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Desperate to Fit In

I wanted to be popular so bad that I let my life get out of control.

-by Colleen Holmes, with Crystal Kirgissss


I 'm not exactly sure when I realized my life was spinning out of control. Maybe it was that night in the police car. I'd just been caught shoplifting, and they were taking me down to the police station.

Maybe it was the night my parents found an empty wine bottle in my closet. They'd suspected I'd been drinking, but when they found that bottle, they knew it was serious.

Or maybe it was the day one of my friends caught me throwing up. No, I wasn't hung over. I was just obsessed with being thin; I wanted to look good for my friends. So I'd fallen into a cycle of binge-and-purge, eat-and-vomit.

It was disgusting. And I was disgusted with myself.

How had it come down to this, anyway?

I'd grown up in a good family. I thought I had my act together … until I hit high school. That's when things started happening, things that led to some major changes in my life—and some bad decisions on my part.

… My best friend moved away the summer before I started ninth grade. I felt really lost and alone, so when school started that fall, I was desperate for some new friends. And it was that desperation, my intense desire to "fit in" with the right group, that ultimately led me down the path of self-destruction.

I met Kathy during the first week of ninth grade. She was one of the most popular students, so when she befriended me, I was pretty excited. I'd never been part of the "in" group before.

It wasn't long before Kathy invited me to spend the night with her at another friend's house. But that night turned out to be much more than I'd expected. It was a major party, with lots of alcohol.

I'd never been to anything like that before. And before the night was over, I started feeling excited about everything—the sense of freedom, of having no limits, of trying something new and grown-up.

I didn't get drunk that night, but a pattern had begun. Before long, I was partying and getting drunk every weekend. I was staying out later and later. And since our house was still under construction, we didn't have a phone. So I would stay out as late as I wanted, then I'd lie about where I'd been. What could my folks do? They couldn't say, "Well, you should have called."

By that time, I wanted to be as thin as the other girls in my group of friends. So I started forcing myself to throw up after meals. In fact, I became so obsessed with my weight that when I was at a party, I'd drink until I'd get sick and throw up, just so those calories wouldn't be in my body.

And then there was shoplifting. Since it was a part of the "fun" my friends were into, I felt I had to join in, too. I enjoyed the thrill of getting away with it. At first, I mostly took small things that didn't cost much. But soon, I was taking clothes and other expensive things.

So there I was, a freshman in high school, a common thief with a drinking problem and an eating disorder. And all because I wanted so badly to "fit in."



As much as I loved being part of the in-crowd, I knew my life was out of control. I wanted things to change, but I couldn't do it on my own. If I said I wanted to change, my friends would immediately dump me. But secretly, I wanted to get caught. I felt that would be my only way out.

Then it happened.

First, my folks found the wine bottle. My mom and I were up all night yelling and fighting.

Then I got caught shoplifting. One of my friends who'd never shoplifted asked me to teach her how. She really wanted a bathing suit. We found one she liked and she took it. When we got outside the store, she asked if I would hold the bathing suit, because she was nervous.

Well, I got caught holding the goods, literally. It would have been easy for me to tell the store clerk that my friend took it. But for some reason, I covered for her.

The cops came, and took me away in the squad car. I had to call my parents to come and get me at the police station. The ride home was awful. My mom and dad sat together in the front seat, holding hands and crying. I sat by the window, staring outside, not believing what had just happened.

How could this be? I wondered. I felt so ashamed.

Shortly after that, one of my friends caught me throwing up. She called my parents to tell them. Even though I was angry at my friend for squealing on me, it was the best thing anyone did for me. My mom confronted me, and we really had it out that night. At that point, my mom realized my problems weren't going to go away on their own, and that I was really putting myself in danger.

My mom made an appointment for me to see a counselor, and I thought it was a good idea. Those counseling sessions helped a lot. We talked about the drinking, the stealing, the bulimia, my friends, how I was feeling, and what I wanted my life to be like.

I later learned how much my folks had worried about me and loved me through all the garbage I was doing. I found out my dad had been getting up at 4 o'clock every morning to pray for me. I cried when I heard that.

I knew I needed to make some changes in my life. I wanted to stop the drinking and throwing up and stealing because I was scared for my health and safety.

Also, I wanted to stop living a lie. I'd been lying to my parents all along. I'd been lying to my friends about what kind of person I was. And I'd been lying to myself about what was important to me. I was ashamed of the way I'd been living. …

I had some big fears about changing, though. I knew I'd have to find some new friends who wouldn't pressure me to act a certain way. I was so afraid I'd end up with no friends at all. But …within a short time, I met a group of girls who accepted me and cared about me for who I was. They also shared my values, so I was free to be myself.

