My Life In Pee

(This is the piece I wrote exclusively for 24-Hour Stake-Out November 9-10, 2010)


My Life In Pee
I had been asked to write for the 24 Hour Bully Stake-Out. “Wow”, I thought, what a compliment to be included. Then, at that very moment my writing froze. I was completely stumped about what to write. I read other articles, listened to videos, watched others step up and tell their stories of inspired courage. I sat in front of my computer screen day after day waiting to be inspired, myself, and write the story I knew I had to tell. I could not for the life of me get started. I could not begin with the first word, first sentence in talking about something I had always thought would maybe relate to anybody being bullied now, or who had been altered by bullies earlier in their life.
My friend, Ron, had introduced me as a humorist. Again, I thought of what a giant compliment that was. Then, I thought, “How in the world do I make Bullying funny?” What I ultimately figured out as the dead line loomed in front of me is that I couldn’t do it, knowing my own history.
“When I was a child, I thought like a child, acted as a child, but when I became a man, I put away those childish things.” That is the quote I use on my kids all the time. That and, “You can’t un-ring a bell.” The reason those quotes mean so very much to me is because they are the very quotes that helped me decide just exactly who I was. Years ago I had to decide what kind of person I was. I had to make big changes in my life or I was certain I would become someone I didn’t recognize.
Back before there was fire, growing up, I was a bed wetter. I wrote it in my book, but I didn’t go into detail about what that meant for me as a child. Evidently, the devil really is in the details. Being a bed wetter meant I had the opportunity to get my butt kicked by anybody who viewed me as weaker, less “cool”, weird, queer or unwanted. Being a child whose life was dictated by pee meant I was all of those things, especially to my tormentors, who ironically lived right down the street from me. This family of thugs felt as if they had the right to determine who I was to them, to others and ultimately to myself. Everywhere I went, and as a child the places I went were all close to home, there they were laying in wait to push me around, kick me, punch me, throw my belongings down the gutter, call me names, and generally abuse me. My mom sometimes dropped me off early to school, when few people were there. Quiet and eerie, I walked the halls, went to the gym and wandered off in my own thoughts until I would hear the sounds of the thugs bounding in the door, just looking for an opportunity to start a fight. I spent a great deal of my childhood, elementary school, praying to escape, what I was certain was inevitable. I spent years being treated as if I had a giant “less than” sign in front of my face. In my head it looked like this…Everybody else=>….Kellie=<. I had made the mistake of explaining my dilemma of being ruled by pee by telling my childhood comrades about my kidney problems, which lead to the bed wetting, several surgeries, drinking gallons of water during the day, medication that I had to take and many visits to my specialist. I found out all that did was make things worse for me. Another lesson learned the hard way; there is no sympathy on the playground.
I could spend this paragraph telling you all the gruesome details about how I was physically hurt, mentally tortured and even spit on. I could write an entire book about how diminished I felt. How I had cursed God for cursing me. I could tell you about the kids, who were not technically my tormentors, who pretended to be my friend, only so they could join in the fun of abusing me in the privacy of their “parties”. I went because I thought I was being included, but the truth is, I was invited, so they had someone they thought was more pathetic than they were. You get the picture; I am sure by now, you understand how most of this went down. Who amongst us hasn’t seen or heard it in our life time? What I want to tell you is how it almost altered who I would become. Being bullied almost changed who I was as a person, and who I would become as an adult.
I could change a bed, the sheets, blanket and bedspread in commercial time back in the 1970’s. Now, kids, let’s remember that back then commercials were only 30 seconds to a minute long. Be impressed, because it was an impressive talent to have. I was able to do this by the time I was seven years old. I was also able to leap IV poles in a single bound, race wheel chairs when the nurses weren’t looking, and even get green colored, pine tasting jello to stick to a wall for over a minute. These were my childhood talents. Being hospitalized regularly, I had acquired my own unique gifts. I treasured the moments, being with my people. Many of these kids were sicker than I was. Many were there when I arrived, and there when I was discharged. They had faced all the abject cruelty of healthy kids who picked on the weaker ones. I was one of the lucky ones, able to come in and out, drifting between the medical world and the healthy world. I just didn’t feel lucky at the time. I viewed my plight as a plague, a lifelong member of the broken club.
After years of being hurt on every level, I made the decision to not care about me anymore. I decided, if the world thought I was broken, useless, stupid, ugly and unlovable, then so be it. I was 15 years old when the heart in me gave up on loving the “pee girl”. I became self destructive, using drugs, hiding from accomplishment, hating everyone I came in contact with. I stopped taking my medication abruptly, against my doctor’s wishes. I sneered at my parents, and began loathing anyone who had ever hurt me. I actively hated, turning my heart to stone, numbing my feelings, and using my intelligence to turn on anyone who dared say anything mean to me, about me and around me. I became the very thing that had once broken me. I didn’t bully anybody else, but I did become a hate speaking, verbal vomiting, and self loathing caricature, of the innocent, loving joy seeking child I had once known myself to be. I set about destroying myself, one horrible mistake at a time. By the time I was in high school, I dated only those who would join in and hurt me. I made sure I had key players in the “Deconstruction of Kellie”. I kept a few friends who still cared, but I was well on my way to insuring my demise. These thugs, these bullies, who had spent years of my life making absolutely sure I felt like a worthless piece of sh*t had won. I couldn’t beat them, so I joined them. If I was to be looked at as the waste of space, then I would make certain that I held that title with pride. I kept up this behavior just waiting until something would happen that was bad enough to kill me, then we could all call it a day. I made the active decision to do nothing to stop the avalanche of abuse by them and I, destroying what was left of me. It was a slow suicide, a punishment to me for being the nasty piece of crap that I was.
The following year, I had grown tired of running. Adults were suspicious of my self destruction and it was becoming harder and harder to keep up the hate. I was very much alive and not seeming to go anywhere but to jail if I didn’t change. Dying I was OK with, but jail was another story. Even in the depths of my self- hatred, I knew I wouldn’t fair well with actual criminals. I was out to destroy me, but they were out to destroy everybody else. I cleaned up my act, got good grades, stopped dressing like a hoodlum, and pretended that I was well on my way to a total recovery. Even when the boys barked at me in hallway, or someone would threaten to kick my *ss after school, I pretended that all was well. Secretly, I still gravitated to men who would physically hurt me. Like a magnet, I would find the boy who liked to punch, hit, push and torment. Eventually, it was that boy I would pick as my boyfriend. The adults around me talked of their pride in who I was becoming. They congratulated me on accomplishments, my talents and my effort, but I knew the truth. I knew that I was no different than the skanky little garbage heap that had existed in my body before.
I kept my little secret, that the bullies had instilled me, that I was a fraud, a useless, ugly, worthless pig. I could dress up, act polite, stay sober, learn new things, all while harboring the largest lesson I learned from the thugs. I never told anyone about all the days when I had to run for my life from the thugs. I never once, sat down with my mom and told her how I felt. I never confided in a teacher, a minister or a friend about the excruciating fear I had faced day after day that had literally altered who I was.
Something happened my senior year, making me stop in my tracks and defend myself. I had a teacher, who hated me. I mean, she disliked everything about me, picking on my clothes, my intelligence, and my ability to learn, even my musical ability, which had nothing to do with her. Somewhere from the depths of my belly a gnawing had begun, I felt my face grow hot, and tears filled my eyes as she berated me publicly for the umpteenth time. I felt sick inside,

