scattered memories exist in my subconscious of the years after that first recollection of my life and the ones i am about to share. most of them full of creative play dates with my brother (sorry tanner for dressing you up like a girl) and meeting new friends at school (which, if you can believe, was difficult for me as i actually used to be quiet. long gone are those days!).

it was in these years of early development, however, that evil lies began to build a home that my innocent mind simply could not combat and that, truthfully, my adult mind has yet to let go of. sometimes it's difficult to part with things you know? they can be a source of comfort and stability even if they're not healthy. while these memories were the perfect breeding ground for terribly destructive thoughts, i can't seem to bring myself to throw them away because they have become a part of who i am. without these lies ... who might i be? who might i become? and most terrifying ... when the lies have been stripped away, will i find their stains to be so deep that they really have become my identity?

my last post contained a memory that only began the script. really, from that point things could have gone in a million different directions. but there were a few other incidents ... small and potentially insignificant ... that determined the direction and form these lies would take in my life. so they continue ...

i'm in my grandparent's living room ... a place of comfort and belonging ... i remember my aunt (whom i adored and worshiped as a child often does of their high school and college aged relatives) sitting in front of the active fireplace with her 80s perm, lace cuffed leggings and double-layered-multi-colored scrunchy socks. she was my hero in all of her neon glory. i don't remember doing anything specific in that moment, although plenty of home videos would allude to me prancing around, bossing my little brother around or doing both simultaneously with such grace ;) tanner, undoubtedly in his adorable four-year-old body was definitely either coloring (completely inside the lines), doing one of those wood puzzles in record time ... again ... or playing 'go fish.' what was unusual about this particular moment, however, was one phrase that has stayed with me my entire life ... "these kids are going to make millions. krysta will be a model and tanner will be a genius ..."

again, i don't have the context because i was quite young and was probably too self-indulged or distracted to sit long enough for the adult conversation that was taking place, but what i did hear began my quest to prove myself and my worth. it also began a very unhealthy pattern of despising compliments of my appearance and feeling as if i were being objectified (as will be touched upon in a later post). all i knew is that i was capable of being more. i knew that life would be grand if i could be a concert pianist, a writer with her big chief tablet in tow(or at least help my bff in elementary school become one), the first woman president or a really cool interior designer. from that point on, i would know how to gain the affection of those who were in the room that night ... i just had to stay pretty. but would spend the next twenty years proving that i'm more.

but the next morning, again, as with most of my memories, i found joy ... removing the confusion of my little mind that would later develop into great pain. but not yet! grandpa, tanner and i rose early, ventured to the local donut shop where many of the elderly gathered for their morning coffee and newspaper exchanges (hey, who else gets up that early on a saturday?) and shared laughter, donut holes, long johns and that yummy hot chocolate. we'd always take some back for grandma and marcia (my fabulous 80s aunt) ... who, probably to this day, loathes the memory of her punk niece and nephew waking her up so early every other saturday morning with overwhelming excitement for the maple long john that awaited her upstairs.

fast forward: tanner and i had been accepted into a magnet school in our neighborhood. it was the latest and the greatest in education in our district and we were pumped to be in the first batch of students. tanner had already managed to skip a grade (that conversation was a doosy with the rents) and by year two i'm pretty sure he was in like two (probably 5) grades higher in math than me. and to make matters worse the boy i was convinced i was in love with in fifth grade knew that i was the one whose younger brother was smarter than her. how embarrassing! but life went on and my chance to shine was quickly approaching. time came to write an autobiography. my divine moment. the moment i would prove my intelligence and gain a new title that would hopefully bump supermodel a few notches below my name. (of course being typecast the same year as vana white in our school play didn't help, but that was ancient history ... i had a mission!)

after slaving away at my life's work, printing each page on those stupid printers that only held paper with perforated edges (ugh), it was finally complete. i held my breath as the grades were submitted and, sure enough, i had done it ... 99%. what a relief! i remember being so excited to take it to grandma and grandpa's so everyone could see the comments and the bright red ink proclaiming my brilliance (kidding about that last part). in the same room that had fostered the words i loathed years prior, family member by family member reviewed my short novel. (and by reviewed, i mean politely flip the pages).

in a memorably proud voice, i hear, "so tanner, did you get a 100%?"

in a moment of utter devastation and raw pain, i made a vow to break all stereotypes. to prove what i was capable of. to dominate. be self-sufficient. and more tragically ... to emotionally disconnect forever in order to protect myself.

this was also the moment i knew my brother would be my biggest advocate and the most emotionally stable person in my life. because in the seconds following that brutal response to my hard work, the attention shifted to him and questions arose as to whether or not he, in fact, scored a perfect grade. and without skipping a beat, he looked at me with the most sincere eyes, looked down at the floor and said, "i'm not in that class."

as he walked over to me, he said, "i think you did a good job" and began reading the book that everyone else merely skimmed through. his love and tenderness almost saved me from hearing the response that haunted me the rest of that school year: "well, if you were, i bet you would have gotten a 100%."

oh if i would have stopped the lie then ... if i would have just believed in myself and listened to my brother, i wouldn't have kept coming back to the ever-so-present lie that i wasn't good enough. not for them. not for myself. and certainly not for the number of people who would affirm that lie in the years to come ...