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Scar Tissue, Scales, and the Monster in my Head
Mental illness made me a target
“Dolphin donuts dolphin donuts dolphin donuts!” rang the taunts of a pack of mean girls who apparently had nothing better to do than to harass me. The “insult,” based on my tendency to wear dolphin-themed clothing and jewelry, didn’t bother me as much as the mere fact that I’d been targeted. Why me? I wondered every day.
“Witch,” hissed the devout choir boy, whose pursuit of popularity definitely didn’t jibe with Jesus’ caveats about wealth and pride. I’d made the mistake of sitting near him at lunch, where he launched into another sermon to the other kids about how crazy and evil I was. I had (have) OCD and had confided in him, thinking he was my friend. I also had a Ouija board in my room. He sent his sister over to my house with the lie that she was collecting something he left in my room, and she poked around and dug up all my journals, picked through my “slutty” clothes (paisley-print bike shorts and a butterfly-embellished peasant-top that showed off my not-cleavage), and most importantly found the Ouija board. She left armed with plenty of ammunition against me.
Such good Christians.
The harassment wore on me. Being a teenager is hard, as countless TV shows and movies attest. Being a teenager with anxiety is harder. Being a…
