From Chapter 11 of "Please Stop Laughing at Me..."

"I’ve been blessed. Despite getting knocked down so many times, God keeps putting people in my corner at just the right time who give me the courage and strength to come out for one more round. Often, the opponent isn’t another fighter, but my own self-doubt. Though sometimes it feels like I’m alone in the ring, I know now that’s an illusion. In the movie Rocky with Sylvester Stallone, no matter how badly Rocky gets hurt, he always has Mick (played by Burgess Meredith), believing in him. I have lots of Micks in my life—my parents and family, Annie and her crowd, my friends in Santorini, and caring adults such as Ms. Linstrom and Heleni.

I think about other outcasts, like Noreen, who don’t have that kind of support. I wish I could help them. Their lives revolve around high school, but they need to realize that we’ll graduate soon and the wounds we’ve sustained at the hands of our classmates will eventually heal and become scars.

When I asked Dr. Kalen about the human body’s healing process, he told me that scar tissue is much stronger than regular skin. I believe the same is true of the human spirit. Some of the country’s most successful people—musicians and moguls, authors and actors—were teen misfits, too. The heartache they endured at school defined their character and determination. Perhaps if they had it easy, they wouldn’t have become who they are today.

When you’re a victim of any kind of abuse, you can do one of two things. You can learn how to turn your pain into purpose and make a difference in the world, or you can allow it to extinguish the light inside you. If you permit the latter, you are sacrificing far more than your childhood to the cruel gods of popularity.

Today, I’m celebrating the fact that I’ve survived my junior year. Summer vacation is finally here, and my two-week speech and writing workshop begins tomorrow. Mom, dad, and I are driving down to Eastern Illinois University this afternoon.

“Jodee, let’s get a move on,” dad yells from the kitchen. “We’ve got a three-hour drive ahead of us.”

“Coming,” I call back to him, grabbing my knapsack and bounding downstairs.

My parents’ love has sustained me through the years. Sometimes I lay in bed at night reflecting on the stress I’ve caused them. Though they never talk about it, I know my problems have put a strain on their marriage. I also believe that they blame themselves that I’m an outcast. Dad feels the most guilt. I think he worries that if he hadn’t been away from home so much when I was growing up, maybe things would have been different. What he and mom don’t recognize is that I’m my own person and always have been. They couldn’t have changed who I am even if they had wanted to. Mom and dad accomplished something important, however. They taught me self-respect and compassion for others by setting a strong example of both. Not once in my life have I questioned whether or not they love me. There have been moments when I don’t believe I am worthy of their love. But I never, ever worry that they’ll stop loving me. I wish I could do more for them."