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lables

You’ll Grow Out of It

This is a guest entry from I, Asshole for the month-long blogathon to help support Scarleteen!

I’ve never liked labels. If there is some kind of personal box to fill out on a form, there is this pathological part of me that will either make something up (Occupation: Flenser), or if I am in a confrontational mood, will write, "NONEYA, OK?” That’s my label: "label-rejector." I know, I know. I am rolling my eyes at myself. I think this is because it was very rare that I was given a label that was followed with, “Okay, now you go stand over there, with all the other people who are like you.”

I was raised in an environment where I felt like I didn’t belong. This wasn’t really anyone’s fault. I just really didn’t belong. I was given some innocuous labels: outgoing, loves to entertain, a social butterfly. There were the less-positive ones, too: wasted potential, weirdo, voted by my graduating class as Most Likely to Relocate to Mars (hey, it turns out Seattle is Mars). I did not know what to

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