Jane

Growing up, both of my parents worked a lot. When I was in elementary school, I got dropped off at a daycare center on my school’s campus about 6:30am, then didn’t get picked up until 6pm. I was usually the first and last kid there, Monday through Friday, from Kindergarden through 6th grade. While I’m sure that spending the bulk of my formative years (at least during the hours I was awake) in the care of adults who were not my parents had all kinds of negative impact on my psyche, I’ll have to save that sob story for another day. In this post, I want to focus on the friendships I formed at this daycare center, and on one friendship in particular.

I became “best friends” with Jane in first grade. She was in third grade. If you have kids, work with kids, or know any kids; you probably realize that the developmental differences between a six year old and an eight year old are huge. Most eight year olds don’t want to hang around with six year olds. Jane did, though. I wasn’t her only six-year-old-friend either. There was a third girl named Jillian. Jane was the Queen Bee and Jillian and I were her devoted followers.

Jane would pit Jillian and I against each other. She would set up competitions between us, where we would have to prove who was the better friend. The winner would be awarded things like sleepovers at Jane’s house, and titles like “Jane’s Best Friend.” Competitions usually tested how devoted we were to Jane and what lengths we were willing to go to for her. Jillian eventually moved away, but I still had to constantly vie for Jane’s friendship.

One time she made me ingest soap. She got a handful of powdered soap in her hand, then forcibly held my head over it with her other hand and would not let me go until I snorted the soap out of her hand. I remember sneezing and crying all at the same time, and a horrible burring sensation in my entire respiratory tract. For some sick reason, though, I still wanted desperately to be Jane’s friend. When the teacher asked me why I had snorted soap, I said something stupid like, “I wanted to see what it smelled like,” instead of, “That sick bitch Jane forced me to.”

Another time she stuck some putty in my long, curly ringlets that my teachers and later my mom could not extract, forcing me to get a very short haircut that I despised. Rather than give Jane up, and risk rejection; I told my teachers and my mom that I had stuck the putty in my hair myself.

Another Jane inflicted trauma came when she cleared all of the toys out of a toy chest, then she made me climb inside. I didn’t want to. I was scared she would lock me in there. She promised she wouldn’t. She just wanted to see if I fit, and if I was really her friend I would just get in. I wanted to prove I was her friend, so I got in. Of course, she immediately shut the lid and sat on it, trapping me inside. I have a fear of inclosed spaces to this day. Years later, when I told my therapist this story she said, “Now we know who your first Dom was.”

What’s obvious as an adult, is that Jane liked younger girls because they were easy to manipulate. She probably wouldn’t have been able to get a kid her own age to climb into a toy chest, when she was so obviously itching to trap someone inside.

For a time, there was a intellectually disabled boy at this daycare center. Jane loved to torment this poor kid. While the other kids usually ignored him, she pretended to be his friend so she could torture him for her amusement. Her favorite game was tricking him into eating things that were not food — crayons, play dough, mud, etc. — by telling him they were chocolates or candy. She would also call him a retard to his face and teach him to say things like, “I’m a retard.” She devised a game called, “Retarded School,” where she, I, and whomever else we were playing with (always kids 2-3 years younger than her) would imitate and mock this poor boy. Luckily his parents didn’t keep him at the daycare center for too long.

A lot of Jane’s games were sexual. She liked to play “doctor.” She liked to tickle me and poke me between my legs with phallic objects, like a twirling baton. She got the jump on my parents by a few years when she told me all about the birds and the bees. She was also the one who told me that Santa and the Easter Bunny didn’t exist. She was a sadistic little girl. And I loved her so.

In retrospect, I realize that Jane, who had two teenage brothers and an alcoholic father her mother was separated from; was probably messed with at some point, which lead her to mess with me. No one just becomes a sadist intrinsically, at least not at eight years old. Or maybe they do? I mean I had no trouble falling into the role of her devoted punching bag/bottom bitch.

What’s interesting to me, is that somehow, I’ve been this “do whatever you want to me, just don’t leave me,” desperate, clingy doormat since I was six. Maybe even before then. Was I just born this way? If so, will I ever be able to fully transform into a healthy person that a romantic partner can respect and love?

While I don’t know the answer to these questions, I do know that I am already changing. Slowly, I’m becoming someone that I love and respect. I don’t know what my future holds, but I do know that being able to love and respect myself is a prerequisite to finding a partner who will.

I lost touch with Jane when she went to middle school. I often wonder what she is doing now. Maybe she is in jail for manipulating her lover into murdering her husband, maybe she is a pro Domina, maybe she is a married born-again Christian with three kids, or maybe she is a special ed teacher. I’ve tried to look her up on Google and Facebook, but her name is too common. Oh well. Some mysteries are better left unsolved.

Advertisements

9 comments on “Jane

  1. First of all I love your writing style. Second, I’m really sorry you had to deal with this. Kids can be cruel but she sounds like a really sick person. I’m sure she had her own demons. I totally relate to the “do whatever you want to me, just don’t leave me” part. It’s the story of my life.

    • Imperfect says:

      Thanks, Love. Weirdly, I don’t even feel like this relationship was something to be “sorry” about. The little masochist that I was/am, I enjoyed the torture. I just hope it’s not indicative of my relationship future.

  2. lexiconlover says:

    I identify with this post so much. sorry you went through this hell.

    What happened to your Jane? She must’ve had a sex change and turns out to be my ex-Dom don’t cha know…. ’cause she sounds like the spitting image of him, right down to where he locked me in his basement under the rouse of asking me to fetch a can of spaghetti sauce on a pantry shelf. Bastard.

    I am confident that you will be able to fully transform into a healthy person that a romantic partner can respect and love. And so will I.

    As for all the Janes of the world, we are advised to throw them in our 4th step and pray for them. Least that’s what the Big Book suggests. But I’m so not there yet~

    • Imperfect says:

      Haha. What’s with sadists and their love of trapping people in tiny spaces? Years later, there was a male Dom (love how my computer always tries to autocorrect dom to “doom”) who tried to lock me in a closet. Having fallen for this trick once, though, I could recognize the look in his eye, and didn’t go for it.

  3. Indi99 says:

    Now that is a very telling experience that would likely bring Jane to tears if she ever would read it

    • Imperfect says:

      Hmm. You think? Memory is a fascinating thing. It would be interesting to hear grown-up Jane’s recollections of our friendship. Probably very different from my own.

  4. jess says:

    Thanks for this post…I can identify with a lot of it. I had an almost identical social situation in elementary, where I was a part of a trio of girls, and usually the one being singled out and bullied. Oh, the bliss, when it was the other girl’s turn to be bullied (there was a ringleader in our three, and she never got bullied, of course). I am 32, so that was over 20 years ago, and I still have dreams about that situation or variations of it. Having something like that happen during such a chaotic time developmentally affected me on a fundamental level, and I can see how it’s manifested in how I interact with others socially. It’s also, of course, found its way into my sex life…Fucking girls and their cruelty!

  5. Good post! I am getting some insight into possibly where my ex is coming from. It’s so sad that people hurt other people because of hurt inflicted on them and the vicious cycle continues. And so many more people are damaged and it just carries on and on. We can stop it though, one by one.

    My son did as a child, a horrible boy who used to make my son do things that got him in trouble or hurt, I ended up selling my house and moving because of him and his mothers refusal to do anything about the kid. He was just evil and if you gave him shit he’d just tell you to fuck off. I thought for sure he’d end up in jail. But my son ran into him recently (20ys later) and the guy is working and leading a normal life and they went for a drink together. It amazed me! That my son didn’t punch him out and that the kid wasn’t in jail.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s