I grew up knowing I would never get married. I never had a desire for kids, and I was fiercely independent. This attitude was so ingrained in me that my Grandma repeatedly suggested I get a hysterectomy. It always shocked me when she said this, although I knew it was because she knew the truth of me.
My journal and my camera were my constant companions. In my early teens, I was the school photographer for daily life, and an editor for both the newspaper and yearbooks. It was a magical time for me, the early seventies with young enthusiastic teachers. I journaled, I wrote poetry.
Underneath all this bravado was insecurity. I look back now and wonder why it was there. I was well liked in school, won awards for my journalism and also science fair. Even though I was terribly shy around boys, I had several suitors.
In high school I felt even more isolated. At the age of thirteen I had been diagnosed with depression. My parents had gone through a hateful divorce when I was nine, and barely talked outside of court throughout my adolescence.
My high grades of junior high plummeted. (more to come)
I never noticed my beauty. And looking back I think that is what lead Alan, the ex-husband, to like me. His mindset is all about appearance. Ironically he was a sad sight when we first started dating.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment