"Chapter Five."

1 Corintheians 11:15, 

All of the yellow in this room made me sick. I had to have this room, though. It was the room my mother picked out for me. It was the bedroom she could have only ever dreamed of having when she was a little girl, and I knew it made her happy.

"Ginger, we have a surprise for you!" they would tweet, every time there was a new addition to the decor in my room. And, don't get me wrong... 

My room was beautiful...

 

The bed frame was made in the design of a pickett fence. Every single Beanie Baby you could ever imagine lined the walls on neat and beautiful shelves, also designed to look like picket fences. Everything was constantly imprordered with my name or initials. 

Aunt Danny had skills...

Who was I kidding? This was a room any little girl could have ever dreamed of. Truly.

The twinkly lights, the fluffy yellow and white quilting, the aesthetically pleasing Beanie Baby collection, and my favorite part...

Books. 

Books on every shelf in the nightstand, and shelves lining the wall in front of the bed. My television sat neatly on top of the center book shelf, and beside this you would find my closet. Currently closed, but every beautiful princess dress you could ever imagine (with matching bow), is what you would find if you looked inside.

What normal six year old girl didn't love a closet full of beautiful princess dresses? I had all the best outfits, and was the talk of my Kindergarten class.

So, why did I fucking hate it? 

My hair was long. No one dared to cut it beyond a trim to keep me from tripping over it. I have a vague memory of my hair getting tangled in the buckles of my sparkling white dress shoes... We were standing in church.

Not only was it miles long, but my hair was also thick and curly. My mother would do all sorts of things with it: 

Butterfly clips and flashy bows. Braids and pins. Buns and ties.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

But, sometimes, we would just let it... do it's thing... 

There was nothing else you could do, honestly. It was a forest of red curls, up there. 

I recieved mixed reviews from others about it. Sometimes I heard about what a mess my hair was; other times I heard it was beautiful. 

I didn't know how to feel.

I knew that the gigantic bow in my hair was hurting my scalp, and I remember taking it out and shoving it in my desk as soon as I got to class.

I did this every single morning.

Some of the kids made fun of my bows and dresses, while others were commenting on how "crazy" my hair was.

Whilst I always wondered why I needed to be the center of all this attention, in the first place. And why if I ackowledge this, I am doing something wrong?

Why did I have to be things like "ugly", and "weird"? 

Or "beautiful" and "unique"?

And if you really felt that way, why did you have to come tell me about it? My opinion on human interaction was immediately a mixed bag. I simply didn't understand. Everything was always about what I looked like, specifically my hair, and what I could accomplish that simply had to set me apart from literally everyone else on the planet. 

I had to consistantly be the Golden Child, the Strange Child, the Talented Child, the Unique Child, the Beautiful Child, the Funny Looking Child, the Only Child, the Smartest Child, the Blessing Child...

I didn't ask for this, but I was told that I did. I didn't want all of this, but I was told that I did. 

I already didn't understand who I truly was, because I was always too busy trying to be who I was told I needed to be.

Imagine an overwhelmed robot with too many downloads...

"Does not compute," as it short cuircuts.

My first day of Kindergarten is a bit of a bright blur, but my mom helped keep my childhood memories alive for many years, by saving every little thing, no matter how small.

And I remember on this particular day, we painted a bear. 

Mine had blue eyes... 

Something happened to me on that day, or the day after, that I just can't allow myself to dig up, yet. I'm sure a seizure, or traumatic event with Lance, if not both, had taken place at this time. My very first day of school is a major event, and major events always meant some form of chaos would insue in my household.

 

No matter how much you imbroidered my name in to my pillow case, it would not create stability...  

It's funny how my mind remembers almost absolutely nothing about that day, besides painting that bear. My mother kept it for somewhere close to twenty years, and even had it laminated. Every time I try to access that memory, I only see a white light, and the bear. Something about it brought me so much comfort in the maddness of my life.

 

Maybe it was the experience of  school, a new safe place, for the first time... 

Somewhere away from "home".

By this point, all I could remember was school being, yet another, source of stress. As if home wasn't already exhausing enough, I had to deal with more hurtful and scary experiences with my fellow classmates, and my teachers.

It wasn't their fault. I always had a way of bringing out the worst in people, because I had nothing more to show them than what I knew from home. Despite always trying to be on my best behavior, my lack of understanding anything outside of that box would allow trouble to slip through the cracks, from time to time...

Kindergarten, however? This was a brand new experience. I had not yet been jaded by what school would later become. I just knew I had experienced what to expect through episodes of Seseme Street and Barney during all of those "Stay at Home with Mommy" days. 

Which were, might I add, the greatest days of my young childhood... 

When Lance wasn't home, of course...

And that was the beauty and excitement of Kindergarten. 

Nothing about Lance ever touched that place.

This was a place of crafts, colors, friends, songs, and play. This was a place I didn't have to worry about him bursting through the door, or smashing things and yelling. This was a place I wouldn't hear my mommy's cries and screams, or have to hide behind the bed and watch my Bear on the Moon nightlight. This was a place I could be around other kids my age, and make friends to talk to and play with.

