Why do I care so much?

I have a problem.  I'm the middle child.  I'm also the only girl in my family.

I have an inherent need for folks to like me.  For people to get along.  For everyone to feel included and no one to feel left out or like their voice hasn't been heard.

I grew up in the military.  One of the things my father used to remind me before I'd leave the house for a friend's sleepover (or whatever) was that I represented Americans (we lived overseas for six years), the Marine Corps, and my family.  I was not to let any of them down.  I knew the importance of making a good impression, knew that I reflected the type of people my parents were.  I knew there could be ramifications for my father and his career based solely on my behavior.  I saw plenty of fathers get fired or demoted simply because their kids made poor decisions.  I did not want to embarrass my parents!

So I learned to care what other people thought of me.  To be honest, I've never completely understood these folks who claim that they are uber confident and therefore don't care what anyone thinks of them.  Everyone cares...at least a little bit.  You'll never convince me otherwise.

So, back to my point: I care what other people think about me.  That in and of itself is really not a problem.  The problem is the extent to which I care.  I care a lot.  I dwell on things that happened years ago like it was just yesterday.  I worry about why people developed that impression of me and how things might have been different if they had a different opinion of the person I was/am.

You're probably wondering where in the heck all this is coming from, aren't you?!

Well, every now and then, I'll be talking to a person from my past, perhaps even someone I was never really close to, and I'll make a discovery.  I'll find out about a rumor that went around the high school about me, or a discussion someone had about me, or just anything in general.  And it grates at me.  Even though it's way in the past.  Even though I shouldn't care.

But I do.  I can't help it.  I care so much that I wish I could go find all those people who might have heard whatever rumor however many years ago and set them straight.

I try to remind myself that much of this stems from the fact that I was from a military family.  We moved every three years, so I was frequently the new girl at school.  I went to three high schools, and high schoolers are notorious for spreading rumors and being cruel to each other in order to boost their own popularity.  The New Girl is always a bit of a mystery.  People typically wonder about her.  And from this mystery spring stories, assumptions, and rumors.  Some of it might be true, some of it might be complimentary.  But often, it's derogatory, making her even more of an out-cast than she already is.  Case in point:  My senior year people referred to me as The British Girl, and as The girl from New Jersey, Montana, and even South Dakota, three states I'd never even visited!  It all became a joke by graduation, but I got a kick out of people coming up to me and saying, "Oh, you're that new girl from Montana, right?"  I'd tell them no, that I'd actually only moved from Northern Virginia, two and a half hours away.  Inevitably, they'd tell me that either I was lying and I really was from that state I'd never stepped foot in, or that they must be thinking of someone else.  Mind you, and I might be wrong, but I'm almost certain I was maybe one of three new people in my class that year.  Maybe.  I have have even been the only one.

Anyway, back to my point....

I lived in London for grades 8-10.  The school I went to (an American school, mind you) was middle and high school combined.  There were only 250 students.  Rumors were awful.  Cliques were awful.  Some people said some horrible things about me and published them in an underground newspaper.  I thought it was the worst thing that would ever happen to me (it wasn't, but I was 15).

I moved to Northern Virginia for 11th grade.  We moved back into the same house I'd lived in for grades 2-4. I went to school with a lot of the same people, though we'd lost touch in the six years I'd been in Japan and England.  I pretty much made a whole new group of friends and really didn't hang out with the people I'd known before.  Many of my clothes were purchased overseas (hello...that is where I lived!) but people thought I was a snob and thought I was full of myself.  I didn't understand.  Was I supposed to lie when people asked me where I got my killer black boots?  Was I not supposed to tell them I bought them in Germany?  I can't help it that my track team had a race over there; we were sorta limited in where we competed since we had to go where there were other American schools.

Senior year I moved to Chesapeake (near Virginia Beach).  I was devastated that I had to move my last year of high school.  But I met a great group of girls and had a wonderful year.  Sure, there was the typical high school drama.  There were teenage girl crises.  But it was a great year.  I was one of a handful of students from my class who went to college out of state.  So, just as quickly as I swooped in, I swooped right back out again.

Yet I always thought, for the most part, that people liked me.  I was proud of the fact that I wasn't at the center of any high school scandal at any of the schools I'd attended.  I was happy that even though we'd lost touch over the years, all the friends I'd made were genuine.

In the years since, however, every now and then something resurfaces that makes me question exactly how genuine those friendships were.  I'll find out that someone I thought I was always nice to really thought I was a bitch and a snob.  We'll reconnect in some random way and in conversation, something along the lines of "Ya know, I have no idea why I thought you were so stuck up in high school.  I didn't even know you." will come up.  And I'll be upset for weeks!  Or someone will randomly start an online chat with me and in a round-about way as we're comparing who's gotten married or had a baby and what people are up to these days, they'll find out that a rumor or accusation someone made about me was never anywhere close to true.  And for months I'll wonder if that is why a certain group was overly catty to me.  Or I'll be browsing some throw-back pictures someone posted on Facebook and there will be a comment about a huge argument my then best friend and some one else had about me.  What was the argument about?  When?  Why?  What did I do?  Or not do?

And now I'm stewing about it.  Because I always want people to like me.  Because I'm the middle child.

Yes, I have some high school friends who read my blog.  But given the fact that I went to three different schools, these situations happened at at least two.  I will not divulge names or specifics.  I don't like drama or subscribe to talking about people behind their backs.  The simple fact is that this blog is my way of venting, and this week has been a pretty upsetting one for various reasons...