathy were dismissed. Distraction was responded to with rage. Apathy was harped upon at every possible opportunity afterward. I felt like a total social failure.

As a result, I believed Kelsey when she told me that she was the only one who would ever deign to be friends with me, that I had nothing to offer in a relationship, and I was lucky just to have her. That I would grow up, miserable and alone, displayed at a funeral no one would attend.

Fortunately, the end of senior year brought the promise of college. And college was an entirely different, entirely better experience then any that had come before it. But more on that tomorrow.

If this dynamic sounds uncomfortably familiar, check out this post for tips and resources.