To be a joke

I told a story of the first time, back in junior high school, that I realized with clarity that something was different about me - that I was attracted to another boy.

When reading it, reading about me curled into a ball crying my first tears of despair, was there anyone that thought something like "Man, I do feel sorry for that kid. He was so confused and lost and lonely"?

Now, if I add another facet to it: at that time I was an overweight kid. Not morbidly obese but quite the chunky one. Now what would you think – what might *I* even think?

"What's up with the fat kid?" is most likely.

These are my memories of this: To children and adults, everything of substance about me was ignored because I was an embarrassment to the world.

I overstate, I know. But these are the burnt-in neural pathways I am left with.

That simple fact - my weight, my appearance - adjusted what so many people felt about me.

It wasn't the boy who was crying, it was the fat kid who was crying.
It wasn't the kid in the third row who needs help with his homework, it was the fat boy who couldn't do anything right.
It wasn't the child who needed to develop his muscles so he could climb the rope, it was the fat fuck who was too heavy to lift himself off the ground.

Now, the funny thing is, while I got picked on to a certain extent, I was almost never bullied, never really persecuted.
I was never ever beat up or shoved in a locker.
I was never depantsed, de-shirted, or wedgied.
No one ever did anything to me.
Lots of things were said though. A lot of them stung. But even then, I never faced the full brunt of what could have happened.

Geez, there was a recent episode of American Dad, where Stan just can not tolerate the presence of the overweight friend of his son and starts calling him "Fatty McFat-Fat." And I'm thinking, fuck! That would have sent me over the edge if anyone did that to me back then.

No, everything was more subtle than that. I think I was lucky.
Or maybe I forgot the bad stuff.

But, now, combine that with love – even budding puppy love.

That's how it ties in with that past story of emerging feelings of affection at a junior high campground.

---
The next week, I struggle with what I was feeling. I want this boy to really like me. I want him to accept me. I want him to fucking just smile at me.
I say something to him in the cafeteria, but he just looks at me like "why are you talking to me?"
---

He wasn't an ass. He was a good person - that's my memory. But he had no interest. Even if he was destined to be gay, I was not going to be to him what he was to me.

The days went on and I felt desperate, but unclear of what was happening.

One day in the lunch room some of my friends were asking "what's wrong with you?"
And I said I really liked this kid.
And they kinda laughed.
And I kept looking at them serious.
And they knew I was being honest.

And then they really laughed.

I flipped.
I screamed.
I ripped off my bookbag from my back and threw it as far across the room as I could.

My friends didn't laugh, but others did.
"Wow, I never saw anyone so big get so crazy!" one said.
"I think you need to go on a diet, some of the fat's getting in your brain," said another.

Everyone was staring.
I looked around – the kid of my dreams was there, smirk on his face.

I quietly went to my bag while holding in my tears, grabbed it off the floor, and left the room.

I don't remember anything after that.

---

That day had not resurfaced in me for years, until I started writing here.

I had forgotten.

That day was the first day I learned to pack away my emotions, my honesty, my reality.

Though many things in the future reinforced it, I learned from that event that I could trust no one.

I was alone.

It was a pebble in the pond and I can still see the ripples coming ashore.

We are our past.

And now, so many years later, every time I reveal a bit of my life, every dark secret I can tell, is a revolution in remembrance of that day – marching and chanting that that such a thing will never happen again.

--
There is a postscript.
There are so many reasons I could thank my mom. But one is this: she made me lose the weight. She was so concerned. We talked it through. She wanted me to be happy and healthy. I wanted guidance. We got that. Within a year of these events, I had shed a good 50 pounds. There are so many reasons to thank her. This is one of the important ones.