I just slogged through the good, the bad, and the downright illiterate opinionated feedback generated by an article posted on Facebook concerning the consequences of watching
Thirteen Reasons Why on the teenage psyche. I saw some very valid points and discerned two distinct camps for why or why not the show and original book was good or bad for teens to view. One of the main points came down to are we responsible for other's happiness and mental well-being ie. the "I am my brother's keeper" camp and the words hurt but ultimately we are responsible for our own happiness ie. the take back the power and rise above camp. As someone who spent a good portion of my adolescence being bullied and manipulated, and as someone who has lost friends and family to suicide, I favor the rise above mentality.
Personally, I think shows like
Thirteen Reasons Why are dangerous for the fragile teenage psyche. It's revenge fantasy, a chance to place all the power and responsibility on someone else's shoulders at a time in life when we feel overwhelmed by choice and new responsibilities weighing us down as we try to struggle with the all-important fact of who we are and what we want from life. Life as a teenager is hard and murky and full of contradictions and raging hormones clouding what little control we have over the onslaught of information being thrown at us by parents, teachers, and peers. Teenagers are stuck in adult bodies that feel new and uncomfortable like an extra large shirt our parents bought to save money, one that we will eventually grow into. But for now it's a new skin, zit-ridden, and thin. Words sink in and fill up the emptiness of all that new space as we clamor to decide if we are a nerd, jock, cheerleader, mathlete, goth, metrosexual, etc. All we know is we are someone wanting to be noticed. Yes, even the quiet kid in the corner wants to be seen because being seen means being acknowledged which means feeling important and connected to someone else in this big parody called life.
I know. I was the quiet nerd with the frizzy hair, bad skin, and pink plastic-rimmed glasses. The one with chipmunk cheeks and baby fat in all the wrong place and no fat in all the right places meaning I wore a padded bra that could double as a bullet-proof jacket. And I ate words, ingesting the good and the bad like a walking dictionary as I sorted through them to find a definition of self. Big, that's the word my dad used, the one I dwelt on as I pinched my thighs. Weird, freak, those came from my "friend" as she tried to explain why conformity was a good thing and my unique style was bad. Fat, my teacher said that one when complaining about costumes for a play. There were a lot more: ugly, stuck-up, stupid, slow, etc. Honestly, I did let them get to me and eat away at what little self-confidence I had till I felt raw and exposed.
Now here's the thing. Had I let these words control me like the protagonist, Hannah in
Thirteen Reasons Why, I could have ended it all and lived or more accurately died in my revenge fantasy of you'll miss me when I'm gone. I could have handed over the power to someone else and let them define me. And believe me I wrestled with the dark thoughts while holding a full bottle of aspirin and asking myself what would happen if. But then I thought about my single mother who wrapped her life around mine and how taking myself down the dark path would drag her down with me gifting her with my own personal hell. Plus, something in the back of my brain reminded me that there was so much left to see in life, so many places I wanted to go, and things to do. But still my weak and pot-holed brain came back to the pain and the contemplation of letting go. I hurt my body with an eating disorder that threatened to flush my life away along with the purged contents of my stomach. And for a long-time I blamed those nasty words I'd accumulated and those who said them. I passed the blame onto someone else.
Now I'm not saying that bullying isn't bad and doesn't have an impact. It certainly does. Words slash deeper than a razor blade and cut into our minds leaving permanent scar tissue. I still shudder at the memories of my own supposed friend and personal bully who made me pee in a trash can to prove my friendship to her while she belittled my looks, told me I was depressed and defensive, and once chased me with a knife and thought it a good joke. She spread rumors about me and manipulated large sums of money from me and used me to help write her papers in school because deep down I felt sorry for her. She abused me because her mother abused her. So yes, word and other people's actions do have a huge impact on our lives. Bullies should be punished, and we should be mindful of what we say and how we treat others. The golden rule should appear above every Facebook, Twitter, text message, and Snapchat bar reminding us to think twice before sending our anger or nastiness out into the ether.
But I had to learn to take the power back. The words hurt, so I had to be stronger, build mental shields to block the pain. Easier said then done, yes. But absolutely necessary. If I had given into the darkness inside born from the bullying words of others, I would not be here today. I would not have lived in Dublin, traveled throughout Europe, become a teacher and a writer, fallen in love and married a good man, and become a mother to two darling boys who fill up the spaces the darkness held in my heart. Self-love. It's a work in progress. There are days when I still scowl and rage against my spare tire or thunder thighs, my frizzy hair, and bad eyes. But when I take a personal inventory I actually like my way with words, my quick-witted brain, my knack for history, my singing voice (as long as its church hymns or Broadway), my quirky sense of fun, and wacky dance moves. I love my friends, the true ones I've picked up over the years now that I now what true friendship looks like. And no matter how fat and ugly I feel, I know my sons look at me with love and tell me I am beautiful.
See we must rise above the words like a Phoenix out of the ashes of other people's insecurities, mental illness, or poor manners. I hope people learn to watch what they say and how they act. But I will not hand the power over to them. I will emulate proper behavior and be a model for my kids so that they don't use and abuse others and feed the cycle of false bravado and trolling seen on the internet. I will use my power to raise sons who will respect a woman and her power of no. But ultimately, I will teach them to fend off the words and remember their own self-worth while letting them cry over the hurts and heartbreaks and mama-bearing it against any bullies.
Her chest