But while I'm making new friends and having a good time in Kindergarten, what about my best friend...

My attention was turned to my mom, in the driver's seat in front of me. I think I can remember us both crying, a lot...

Was the first day of Kindergarten also the day she let me wear my favorite Lion King outfit? Simba was big and sparkley on the front of a white shirt, with pink shorts and, of course, a giant pink bow in my hair, to match.

Lions and the Lion King were my biggest obsessions. Whenever I wanted to escape reality, I became a big, brave lion. Nothing could hurt me, and my fierce roar was all I needed to take on anything. I would get down on all fours, curl my fingers in to "paws", and just naturally take the form of a big savannah cat. Many adventures were played out across the living room and back yard of my house. Many dark things were fought away to create, instead, the beautiful memories of a powerful lionness, living her best life. 

This was just how I escaped, for some reason. I didn't need it to make sense, at the time. I just needed it to work. 

I can remember staring out the window on the way to the elementary school, imaging my lionness self running alongside the car. She was fast, fierce, and beautiful. She would help me get through this. Kindergarten was going to be amazing...

I remember more crying as my mom dropped me off, and the sinking feeling in my stomach as we finally released each other from our seemingly endless hug, and she had to leave. It was nearly traumatizing to think I wouldn't see my mom at all for the rest of the day, but my teacher just had the vibrations of one of the most kind and amazing women on Earth. So I remember feeling safe, once calming down and observing my surroundings.

I remember many adorning comments being made on the beautiful "red" color and length of my hair, blessed with the kisses of butterfly clips and pretty little bows, by every teacher and parent in sight. I remember other children staring.

I remember sitting in a circle, on a rug with big shapes in different colors, and the shapes having all of our names assigned to them. Other children were gathering to sit at their assigned shapes.

I remember there were other children crying, too. So I wasn't alone, there...

There was a...white board? I thought we were supposed to have chalkboards, like in the cartoons.

My teacher wore fun clothes covered in quilted farm animals and bright colors, and matching farm animal earrings. Cows, to be more specific. As she took place in front of us at the whiteboard, I remember a shivering feeling in my stomach. She was speaking to us, but I couldn't understand what she was saying. Everything suddenly sounded so foreign and wobbly. She was writing fun things on the board, smiling and laughing. 

...but what was she even saying?

I remember the sound of the "Teacher" on that Charlie Brown cartoon my mom loved...

Horns. White Noise. Bubbles. Vibrations.

I took a look around at the other children, and they were all laughing and smiling, too. 

Clapping along to a song, maybe? 

Everything was light blue. Everything was white sparkles. Everything became blue, and then iridescent butterflies. More white sparkles.

Everything smelt like "Christmas Trees". 

Everything was just...noise. Noise I could only focus on one of at a time. If that even made sense in Human language...

I attempted to focus on what was happening, and follow along.

It was like not being able to clap with everyone else, or  communicate the words of the song correctly. My words felt like mumbles and gumbles, like I had a mouth full of marshmallows. My hands felt like two big, awkward hammers. 

Am I doing this right? What song is this? How do the ABC's go again? Are other kids dancing? Is it ok for me to be dancing? How do you dance? Why are we doing this? What's happening?  Am I going to be friends with these other children? What do I say? What are they saying? What do I do? What are they doing? 

I tried to just focus on my teacher, since focusing on trying to keep up with the other kids started to feel too scary.

Everything was muffled. Everything was static.

She was smiling, she was singing, clapping, talking, writing, pointing.

Everything was yellow.

There were pink bubbles. Purple ones. 

"Cereal..." Everything smells like cereal. 

Oh no. Shes pointing at me. She's asking me a question. How much time has passed? Where is my mommy? What did she say? 

Horns. Static. Vibrations.

Do I know the color of what? A fire truck?

Ugh. Red. 

A banana?

Yellow. Duh.

How many blocks?

Three. Of course...

Of course... I'm so "smart".

Why are we doing this?

Everything is dark purple. Everything is grey. Everything is humming...

Bubbles. Belly aches. 

Why does she have to look at me like that? Is that shame or concern? I think she's asking if you are okay. I must not be acting the way I am supposed to, I must not be acting like the other children do...

I miss my mommy, and I want to go home...

"I don't feel very good..."

Everything is light blue, again. Everything is sparkles. Everything is iridescent. Everything is rainbows. Fluffy clouds. Everything is light blue butterflies. Everything is soothing, vrooming noises. 

She's trying to comfort you. What is she saying?

Static.

"I miss my mommy..."

More words and motions of comfort.

"What if we all try painting a picture?" she asks, cheerfully. My entire body tingles with energy. I feel myself perk up. I understood what she said.

There were easels. There were giant pieces of paper, with the black outline of a bear. 

Blank. Plastic cups of paint in front of us. Big paint brushes, one for each color.

...One, two, three teachers pacing around the room, helping each child work on their bear.

Everything is white....Pure, bright white.

Everything is silent.

Brown Bear, Blue Eyes.

Paint.

Everything smells like Paint.