But sometimes change is slow. A year later, I decided to attend a party with some old friends. Even though I knew there'd be drinking, there were a few girls I really missed, so I decided to go. I decided I'd be careful and I wouldn't drink. I even felt like I could be an example to my old friends.

But things didn't turn out the way I'd planned. I wasn't at the party very long before I started drinking, and after a few hours, I was really drunk and sick. The only way I could get home was to call my dad, which was humiliating, especially after the promises I'd made.

In the car on the way home, my dad was really quiet. The only thing he said was, "You're old enough to punish yourself, Colleen."

Dad was right. I punished myself by refusing to go out—with any friends—for a long time.

…That party incident was the last of its kind for me.

A couple years have gone by. I'm not interested in the party scene any more. My shoplifting days were done after that run-in with the police. And after a lot of counseling, I'm no longer fighting my eating disorder—though I still struggle with how I feel about my body.

I'm so much happier now. I'm hanging with a good group of friends, people who love me for who I am—not for somebody I'm pretending to be. And even though I care and worry about my old friends, I've decided not to spend time with them. I've learned the hard way that I can't handle it very well.

When I last saw my old friends, one of them asked me, "What happened to you? You used to be so much fun at parties, but we never see you any more. You should hang out with us again."

I just smiled and said, "No thanks. I'm much happier now."

 


An Unexpected Customer

by Ashleigh Kittle


I had barely made my way around the counter when I saw him.

The moment I established eye contact, a huge smile spread across his face. As the corners of his mouth curved upward to form his lopsided grin, his eyes came alive and danced with light. I smiled back and asked, "Is there anything I can help you with today?"

In an excited, childlike tone he exclaimed, "My name is Dodee!" I watched as he fumbled around in his pocket. After a few seconds the search ended, and he presented me with an AC adapter. "I need one of these. Do you have one of these? I need a new one of these."

As I took the adapter from his dirty hands, I knew my coworkers were staring my way. I quickly glanced in their direction, catching what I believed to be expressions of relief mixed with humor. It was not difficult to conclude what they were thinking. After all, Dodee was not our typical customer. His clothes were slightly wrinkled. Neither of his two shirts were tucked in, and no two articles of clothing even remotely matched. Over his blond, unruly hair he wore a blue baseball hat. Curls peeked from beneath the hat, framing his face.

Although at least in his mid-20s, he acted as if he were a young child. The faces of my coworkers communicated relief in being spared the chore of assisting him, while also revealing the humor they found in watching as I took on the challenge.

Feeling slightly uncomfortable I answered, "Yes, we have AC adapters. They're right back here." As I led Dodee to the back of the store, he walked steadily beside me and asked, "What's your name?"

Once again I smiled and answered, "My name is Ashleigh."

"Ashleigh," he repeated. "That's a pretty name, Ashleigh. You're nice, Ashleigh."

Still trying to dismiss the discomfort I felt, I found myself unsure how to react to Dodee. Politely I replied, "Thank you."

Upon reaching the back of the store, I attempted to subtly reclaim a portion of my personal space. Moving slightly to the left, I examined the adapter Dodee had handed me earlier. As I focused my attention on it, the temptation to run overwhelmed me. And why not leave him there? After all, there was nothing wrong with allowing him to look for the correct replacement. I had shown him where to look and had been friendly. Why should I stick around and continue to feel uncomfortable? Dodee would be fine on his own. How hard could it be to match an AC adapter?

Nearly convinced by my reasoning, I opened my mouth to excuse myself. Before I could form the words, conviction washed over me. Deep down I knew I did not have a good excuse to walk away. Yes, I could justify my reasoning, probably well enough to convince both myself and others. But I realized that no line of excuses or justifications would make that decision right.

I couldn't simply walk away and leave Dodee to search for the adapter on his own. I was basing my decision to leave Dodee on what I saw—a man who was less than what the world said he should be. …

It didn't take long for me to locate the correct adapter. Removing it from the shelf, I handed the box to Dodee, "Here you go. This is the one."

Excitedly, Dodee took the box from my hands and asked, "This one will work? This is the right one?"

"Yes, this one will work," I answered as I led Dodee to the front of the store. As I reached the counter, I knew my coworkers were still watching me. Yet, this time I was not bothered by their expressions. I'd begun to see Dodee through new eyes. I no longer focused on his dirty hands or less-than-perfect attire. ...

After I rang up his purchase, Dodee smiled at me and said, "Ashleigh, you're sweet."

I simply smiled back, knowing that, because of Dodee, I would now view my world just a little bit differently.


Ashleigh is a junior at the University of Hawaii. This story won her an honorable mention in the 2000 Campus Life Writing Contest.


Date: 2015-04-20; view: 880


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