Teenage Angst—Insecurities, Gullibility and Naïveté

“Self-Portrait-Age 17”  Chalk Pastel & Watercolor on Canson Paper.  12” x 18”  © 1977  Linnie Aikens Lindsay

Recalling high school for some people is like reliving their “glory days.” For me, it was one of the worst times of my life, not that anyone knew that at the time.  I didn’t lose myself to hiding my pain through drugs or marijuana, or joining the “stoners” on the “stoner wall” at Marshall High School.  I didn’t get drunk every Friday and Saturday night at the football games and parties, nor was I promiscuous. I didn’t hide with a hood pulled over my head, dye everything on my body black and write morose poetry.  I didn’t contemplate suicide.  I had lost some friends who did choose any number of these paths, their pain scarring my heart for many years to come. No; no one knew that I was barely surviving emotionally.

While I wasn’t popular in my own right, as fate would have it, my closest friends at each of my high schools were.  Looking back now, I wonder if accidentally being in the social limelight, even peripherally, was what protected me from being lost forever to my pain. Now, I am convinced that God had provided that safety net all along without me realizing until I was old and gray.

"Playing Opossum" Colored Pencil © 2023 Linnie Aikens Lindsay. Self Portrait of High School Mask

At school, my friends just thought of me as painfully shy instead, and were always trying to draw me out.  Facebook reconnections a multitude of years later, revealed that a few of the popular boys had actually thought I was cute and had wanted to ask me out but were afraid of “running the gauntlet” they said, meaning my two best friends and most popular girls at that school— the very revelation then, however, would have threatened my comfort zone of melting into the walls.  I was comfortable being wallpaper. When I’d moved from Burroughs High School in Burbank back to the Silverlake area mid-year of 10th Grade, to attend Marshall High School, I had no clue that I’d end up on top of sophomoric pecking order with the “Soshes & Jocks.”  Two of my closest friends for years from Silverlake Presbyterian Church, Kathy and Sandy, readily embraced me into this new echelon. The four of us, including Tricia, who attended Burbank High, had ruled the high school group at church. At least we thought so! When I’d realized I’d fallen into the A-List group at Marshall by default, all Tricia could say with an exaggerated shiver was, “better you than me!”

I may not have worn a hoodie, but I was in fact hiding.  Under a cloak of caution, weighing my words, pretending I didn’t know a lot more than I did, always afraid that someone would accidentally discover my secrets. This kept me so taut and careful, that I paradoxically naively believed everything anyone told me, and I feigned ignorance and innocence of anything that wasn’t rose-colored. While I don't ever remember any "mean girl" behavior prevailing on the "mound" where we all congregated and ate while the 1931 brick building was being retrofitted for safety, as a teenager, family and friends liked to tease me and pull pranks on me because I believed everything and everyone. In those days, it didn’t occur to me to be suspicious of anyone. In hindsight, I can see that I was predisposed to what others labelled gullibility because by nature I have always been open to believing anything was possible and looking at life and situations from all angles, not that I knew that then. It just didn’t occur to me to disbelieve. Call it my Scottish blood and an ancestry of magical faeries, kelpies, gnomes, broonies, selkies, merfolk and unicorns. It also didn’t occur to me to trust anyone. Believing in things I couldn't see and trusting that which I could see were two far different things in my mind.

"Mer-Faerie" Watercolor © 2024 Linnie Aikens Lindsay (The person I felt like hidden deep within.)

I spent most of my time trying to ignore the pain and self-loathing screaming inside.  I still observed everything going on, and I listened well—once born of curiosity as a child, perfected into a survival coping tool as a teenager. Ironically, I became the trusted confidant of many of the members of this “elite” high school clique.  Both girls and guys would pull me aside privately to share some struggle they were having at home or with relationships with peers. Wasn't that ironic, I now think! They’d learned that I was trustworthy with their secrets and really listened to them, with my heart on my sleeve. I was sympathetic to the point of experiencing empathy in a physical way. It had always been like that for me; I experienced others' pain personally. I was just too afraid to say anything, was perhaps closer to the truth, and I bore all of their emotional burdens as if they were my own. It was easier to bear theirs.  …Until it became unbearable under the weight of so many. I withdrew more into myself.  In time, I became known as an enigma. This weird phenomenon made others more curious about me and tease me even more in a gentle way.  I say gentle, because that’s how it felt compared to the “teasing” I’d learned to withstand at home growing up, but now, looking back with the benefit of age, I wonder if they’d considered me fragile all along.  If so, I am glad I didn’t know that then, then again, maybe it would have been just the push I’d needed to stand up and speak up for myself.  Instead, I continued to withdraw emotionally.