because this was no thug, this was an adult, who was bullying me. This person was paid to be a role model in school. She was at least paid to do her job and not actively pick on a kid. At first, I agreed with her, keeping the thugs lessons alive and well in my life. But one day, and I am not exactly sure why or where or how, but something inside of me snapped. It was one thing to have a kid pushing me around, or a boyfriend knock me into submission, but an adult? Why this dynamic is what changed my course, I have no idea. Maybe it was because I had seen good teachers all my life, and this one stuck way out, being the exception and not the rule. Whatever it was it caused a chain reaction in me. I began to fight for the little girl in pee. I started to defend myself from the posse I had surrounded myself with in order to keep the abuse going.
It took years to unravel the damage the thugs had inflicted on my child side. It took an abusive husband, four beautiful children and best friends who stuck by me encouraging me to be the person I was born to be. It took hard conversations with my parents, telling them about my ugly, terrifying past, tears running down both our faces at the price we had paid due to my silence. I had been too afraid to speak, my mom speechless herself at this moment, wishes she had seen more, done more, but I had been certain there was nothing for her to do.
I was wrong.
My fear paralyzed my voice, but I had people to talk to. I had doctors, family, family friends, counselors, all waiting for me to come out of hiding. I cannot change all the years it took for me to rid myself of the scars of the thugs, but I can tell you that there is hope. It doesn’t have to take 20 years of your life to figure out that if someone is bullying you, hurting you in any way, IT IS WRONG!!! Find anyone you can talk to, your parents, your friends’ parents, teachers, principals, the authorities, anybody who can lend you their strength until you can garner some of your own. Keep talking until you get the help you need.
I wake up happy every day. I know what you are thinking, every day? Yep, every day, I wake up just happy that I lived long enough to see all the good things that happen, just because I am me. I have managed to build lifelong friendships with people who adore all my quirky, dorky personality traits. They find me very lovable, adorable and mostly hug-able. Had I had my way years ago I would have missed out on this. And by this I mean the pure love, joy and happiness I have to wake up to every day. I am still the girl in pee. I don’t wet the bed anymore, but if I have enough ice tea at night, I still think it might happen. My husband just laughs and tells me he will sleep in scuba gear if necessary, just so we can be together.
I was never alone, even when I thought I deserved to be. You are not alone either. We are all here, when you need us.

Halloween 2010-Epic Win!

