It’s Your Party And I’ll Die If I Want To

It was 1981.

It was the year of MTV music channel, Charles and Diana and Bucks Fizz.

It was also the year that we moved house. So for me, it was shit.

I was struggling before we moved and being in a strange house and having to start a new school where I knew NOBODY made matters one hundred times worse. One of the memories that stands out is having to stand in the middle of the classroom while the entire class were forced to introduce themselves to me one by one. This was the idea of my new class teacher, a frizzy haired man beast who quite frankly was a sadist. I stared at my trainers and turned a non-flattering shade of crimson..

I just wanted the ground to swallow me up.

Or for the fire bell to go off.

Neither happened because God apparently hates me.

Now, at school when it came to girls, there were Weirdos, Normals and Bitches. Weirdo’s sometimes mixed with Normals but NEVER with Bitches. Bitches would mix with Normals if there was anything in it for them, like copying homework.

One of the Normals invited me to her party. She lived just across from us. I didn’t want to go but Mum felt that I needed to make some friends so she practically frogmarched me across to the girl’s house.

The party was in the garage. Yep, I wondered about that too but in hindsight when faced with a load of pre-teen girls cart-wheeling perilously close to your Wedgwood collection you kind of see the brains behind the plan.

My heart sank when I saw some Bitches had also been invited. They were all wearing satin trousers because that was the fashion of the year. The girl who’s party it was, was also wearing satin trousers. In contrast Mum had picked out for me (her TOMBOY daughter) a hideous skirt teamed with yellow top and cardi combo. I felt about as comfortable as fly in it’s final death throes after being Nippon’d!

ALL the girls had long hair. There was a sameness about them. Like sheep. No originality, you know? I envied their hair though because Mum had yet to allow me to grow mine. My hair was short (ish) with one side that permanently stuck out.

It’s not that I wanted to look like they did because I don’t do fashion. I just wanted to wear what I felt comfortable in which were my brother’s tops and a pair of old jeans but Gestapo trained Mum was having none of my ‘crap’.

So skirt and cardigan it was.

The girl’s mum tried to get me to join in with dancing and stuff but I just stared at her vacantly while my brain short-circuited so she gave up sodded off back inside, no doubt to wonder what her daughter was doing inviting such a misfit to her party.

I was the life and soul that day. Not.

I couldn’t dance (not that I can anyway)

I couldn’t eat.

I don’t think I actually moved the entire time I was there.

I didn’t drink in order to avoid having to ask where the loo was.

I couldn’t even enjoy the music.. mainly because it was naff party type music, therefore shite.

So it wasn’t the best experience of my life..

Needless to say the Bitches threw some hostile looks my way whilst having a giggle over my clothes.

I secretly hoped one (or all) would choke to death on a sausage roll.

The thought that’s haunted me all these years is why I didn’t just go home? I could see my house. It was literally yards away from where I was standing. I could see my mum having a fag in the back garden. She was enjoying the sunshine oblivious to the fact that her daughter was in some kind of satin infused HELL.

All I had to do was propel myself forwards but I couldn’t move..

Thing is, I was brought up to be polite and by the age of 11 my manners were instilled and I think that’s why I couldn’t just walk off. Excusing myself would involve having to speak and I was struggling to breathe, let alone speak, so I just stood there like an idiot. When the first parent turned up, the girl’s mum took pity on me and told me I could go if I liked..

If I liked?

I was through that garage door quicker than a greyhound out of a trap!

Back to my home.

Back to my sanctuary.

To most little girls a party is the thing of dreams. A chance to dress up and be pretty. To me, it was something to endure. AN ABSOLUTE NIGHTMARE!

Mum never knew the real me. Sadly, she died not knowing. She saw extreme shyness, a loner and a girl who was never fully present but had no idea of what was really happening because I struggled to verbalise it. I was one of MANY girls from my generation who were misunderstood and suffered as a consequence. Maybe that’s you too?

46 years later, I know who I am and I’m proud of little me for hanging in there that day and not puking all over the garage floor. GO ME!

As for the Bitches..


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12 thoughts on “It’s Your Party And I’ll Die If I Want To

  1. Aaaagh! It sounds like torture, but I think a lot of neurotypical (go me with the big words) kids wouldn’t think to go home in that situation either due to being well brought up. I know I wouldn’t have done and I don’t think my kids would either. I so recognised the normals, weirdos and bitches thing. We also had cool kids who were nicer than bitches. I was a normal but weird enough to get on with the weirdos and could also get on with some of the nicer cool kids, but not the bitches! The bitches would accept the cool kids. School is a minefield, isn’t it?
    So sorry your mum didn’t get to know the real you 😦 X

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Such a sad hard to read blog Tracy. Not conforming to the ‘norm’ whatever ‘normal’ is……just being different and you get bullied, either physically, emotional or passively. Maybe your mum knew of your troubles and tried to take the easy step just to get you to fit in, not that it was a good way to go about it. It’s actually wasted years of dread, happy being you in your own space but terrified of the outside world and most of those who where around you.
    However you survived and are a survivor, married with kids and grand kids, they love you for you. Friends on social media love you for you…….who knows how happy the ‘bitches’ are right now? I wonder if they ever ponder on how miserable they made you and I bet a lot of others? Let’s hope karma bites them on their bums bloody hard!😉
    Big loves 😘❤️xxxxx

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks Sheerie, I often wonder if they think of how they treated, not only me, but others too. I hope they’ve developed a conscience over the years. No, Mum never knew how deep the problems were. I was only able to tell her about the bullying a few years ago and she was mortified that she didn’t know but I hid it all so well, as a lot of autistic girls do. Thank you so much for reading and commenting. Lufs you xxxx


  3. It’s strange because my daughter was invited to lots of parties and sleepovers and didn’t really enjoy them – in fact we had to pick her up from a few early…including her Prom!- because she never felt like she should really be there. At school you have to find your “Tribe” and if you didn’t feel like you belonged, then you would feel alone. My daughter chose the oddballs – the kids who didn’t belong in the cliques you’ve described. I’m sure if you asked there would be many of those girls who would be horrified to have been classed as bitches. It’s all a big front in school. I’m sorry that this particular event was obviously so traumatic to you that you remember it so vividly. When you have a daughter it is hard when you see them struggle, and must be worse if they’re the one being the bitchy one! I’m quite glad we are passed all that, although my daughter is still convinced that everybody dislikes her. They don’t, she just thinks that way.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I like your daughter. She sounds like a good soul..
      Trust me, when I use the word ‘Bitch’ it’s apt. Those were the girls who used to stick their feet out and trip people up for fun or they would tell the hardcore bullies in the year above where people like me could be found. Then they would stand there giggling while we were abused and it is abuse. People like me never forget that sort of stuff because it sticks in the psyche. *twitches* X


  4. That teacher what an absolute wanker, I can literal just feel them feelings that you must of felt, that is what I dream as hell. I have experienced similar situations even with knowledge of autism then people are still cunts, It is great you are so self aware, one of the hardest lessons to do in life is learn who you are X

    Liked by 1 person

  5. “To most little girls a party is the thing of dreams. A chance to dress up and be pretty. To me, it was something to endure. AN ABSOLUTE NIGHTMARE!”

    This is exactly how I always felt. I didn’t even go to my high school dance at the end of my school career. Parties and celebrations are torture! Actually most social situations are.

    Liked by 1 person

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