While I loved the academics, especially art, writing and history in high school, like everyone pretty much that I knew then, I was more concerned with the social aspect of those years—relationships, friendships and boys. I was completely consumed with how others saw me, being liked, having a boyfriend, and asserting personal independence. This phenomenon is still a defining element of the high school experience, even 50 years later.

As a shy teenager, with all sisters and aunts, I was inordinately uncomfortable and jumpy around boys, which is why my girlfriends simultaneously tried to insulate me to a degree while still "educating" me.  I did have the usual crushes like most teenage girls. My first crush was a boy from church, who, to my dismay, I’d later discovered when I moved to Marshall High School, was a “stoner” and into motorcycles, two things way out of the realm of my experience.  Still, I slept with his tiny school photo under my pillow in childlike schoolgirl crush behavior.  He was fascinated with my friend, Kathy, then later, my friend, Laurie, it turned out, no surprise in either case.  They were definitely “it girls.” The other one was a Los Feliz boy from a wealthy Jewish family, who was also into motorcycles, and the acid rock band, KIZZ (pronounce Kiss). Both “bad boys” and both unrequited, as would become familiar to my story going forward. Everyone has to fall for a "bad boy" at some point "they" say. I did actually get up the nerve to ask him to my prom, as he was a year older than me. He showed up at my door with his front tooth knocked out from a motorcycle crash that day. He'd also abandoned me to make out with some other girl at the prom, thus solidifying my already growing poor sense of self. Not his fault; he was just a kid like me and as a teenager, both prone to poor choices, and he a hormone-raging young man saddled with a goodie-two-shoes church gal in his opinion I am sure. Needless to say, when I’d accidentally stumbled upon my prom pictures every 5-8 years, the keepsake brought more grimace than fond memories! While I can be quite philosophical about it now, it's amazing how the shame I felt then can still rear its ugly head many years later at the memory.

I did have two dates in high school, not counting the prom.  The first was this older college guy who was the son of my mom’s friend.  I’d liked him as a friend and always thought him very nice but “a bit out there,” but my penchant for gravitating to the divergent thinkers, his ardent attention and the moms’ encouragement finally wore me down to accept.  Talk about an uncomfortable point in time for me.  He was into drugs too, I'd learned that night, although I thought he was weird enough not to need them. (Little did I know, I was weird too! Now I think "weird" is a good thing!) He took me to “Laserium,” a light show held at the Griffith Park Observatory near our homes in the 1970’s. The light show was “far out” but I was told you had to be on drugs to fully appreciate it, as it was hard rock music and a multi-colored laser-beam light show projected in multiple patterns in the dome of stars overhead.  Psychedelic was the word of the hour.  It was very popular in the 70’s and 10 years later, was the precursor to many Laseriums held around the USA and world, as well as the precursor to the 3-D light shows in Las Vegas and around the world today.   The first time I saw the old Apple Mac screen saver, “flurries,” I was thrown back to this experience, almost hearing the blaring hard and metal rock projected with 3-D light all around me. I understand the lazerium music of other shows also included the more woo-woo "Age of Aquarius" style, but I didn't luck out on that front!  Back then it was crazy weird, borderline traumatic, but I wasn’t into drugs so probably didn’t get the full appreciation of the experience.  My date tried to offer me some drugs for just that reason, which freaked out my timid little self even more. Then, when he took me to an underground rave, I realized for the first time that I had acute claustrophobia and high sensitivity to loud sounds.  When he tried to kiss me, I was nearly clawing to get out of there and be taken home. Again, not his fault at all; I was just not a good date; poor guy.  I’ve felt bad about how poorly I handled that ever since, for he truly was and is a very nice guy. Looking back, I realize we were still both kids just trying to figure ourselves out and navigating new territory, which for me, often felt like a mine field.

My second date was with the most popular guy in school, the student body president and “jock,” who asked me out. “What an honor!” I was told by my girlfriends. In actuality, he spent the whole night pleasantly grilling me for information about one of my best friends, and my thoughts as to whether or not she’d go out with him. Oh, he was very nice and solicitous to me, but my fanciful dreams of romance had been dashed.Those two experiences were enough for me.  Dating was NOT for me.  I was defective, it was clear to me, and well, guys were just not worth it were my conclusions. Turns out, this guy was and is a wonderful, accomplished and caring person, who I should have been honored to know then and am honored to know now.

