I Am as Vain as I Allow

My mom had to be bipolar. Some days she was praising me on how overall, I was a good student. Other days she'd remind me of the thing I'd done in the past that had disappointed her.

Sometimes I'd roll up my skirt. Sure, everyone did it so I felt left out if I didn't. But since I was mostly alone, I was the only one that was singled out for it. Hello detentions. I swear, every Thursday afternoon of my life was spent cleaning the chalk boards in that school.

It was kind of ironic. If I remember correctly, I was the smartest girl in my grade, but yet I got the most detentions. I probably thought I was too good to follow rules.

Some days I remember coming home from school and if my mom was in a bad mood, she'd tell me it looked like I'd been packing on the pounds. My response: I'd go to my room and eat three Heath bars. See, back when I usually didn't feel so good about myself, I would eat my problems away.

I struggled with my weight, and though I was thin, it wasn't enough for me. I was a teen struggling for my peers' acceptance. And all teens at one time or another point their problems back to their weight.

The Convent of the Sacred Heart molded the best of the best girls from the wealthiest of the wealthiest families. That place can suck my metaphorical dick, let me tell you. Supposedly it was a Catholic school, but I don't remember anything Godly about the place besides religion class. The girls were trained to be nuns but most turned out like anorexic whores. Sure, there were some that actually cared about God and Jesus and all that jazz, but most of the girls were really less-than-moral. If you don't believe me, Paris Hilton went there too.

Maybe my struggle for acceptance into this world of superficial ideals prompted me to become who I am today..

Anyway, on rare occassions when my mom would be kind, I believe she really meant it. She spent the rest of her life being a bitch so she had to build up some nice once in awhile, right?

When I was thirteen or fourteen, somewhere around there, she said something that really stuck to me. It was probably the nicest thing she'd ever said to me, even if it wasn't really a compliment.

We were making dinner together one night, something we did often, and I was humming some pop song from back then.

"Stef?" she said.

I stopped humming. "Yeah?"

"I know you're having a hard time fitting in at school and..."

"How did you know?" I interjected.

"Your father tells me," she explained. I told my dad everything of course, because I could. "And you don't really go out much. You don't go to parties or the movies or hang out with anyone, and it's noticeable." Thanks, mom.

"Yeah, well I don't really like anyone at school anyway," I replied, feeling slightly hurt.

"You know they're just jealous," she said.

I didn't reply. I didn't turn around to look at her.

"You're smart, you're beautiful, you're ambitious. I've heard some of the things you write, Stefani, and they really are good. Don't try and tell me you don't plan to go anywhere in life," she placed her arm around my shoulder.

"Why else would you want to send me to Juilliard?" I mumbled.

She sighed. "Sacred Heart was the next best thing. We just didn't have the money."

"Sure," I said softly and continued what I had been doing.

"You're different," she said, and that was the end of the conversation.

They had wanted to send me to Juilliard, the most famous music school in the world, when I was 11. I was sent to crappy Catholic school instead. Once again, thanks mom.

But that night, after dinner, I went to my room and thought over what she had said. Is that why they made fun of me? Could they really be jealous? I mean, why would they be? They had all that money could buy them, but yet.. they were all the same. That was just it..

The truth is, and the truth always was - I'm different.