Allienated

Note de l'éditeur: This was really not supposed to become a rant. I started off by thinking I would write about my experience coming from a non-conventional house hold (which is totally an understatement) and getting suddenly thrown into society, but it turned into a development of my mental and psychological issues.
Under no circumstances do I want you to think I suffer or am depressed. It's just how it happened, and I am quite happy with my life :)

I've been sitting in this cafeteria doing homework for the past hour and a half, longingly staring at the Van Houtte twenty feet from me and the wall plus not ten feet away. However, two girls are sitting at the other end of that table and I have to cross the cafeteria to get coffee. And to me, that's worth sitting here, typing on a semi-dark screen so as to save battery on a de-caffeinated brain, surviving on the fumes of freshly brewed coffee. I mean, literally, the only thing that is stopping me is the nagging voice in my head saying that people will judge me if I suddenly get up and move.

When I was younger, I begged my mother to get me out of homeschool and into school. The first day of third grade, armed with a mushroom cut, an ugly sweater (to be fair, I don't remember what I was wearing, but knowing what my wardrobe looked like at that point in my life, I'm fairly sure it was faded jeans and an ugly shirt) and buck teeth, I bravely stood in line, amongst people that already knew each other for four years already. I'd already been to school before, in first grade, at Hélene Gravel. I don't remember much, except for bits and pieces, especially one part where we were standing in line after recess and were expected to sing the school song, which clearly, everyone was expecting me to know, but how could I? I was knew and it was early in the school year. Now that I think of it, it probably wasn't so early in the year, and apparently, I was in gymnastics for a full year, although I can swear I was only there for a bit. I do remember them expecting me to know the full warm up routine and who my teacher was, but I was pretty lost as a young girl.
I blamed it for a long time on my lack of the english but I'm pretty sure I'm just really good at building walls around reality. If I don't want something to exist, I will block it out. I forget the existence of people and events if I need to.

This trick proved useful when I presented in front of classes. Or when I had to talk to strangers, such as the cashier at the store, or someone who smiled at me in the street. Obviously, it's not the perfect solution and it creates more problems than solutions, but at least I can buy things at the store now.

As a little girl, I was confident, helpful, full of joy, intelligent. Slowly, after joining school and not figuring out what a BigMac was until 7th grade (my third grade teacher had mentioned it once in a math class and it had stumped me until some guy who ate McDonald's every day brought three in and everyone was talking about it. I only recently tasted one, and I'm in university), I realized not only did I think everyone but me was stupid and didn't think very much, but also, they thought I was weird. I was always the outsider, not necessarily bullied, but put aside if possible. To be fair, I was pretty much a bitch to everyone, and it only got worst when we got to high school and there were cliques. I eventually made a group of friends who I wasn't so close too until a year or so later, but I always felt put apart.

At one point in eleventh grade, my boss stuck me in a closed booth with some girl from school I absolutely despised, and trust me, it was mutual. I told myself I'd convince her everyone at school was wrong and I was actually not a control freak. For the first two or three weekends, I had to work really hard not to tell her what to do and ask her opinion. Little by little, though, we became good friends and I started trusting her, more than I trusted my best friend. I also slowly started loosening up and realizing not every one was a total idiot. I started talking to people at school, but due to my reputation, I was obviously not well received until stag, where too much alcohol proved that I actually do have a sense of humour hidden somewhere under all the facts accumulated by too much reading.

My grades also dropped. Being logical and friendly all at once was clearly too much, but I'm learning.
Not only did my grades dropped, but so did my confidence. I used to walk into a room like I owned it, strutting and talking loudly, but  the more I smiled when I talked, the meeker I became. I let people start walking all over me, even writing essay outlines for people I barely knew (to be fair, we were a graduating class of 80 people, so when you "barely" knew someone, you knew their full name, their family links, and the general vicinity of their house).

Over the summer, I woke up one morning and it clicked: no one actually cares who you are and what you do. My confidence came back. So did my logical thinking. So did my bad attitude.

When I moved to Montreal, where I got a job with the public and where people are much more vocal about your physical appearance, I became more sweet with people, just as before, in grade 12. I also raked 50% across the board that semester.
This semester, I'm trying to balance it. I'm still trying to figure out how the society works instead of each individual person. The comments are coming back, though. Not exactly bullying, but the fact that in a circle, I'm always standing slightly outside. In a conversation, I'm usually listening, not interjecting. I'm also maybe more sensitive to it, and I take each joke a little bit harder than it's meant.

Every once in a while, the realisation that came over to me this summer hits me in the face. No, no one cares who you. You are literally just another girl in a ponytail, playing a game on your phone, or sitting with your legs crossed. People will brush over you, some thinking about you for a split second, going "She has a pretty face" or "that's an awkward way to sit", but within twenty seconds, maximum, no one will remember you. I know what the girl behind me is wearing because I noticed it when I sat down, but I cannot for the life of me describe her face.
I'm typing this from a plugged computer, right before going to get my coffee before I die. I'm sure I'll do something embarrassing soon enough and go back in my shell, but if I can come out for just a second at a time, I'll be ok.