"Ribbon Dancer & Gymnast" © 1990 Linnie Aikens Lindsay

  I threw myself into art and gymnastics, both individual, somewhat solitary endeavors. It was clear, I would never be the best at either; I’d started far later than most of my teammates who were really exceptional. They’d had all the support and advantages to pursue their passion and receive extra training for much of their formative years.  I wouldn’t let that stop me though. I became obsessive in my pursuit of excellence, constantly competing with myself to be the best.  Neither endeavors asked questions, and neither one my parents encouraged nor took much interest in them.  They were mine alone, two places where I could lose myself and prove that I had worth.

My friends valued me for these skills, and told me how talented, cute, smart, kind and caring I was, so I found a way to hide and compartmentalize my pain enough to enjoy the friendships, events and outings of the high school experience.  We did have a lot of fun in high school so it wasn’t so difficult. The clique in which I'd accidentally landed had provided lots of outings to football games, beach parties, dances, and TP-ing parties, where I'd essentially become either a bench-flower, sand-flower, or wall-flower, depending on the venue. Wallpaper, all. Still I was included and had a place to belong, even though in truth I'd still felt like an awkward girl looking on from the sidelines.

"Nadia's Song". Watercolor & Marker. © 2024 Linnie Aikens Lindsay (Nadia Comăneci, now retired Romanian gymnast  was my idol in Jr. and Sr. High School, small, quiet, oppressed, controlled but oh the beauty she created on the balance beam, uneven parallel bars and on floor exercise mat! I connected deeply with her, or what I knew of her, somehow feeling we were kindred spirits, sentiments which inspired this painting. The white unpainted lines mirror the gymnastic movements that felt were like extensions of our bodies, given the hours of practice, the blue line the grace carried in our hearts.) )

Now I wonder how many of my classmates were feeling the same inside and none of us saw or suspected it because we were so blinded by our own pain, insecurities and fears? The teenage years  certainly were filled with untold angst for a lot of us, I’ve since learned. Still, we survived it and became stronger for it, I'd like to think! Approaching my winter years now, I am grateful I have a little more grace for myself and am able to accept my mistakes, missteps and misunderstandings as the path that I personally had to travel to become the woman I am now, the woman I feel I was meant to be.

While many of my friends went on to make amazing names for themselves and would leave a positive mark on the world, just getting through high school was an accomplishment for me. One became a chief of police, another a CNN anchorwoman, several movie industry members: actors, movie producers, gaffers, movie cameramen, and president the Screen Actors' Guild. Many had become business owners, lawyers, judges, doctors, one the football coach for the Kansas City Chiefs, professional writers, artists, photographers, musicians, and chefs. Some made their mark on the world as law enforcers, lawmakers, politicians, real estate mogels, ranchers, etc. Several of us became career teachers, leaving our marks on the lives of generations to come, so I cannot say the angst of high school was debilitating in the end. Most of us lived through it and took the lessons learned there to evolve better people eventually. Aging is a gift and blessing in many ways.

"Gift for a Friend at 15" Pencil. ©1977 Linnie Aikens Lindsay. (In 2026 one of my two best friends at Marshall High School sent me a photo of this drawing I'd done for her as a gift when we were 15 and I'd spent the summer living in Big Bear Lake, CA. I had no idea she'd framed it and has had it on her wall ever since! I was incredibly touched! We may never know the footprints we leave on others' lives when we're young.

For those of you parents of High Schoolers, feel free to share my story, for it could be the story of anyone really, so common are the themes I have learned over time. For those in high school, know that "this too shall pass." For those who suffer high school and those who glory in the limelight, I encourage you to reflect later and take the lessons you gained, not just intellectually, but relationally and emotionally as well, and use them to create a person you know you were meant to be. Give each other grace for the mistakes made during this emotionally exhausting phase of life, and be grateful that you were able to experience so much—the joys and the struggles both.

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Note: All artwork, stories and observations posted within should be credited to the author, Linnie Aikens Lindsay (unless cited in the post). Permission is required for any use of my words or artwork. Taken from my work, "My Life As Wallpaper Art".