Words Like Razor Blades

I've always had an aversion to wearing shorts. Now really unusual for someone who's always been overweight, although I've been particularly careful about covering my legs in public for as long as I can remember. I'm not really a modest person, so when my boyfriend asked me to start wearing shorts I'm sure he was surprised at how emotional I became. Until I told him this story...

When I was around 10 years old, life was hard. I had just changed school for what seemed like the 100th time, we had just moved in with my grandparents because of my moms drug addiction and recent breakup from an abusive boyfriend, and I was way overweight with an awful haircut chosen by my grandmother. Just the thought of going to school everyday and facing the never ending bullying was enough to give my young stomach an ulcer. I was teased mercilessly for everything imaginable. My self-esteem was so low that whenever the taunts started I would just laugh with everyone else and try my best to hold back the tears. It was brutal. 

I had a cousin just 6 months older than me who attended the same school I did, same grade, but thank God not the same class. She was in many ways my biggest bully, and everything I did was compared to everything she did by our mothers, who were sisters. At least that's how I felt. So when she wanted to play basketball on a youth league after school, I was of course signed up as well. Now I think I mentioned that I was overweight, so sports were obviously not my strong suit, but my mom probably thought it would help me lose weight. So we start going to practices a couple times each week and my mom notices that I'm wearing sweatpants every time, so she informs me that next practice I am to wear shorts. I tell my mom that I don't want to wear shorts anymore because my legs were too hairy. There's no shortage of body hair in my family, and unfortunately I think I ended up with all the dominant hair genes possible. So my leg and underarm hair started growing at an early age. My mom gets very angry and tells me no one is even looking at my legs so it doesn't matter, I'm going to wear the shorts regardless. I start crying and beg her to at least teach me to shave my legs if I have to wear them, which she quickly shoots down because I'm too young. Too young, too fat, too hairy...that's like my whole life at this point. After much crying, begging, and getting absolutely nowhere, I give up and wear the shorts to my next practice. 

Maybe no one will notice, I thought as I got ready for practice. Maybe they'll all be too busy with practice to pay me any attention and I'm making a big deal out of nothing, just like my mother said. So desperate for that to be true, I got dressed, shorts and all, and headed off to practice. I probably prayed that no one would notice me like usual. But my childhood was one of embarrassment and heartbreak, so remaining anonymous was just not a possibility I guess.  

We all sat on the bleachers waiting for practice to start. I could already hear the whispers, started by none other than my dear cousin, who made a point to stare the entire car ride. I just put my head down and waited for the coach to come out. As soon as she gets here, I thought, they'll have to pay attention to her and forget about me. I nearly jumped for joy as she entered the gym. Finally!  I perked up to listen to what she had to say, hoping foolishly that the other girls would follow my example. As the coach approached us she began to speak, going over what we'd be doing that evening. As I listened with focus reminiscent of a Tibetan monk, I saw it.

The light shining through the gym window shifted, surely due to a passing cloud, and shone down on my legs with a blinding glare. Her gaze shifted as she talked...shifted down, until it became fixed. 

Oh please God no, I thought. Please just look away. Please don't say anything.  My young heart was beating so fast that it was nearly audible. 

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, followed by a sea of laughter. If I could have crawled under those bleachers and died I would have without hesitation. She quickly moved on and quieted her audience, but not before I saw the smirk of disgust go across her face. It's not my fault, I thought.  It's not my fault.

That night, after everyone fell asleep, I snuck into my grandparents bathroom. I got my mothers razor from the shelf and with great determination to never be laughed at for this again, I began shaving my legs. By the time my mother heard me from the next room and came to see what was happening, I was bleeding profusely into the tub. I had gashes all over both legs, but had no intent to stop. All I could hear was that laughing. All I could see was my coach's repulsion. My mother was screaming but I never heard a word. 

(Image credit: coolchaser.com)