My success has been my curse. I’ve suffered from middle child syndrome my whole life. It’s not enough that nobody cares about the troubles I’ve had, as nobody cares about the successes I have experienced, either.
This was definitely the case for me as an undergrad in college. My older brother and I were both the first in our extended family, both mom and dad’s side, to go to something bigger than a local community college, yet I don’t remember anyone ever asking me how that was going with my studies, academics, what I was learning, none of it.
Because I was impoverished as a youth, I had to work literally 7 jobs at one point (YES, I had 7 W2s in the year 2000), plus sold pot on the side, just to eat and pay my bills. I didn’t even have a car until I was 21 years old, which was a hand me down clunker with 140,000 miles on it and was unsafe to drive— it would rattle if you got it above 2nd gear, and the freeway was just dangerous. Meanwhile, my roommates all had allowances while at college, had parents come visit them regularly, take them shopping, and judged me for working in the school cafeteria. I overcame so much just to make it to college, let alone be successful.
When I made the Dean’s List 7 semesters in a row as an undergrad no one congratulated me, nor even acknowledged it. No one even asked how I was doing in school. I would just receive the award in the mail and file it away in some folder. Just another brick in the wall.
In 8th grade I set the record at my junior high for highest batting average on our undefeated time. I hit .750 with a ton of power, yet batted 8th. The coach wasn’t even aware of my average until he was reading stat lines at our awards banquet. Then he bragged about that for years, including to my younger brother’s team a few years later.
Currently, this quarter at work I am 2nd in the company in sales, coming off of my biggest month ever, and a 16 day sales streak, which is unheard of, and my team nominated someone else (granted, he is the #1 guy) for recognition and bonus money. This sucks because I’m having a killer quarter and am stuck behind Babe Ruth. Even worse, the 2 honorable mentions receive $500 cash bonuses, but all my team’s votes went to Babe. I was telling my sales manager about this– how I’ve worked from home for the last 7 years, and since I work 10-11 hour days every day, I don’t really venture out or have a social circle any longer. My fiancee who I live with is equally as busy as a middle school teacher. She isn’t my biggest cheerleader at all. I have a hard enough time to just get her to ask me how my day went. I celebrate all these work successes on my own. Just me and the dog. My manager told me that sounds so ‘sad’. If she only knew.
I can go on with how little people have given a shit about my life’s success. I created and ran a mentoring program for at-risk youth, I earned 2 Masters, I am published in 4 different literary genres (people have paid money for my work), career achievement after achievement, yet not a peep from my stakeholders. I collect degrees, certifications, and successes like they are a hobby, and no one gives a shit. My mom still gets second opinions about my basic math calculations.
Every goal I have set out for I have accomplished. I’ve been that dude in pretty much every avenue I have walked down academically, in sports, socially, at work, you name it. Yet, I can never be good enough for my internal circle. I’m not even misunderstood— I am literally just neglected. It’s not like I’m quiet or shy. I’m one of the loudest and most social people you’ll meet. You can’t miss me. It’s so frustrating.
Let me take this back– there is an area I did receive a lot of attention and kudos with. My undergrad years I was labelled as The Big Man on campus, but not for any of the above mentioned reasons. I was The Big Man on campus because no one partied harder or was as prolific at it then I was. The tolerance for substance abuse was unmatched. I was always in the circle. Nightly. Every circle. Every round of drinks. Every round of shots. Every rolled joint or packed bong. Every line of coke or key bump. I was there banging away at it. With the women my appetite was legendary. It wasn’t a matter of if, but who, where, and how many. My friends would joke that I had the ‘sixth sense’ for finding willing women. And these weren’t the 2am specials. My confidence, charisma, and reputation were unmatched. And I knew people everywhere I went. Being not just present, but successful in so many circles brought with it fanfare when I would be out at pretty much any occasion. I was guaranteed to know people. I’d be visiting other colleges and walk into a party and know half the crowd. When the pro athletes or other celebrated people would be at the same spot I happened to be in, they’d gravitate to me. I had so many amazing experiences, yet all those were superficial and only tied to not my great personality, but more so my desire to not be stuck in my head. I needed to be distracted, wasted, drunk, or knee deep in a woman to escape thinking about the trauma that I experienced as a kid. I just happened to be really good at it, and this garnered attention, which led to more experiences and opportunities of this sort, wash-rinse-repeat.
A Dollar Out of Fifteen Cents 