I have loved Halloween since I was a kid. I had parties every year, kids coming over and in Junior High, it usually ended up with a rousing rendition of spin the bottle. Maybe that is why I like the scary holiday so much.
When the kids were little, I decorated with little things, keeping the macabre to a minimum. My girlfriend, the one I hung out with all the time, started having parties with her friend, who lived in the country. This allowed for hay bails, large fields and all the treats a kid could ask for. We went for years, until the adults decided it now was more for them than the kids. It seemed logical at that point to give it a rest.
The house I bought for myself, after the divorce, was on a long street, populated by mostly children. I made the purchase of the house because it was affordable, and it felt right to me. Ever get the feeling like you feel right at home, even though you don't live there? That is how I felt when I saw my house for the first time. The first Halloween we spent in the house, we noticed something exceptional going on. Almost every house went above and beyond your average decor. There was a haunted garage, haunted driveway that led back, back, back deep into the yard to the garage where the candy was hard earned for the kids brave enough to travel that far. One house had a high school kid, who saved his money all year long to create elaborate scenes in his front yard. We had a haunted front porch. I knew then, I was on an exceptional street and felt lucky we all took the unspoken oath to make it fantastic for the kids(and us).
The next house we lived in, the one Michael and I bought as newly weds, in a different town, had a u street that was perfect for Halloween. Once again we were not disappointed by the grown-up interaction, the participation was over the top. I took all of my dead bodies, bottles of fake blood and began to establish myself as a full blooded (Pun intended) Halloween Queen.
The move to Texas might as well have been across the world. We knew little if anything about Texas, or the south in general, as far as traditions, holidays or Halloween , in particular. The first year there, I looked at the monster of a house we had bought and shook my head. Halloween would be tough to decorate here. I took my bodies out of their boxes and placed them through the yard. The skulls came out of hiding next, then the bats, then the ghosts, and finally the tomb stones. As I spread out the ghouls of Halloween past, I went outside to survey the layout. I noticed not one decoration was in sight. Daunted, but not given in, I put up my decorations the best I could, in preparation for the big day.
A neighbor came over while I was adjusting a ghost here and there, fussing with the sheer fabric, tucking in the props through out the yard, making things look "perfect". "Excuse me..." the neighbor hailed, while waving her hands at me. "Oh, I am so sorry. Hi, I'm Kellie. I was just fussing with the decorations," I called back, walking toward the woman at the curb. "Hmm, yes, about that," she rolled her eyes and sighed deeply before she finished her thought,"I think you should know, we don't do that here." I stuttered and stammered, feeling my face grow red, "Wha, what? I am sorry, what don't you do here?" "We don't put up Satanic decorations here. We don't believe in that sort of thing. I know you are from out of town, I thought you should know." I stood looking at this condemnation in this woman's face and thought to myself, "What the hell have we done..."
Later after Michael got home from work, I told him the story with tears in my eyes. "I don't belong here. I don't fit in," I told him as the tears fell down my face onto his shoulder. "Baby, screw them," Michael said soothingly. " I felt so down, so belittled, "I just want to go home," I cried.
The next couple of years I did nothing for Halloween. I bought candy, very few kids came down our busy street, so Halloween night was spent wishing I were back home celebrating with my friends, laughing at the funny ideas we had to make things even grosser.
When the kids got to be in high school, I decided to have parties at home to keep them off the streets and out of trouble. We taught Texans to bob for apples, did the donut on a string game, all the while keeping my decorations to myself in the back yard. One year after I had lived in our house for some time, I decided, I didn't give a crap if "They didn't do that here." I decorated the yard and added a few more acquisitions to my already packed boxes. I hung ghouls, brought the ghosts out of hiding and proudly displayed my tombstones with the skulls being lit from the inside. The few kids that did show up loved it! The next year more came to see the house that had the bodies in the yard, the sound track from the windows and the blood dripping down the door.
When we bought our current home in the summer, I looked at Michael and said, "This is a great Halloween house." Our Realtor looked momentarily puzzled, but Michael knew exactly what I meant. The street itself has very little traffic. The house has an island of sorts surrounded by pine trees in the front and we have a courtyard leading to our front door. From the moment we moved in, we have done nothing but work on the house. We have had to fix the broken, add storage, rearrange several times, and just generally try and figure out how to make it ours. I didn't have much time to get ready for Halloween this year, but I did take everything I had, plus my newest acquisitions, and decorate the front the best I could for now.
At first it was slow Halloween night, a few kids here and there, and then it happened, kids filled the street, parents were dressed up, too. Glow sticks, pillow cases, kids large and small, all started to come. With only strobe lights, candles and the talking ghosts with glowing eyes for light, they all "oohed and ahhed" at the decorations. Pictures were taken, the parents complimented us, the neighbor stopped by for a chat and some wine, it was the Halloween I had dreamed of since moving to Texas. As the crowd thinned out, Michael and I waved and yelled back,"Happy Halloween", my beloved looked at my smiling face and said, "Next year it will be even better."