Black Sheep

I can't forget the day I was pulled out of AP calc to go to the counselors office.  I thought I knew what was coming, another dead end, but what I found was different than I anticipated and slightly frustrating.  Two police officers, my school's social worker, a concerned teacher, and an outreach social worker were waiting for me in a big room.  I don't remember much of what happened that day, but I remember feeling like I was being yelled at by one of the police officers to "tell my secret."  They all insisted they knew there was a skeleton in the closet and I was hiding something big.  Maybe I was, but to me I wasn't hiding anything.  Yes, my family had dark secrets, but doesn't every family?  I didn't know where to go with the question "What are you hiding?" and then he threw in the "You can trust me" shit.  Sorry, but it really was a bunch of shit.... how was I supposed to trust a complete stranger and spill out not secrets, but memories that I couldn't decipher as good, bad, or ugly because to me they just 'were'?  Was I supposed to tell him my life story?  And then I came back with "Even if I did have a secret there is nothing you could do about it."  Which was true in my frame of mind, and I was getting help already from my therapist.  I still had to respect this man because he was an officer, her was an authority, and I knew he was trying to help me.  He thought I would be more comfortable telling just him instead of the half a dozen other people in the room, so he sent them out.  I refused to tell him anything and he gave me an ultimatum- tell him my secret and let him help, or be brought somewhere they knew I'd be safe.  After a couple of minutes they were all back in the room, one guy was calling in to find me a bed at the nearest psych unit, another was asking for my insurance information, and another one was getting out a pair of handcuffs.  I'm pretty sure I could have gone without the cuffs... even if I wanted to pull away I was so frail I would have broken.  At least I got to ride in the front of the cop car. 

So someone told me that it is common for the middle child to be the "black sheep" of the family.  The one that wants to expose all of the 'imperfections' of an otherwise flawless family...  I have never felt like I belong here, where ever 'here' is.... it's just not me.  I don't fit in.  And even if I tried to tell my family "secrets" like I wanted to, no one would believe me because all anyone ever saw was "perfect."  I remember all of the car rides home, day after day, something either happened at school or happened at home that I couldn't handle.  I didn't have a voice so I bit my tongue, stared out the window, pulled down my sunglasses, and cried in silence.

It's weird to say I have a voice now, or at least I'm working on having a voice.  I still have to bite my tongue a lot but I am learning to process things.  I'm building my army to help me fight for my voice.