in about a decade,
10 short stories about growing up
I am three years old
I don’t know much about anything, but I do know no one’s playing with me. My Montessori teacher towers over me like a scary monster & somehow breaks my favorite butterfly clip (the hot pink one). I switch schools.
In over a decade, my mom will tell me she was really glad she ended up taking me to a different preschool. All she knows is she sent her “happy little girl” to the Montessori school, but I wasn’t the same happy little girl when I left.
I don’t know what happened at the Montessori school.
But I know that feeling never really went away.
*
I am five years old
I get assigned a code to punch in when I buy lunch: 2539. I think to myself this will be easy to remember. I like the number twenty-five, my little brother is 3, & my older brother is 9.
In over a decade, my little brother will be 22, my older brother will be weeks away from turning 28, & I will be completely freaked out by the passage of time. I’ll wonder how I can remember my lunch code from elementary school, but not the name of a professor I had twice in college.
*
I am seven years old
I’m hiking with my family in Eaton Canyon when I trip & fall. The gash on my knee is bad enough to get stitches, but I get my leg wrapped with gauze & bandaids instead by a nice lady who works at the park. It bleeds a lot & I can’t stop crying. My leg hurts for quite a few days.
In over a decade I will mention how I still have the scar on my knee & my dad will laugh & tell me I was being a bitch that day so he thought it was kinda funny I fell and that I probably deserved it.
I don’t laugh. I don’t think it’s funny to call seven-year-olds bitches.
*
I am eight years old
My second-grade teacher raves about how smart my class is. How she is so happy to give out really high grades this quarter. Soooo many 4’s & 3’s, some 2’s. Usually, she has to give out a few 1’s, but this quarter she only had to give out one. Only one student in the whole class got a 1 on their report card.
I decide Ian must be the kid who got the 1. He stands up when he answers questions & is a little bit different, so it only makes sense that he is also dumb.
I get home & open my report card.
I got the 1. It was in spelling. I’m devastated. I don’t tell anyone. I’m the kid who’s dumb.
In over a decade I’ll watch a documentary on Hulu about dyslexia & ask my mom if she ever thought about getting me tested for it since I experienced quite a few different symptoms they talk about.
She says no, she never thought about it.
I start to think I might be dyslexic.
(I wish I could tell my 8-year-old self she isn’t dumb)
*
I am twelve years old
I get a little point & shoot camera for Christmas. I’m so excited. I take it everywhere with me & upload all my photos into Facebook albums for all the other middle schoolers to see. My new camera becomes an extension of my hand.
In over a decade I’ll quit my job in fashion to pursue photography full-time. I’ll have gotten quite a few new cameras by then. I’ll make enough money to sustain myself through nearly a year of primarily focusing on my mental & physical health, only working part-time.
During that year, I’ll get really comfortable shooting on manual & my brain will start to feel so good it’ll describe it as if I’m seeing in color for the first time.
*
I am twelve years old
I reeeaally want to be on Yearbook Committee once I get to junior high. To be recommended for Yearbook, you have to get a signature from your 6th-grade teacher. Unfortunately, I’m convinced my 6th grad teacher hates me for reasons I don’t quite understand as I am a literal child. I hand her my intended elective sheet & ask her to sign it so I can be on Yearbook. She takes the paper from me & says she’ll sign it later. She has a weird look on her face. I don’t trust she’ll sign it later. I don’t end up Yearbook committee, I get my second choice of elective. A class called “Art/Tech”. I have a quarter of art, a quarter of Photoshop, a quarter of Illustrator, & a quarter of Adobe Flash.
In about a decade, I will still think about Art/Tech & how much of an impact it had on me. I will use photoshop almost daily & forever be grateful I had those months of learning something that ended up being so pivotal in the trajectory of my life.
& I’ll get to be on Yearbook the year after.
*
I am thirteen years old
It’s my birthday & I’m in Geneva, Ohio on Facebook messenger. For the first time in my life, I have a solid group of friends & a boyfriend, I want to be celebrating my birthday in Los Angeles with my friends more than anything. But my grandma is turning 75, so we’re in Ohio.
In over a decade I will turn 24 & be in Los Angeles on my birthday. 85% of my friends live out of state. I will spend yet another birthday without (a majority of) my friends.
*
I am fourteen years old
I go bowling with my family and my dad makes fun of me to the point I start crying. Because I’m so bad at it, he takes a video of me throwing the ball, laughs uncontrollably, & I decide I rather get hit by a car than go bowling.
In over a decade I’ll go bowling with one of my friends & their parents. I’ll feel relaxed, happy, & not embarrassed to not be that great at bowling. I’ll think about that night & I still will not laugh. Instead, in a few hours, I’ll start crying about how being supported by their parents during our games comforts my inner child, yet simultaneously devastates her so deeply.
I’ll wonder why I didn’t have that.
*
I am fourteen years old
I tell my best friend if I don’t kill myself before I turn 25, I’ll just do it then because there’s no point in living past that age.
In about a decade, I’ll be 24 & crying to my therapist about how I never planned anything passed then. I didn’t grow up fantasizing about a dream wedding, where I saw myself living, or thinking about what I thought my future home would look like. I never thought I needed to. I will be really scared. It’ll feel like I’m turning a new page just to see blankness. I will be scared, but I will turn 25.
I will not know what’s ahead of me, but I will be on antidepressants & no longer want to kill myself. & I’ll be happy I didn’t make any permanent decisions at any point before turning 25 even though there were times I wanted to. I will be happy.
*
I am seventeen years old
I’m a first-semester senior in high school. By Thanksgiving break, my childhood friend passes, I don’t get selected for the Pasadena Tournament of Roses Royal Court despite being a finalist & it being my biggest dream, I go through a breakup, I don’t get Homecoming Court, I have a falling out with my best friend, one of my friends threatens to commit suicide & goes missing for a few hours, my double dutch team falls apart, another one of my friends gets in a car accident, I’m in the midst of college apps with many doubts, and my beloved orange cat dies.
I start therapy. During my first session, my mom comes in with me to meet my therapist. My mom tells her she’s been thinking about putting me in therapy since I was 13.
She’ll be my therapist for two years. From November 2015-August 2016, and then again from May 2017-August 2017. She’ll tell me to find a therapist on campus when I leave for college in 2016, but I won’t. She also gives me the phone number of a psychiatrist on the west side, she thinks I should consider medication. I don’t call the psychiatrist.
In a little less than a decade, I’ll be 24 & walking through Trader Joe’s when I decide, after years of telling everyone how much I loved my first therapist, that I should call her. I leave a voicemail explaining who I am, ask for the psychiatrist’s phone number again, & thank her for being such a pivotal person in my life & for all the hours she spent sitting in a room with me.
Two weeks later, I’ll be in Trader Joe’s again when I get a call from Unknown. I have a feeling I know who it is. I answer the phone & hear a familiar voice. She apologizes for reaching out late, she was trying to track down the psychiatrist, but they’re no longer practicing. I tell her it’s okay, I’ll figure something else out. She tells me she’s accepting a new telehealth client. I tell her telehealth is perfect.
Each appointment will feel like I’m reuniting with a best friend after a few years of not seeing each other. There’s the excitement of feeling like you’re meeting someone new since there’s so much catching up to do, but there’s equally as much comfort in the sound of their voice.
She encourages me to get a cat.
I get an orange one.