correct yourself. “I mean, I’m going to miss you .”
You scratch at the weird rash down by your ankle. It’s a bizarre array of red dots and circles. It isn’t bright; just sort of looks like faded markers. You hate it because it makes you imperfect. You also hate the idea of leaving Joe, even though you’re super psyched about the future right now, and about getting out of the split-level house with the ugly brown couch. You’re ready to leave the entire town of Bedford, New Hampshire, behind—because it seems to be nothing but rich people (except, that is, for you).
Joe is the “younger man”—which sounds pretty naughty, but isn’t. He’s a year behind you in school though, so you’ll be going to college first.
And because it’s one of the weaker scenes in the movie, and because, even though something awful happened at that party, you and Joe are hormonal monsters, you start to make out. Kissing Joe is like kissing sunlight. It energizes you, makes you all shaky inside, like you’re doped up on a caffeine IV or something crazy like that. When you kiss him, you can smell him, and he smells clean, like white soap and Lubriderm moisturizer (which claims to be fragrance-free but totally smells). Yourlips seem like they’re magnetized, like they can’t help but be drawn toward his, and everything is right in the world…until IT happens. You’re inhaling that smell when he breaks away and says, “Your lips are kind of dry.”
“Oh!” you grab for your Pepsi. “Sorry!”
You remember taking a sip…holding the can…hand shaking in this weird, rhythmical way…Joe grabbing the can, his eyes all soft and concerned…his voice sounding far away. “You okay?”
That’s all you remember.
Bruce Link wrote, “Stigma exists when a person is identified by a label that sets that person apart and links that person to undesirable stereotypes that result in unfair treatment and discrimination.”
The first step comes when people realize that others are different from themselves. They give those differences “labels.” Next, culture determines that those people with certain characteristics are representative of everyone else who shares those characteristics, and a “negative stereotype” develops, which creates an “us vs. them” mentality. Finally, those who have been labeled begin to find themselves discriminated against.
There’s a massive history of people feeling ashamed of their epilepsy. Epilepsy was hidden. Epilepsy was a secret. Epilepsy was something to fear. Epilepsy was and is a stigma.
But you have it, Carrie. You have it, and it will be okay.
Remember, we define ourselves. Define yourself as awesome.
Carrie Jones is the internationally (and New York Times ) best-selling author of the Need series and other books. For more information about Carrie, please visit CarrieJonesBooks.com .
REGARDING YOUR COMMENDABLE DECISION TO LIVE
Mike Jung
Dear Teen Me,
It’s good that I’m sending you a letter from here in the future, because I know it’s not likely you’d trust me if I tried to talk to you in person. You don’t trust many people, and honestly, why would you? You’re fifteen, and fifteen, for you, was a monstrously bad year. Right now you can’t even remember a time when your life wasn’t all about bullies, bullies, bullies—they’ve verbally laid into you every day for the past four years, and it’s gotten physical more than a few times as well. That’s approximately a thousand days of hearing all the reasons why you’re such a catastrophic loser: your face, clothes, skin, hair, lack of athletic ability, fondness for role-playing games, awkwardness with girls, bookworm tendencies, and ethnicity are all fair game.
It’s also clear that no help is forthcoming. For example, there was that teacher who stood and watched through the locker room window as a cluster of bigger guys pushed you into a corner locker and showered you with racist, homophobic taunts, preventing
You scratch at the weird rash down by your ankle. It’s a bizarre array of red dots and circles. It isn’t bright; just sort of looks like faded markers. You hate it because it makes you imperfect. You also hate the idea of leaving Joe, even though you’re super psyched about the future right now, and about getting out of the split-level house with the ugly brown couch. You’re ready to leave the entire town of Bedford, New Hampshire, behind—because it seems to be nothing but rich people (except, that is, for you).
Joe is the “younger man”—which sounds pretty naughty, but isn’t. He’s a year behind you in school though, so you’ll be going to college first.
And because it’s one of the weaker scenes in the movie, and because, even though something awful happened at that party, you and Joe are hormonal monsters, you start to make out. Kissing Joe is like kissing sunlight. It energizes you, makes you all shaky inside, like you’re doped up on a caffeine IV or something crazy like that. When you kiss him, you can smell him, and he smells clean, like white soap and Lubriderm moisturizer (which claims to be fragrance-free but totally smells). Yourlips seem like they’re magnetized, like they can’t help but be drawn toward his, and everything is right in the world…until IT happens. You’re inhaling that smell when he breaks away and says, “Your lips are kind of dry.”
“Oh!” you grab for your Pepsi. “Sorry!”
You remember taking a sip…holding the can…hand shaking in this weird, rhythmical way…Joe grabbing the can, his eyes all soft and concerned…his voice sounding far away. “You okay?”
That’s all you remember.
Bruce Link wrote, “Stigma exists when a person is identified by a label that sets that person apart and links that person to undesirable stereotypes that result in unfair treatment and discrimination.”
The first step comes when people realize that others are different from themselves. They give those differences “labels.” Next, culture determines that those people with certain characteristics are representative of everyone else who shares those characteristics, and a “negative stereotype” develops, which creates an “us vs. them” mentality. Finally, those who have been labeled begin to find themselves discriminated against.
There’s a massive history of people feeling ashamed of their epilepsy. Epilepsy was hidden. Epilepsy was a secret. Epilepsy was something to fear. Epilepsy was and is a stigma.
But you have it, Carrie. You have it, and it will be okay.
Remember, we define ourselves. Define yourself as awesome.
Carrie Jones is the internationally (and New York Times ) best-selling author of the Need series and other books. For more information about Carrie, please visit CarrieJonesBooks.com .
REGARDING YOUR COMMENDABLE DECISION TO LIVE
Mike Jung
Dear Teen Me,
It’s good that I’m sending you a letter from here in the future, because I know it’s not likely you’d trust me if I tried to talk to you in person. You don’t trust many people, and honestly, why would you? You’re fifteen, and fifteen, for you, was a monstrously bad year. Right now you can’t even remember a time when your life wasn’t all about bullies, bullies, bullies—they’ve verbally laid into you every day for the past four years, and it’s gotten physical more than a few times as well. That’s approximately a thousand days of hearing all the reasons why you’re such a catastrophic loser: your face, clothes, skin, hair, lack of athletic ability, fondness for role-playing games, awkwardness with girls, bookworm tendencies, and ethnicity are all fair game.
It’s also clear that no help is forthcoming. For example, there was that teacher who stood and watched through the locker room window as a cluster of bigger guys pushed you into a corner locker and showered you with racist, homophobic taunts, preventing
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