The Art of Avoiding People

I got off the bus and walked down the sidewalk to the blonde-colored brick building where I attended Junior High.  Within the doors was the cafeteria where the students waited for the first bell that allowed them to go into the halls and to their lockers.  The floors were white formica squares, I stared at them as I walked past the rows of pale colored rectangular tables to the end of the cafeteria where my friends sat at the first of two round tables right inside the other set of doors leading to the halls.  When I was within a few feet of the table everyone stood up almost simultaneously, swung their backpacks on their shoulders and walked away.  I quickly lifted my gaze from the floor and looked around the room to see the rest of the students were still in their own worlds at the long tables behind me.  I stood there several moments watching them, then sat down at the table alone. 

Hillary, the tall girl with red hair and freckles, had decided this new game would be very entertaining.  She arranged for everyone to ignore me, all day long.  Her influence spread to every facet of school, including classes.  It luckily didn’t last long, but I remember how it felt to be so utterly alone.  That was the first time I considered killing myself.  That’s what bullying does.

Bullying doesn’t just end in junior high.  It follows you, and so do those thoughts you had in that junior high lunchroom as you watched your friends walk away.  Everything that matters to you can just get up and walk away at any moment, and sometimes you just relive it. 

Fast forward 20 years.

I walked through the doorway into the reception hall, greeted by dark wooden paneled walls and lights emanating from the corner of the dance floor.  The wedding party table is on the dance floor along the back wall.  That’s where Dave, my husband, will be seated.  It was his sister's wedding.  Long white tables lined the rest of the room, surrounding the dance floor.  I glance to my right and I can see Dave’s mom is seated at the first table closest door, surrounded by her family.  Her back is to me.  Her back was to me after the wedding too.  I also see there are no seats left at this table. 

I have a date, my friend from high school, someone to sit with.  She was invited shortly after the lastest fight erupted between my mother-in-law and I which I assumed would blow over as it always does where she pretends it never happened (and pretends she never told me she never wanted to see me again).  My friend and I both know she was invited because I wouldn’t be welcome sitting with a majority of the family.  She was nice enough to come anyway, maybe because she felt protective of me, or sorry for me.  Nonetheless I did not have to not have to walk into the lion's den alone.  Her and I move further into the room and pick seats near some of my father-in-law’s family who is also not seated at the family table.  They left around 7 PM.  My friend and I were on our own, no one to talk to but each other.  I knew others but they pretended to not know me, backs turned.

I could tell my friend was uncomfortable.  I was uncomfortable.  The entire family table chattered amongst themselves and we just watched them from two tables away.  Every time I came near or even looked toward my mother-in-law, she turned her back to me.  We left the room and moved seats several times.  We left the wedding twice.  When my husband’s wedding party duties were over, we joined him outside and stayed there. 

My kids eventually danced themselves into a coma, so we left.  When we got to her house I hysterically cried for a while.  I’ve never been so publicly embarrassed. 

Since the wedding in August, I constantly worried about how holidays would go.  I’ve avoided almost everyone simply because I have so much anxiety about socializing I can’t handle doing anything.  I’ve missed important things.  I missed seeing people on Thanksgiving, we stayed home doing nothing.  When I think of holidays I become very anxious worrying if I will be continue to be shunned or wondering if I will say the wrong thing. 

I feel so anxious thinking about Christmas you would think the day was so close upon me it might be tomorrow.  I hate feeling this way.