STICK WITH ME PAST THE BRIEF TECHNICAL STUFF! I'm writing "Part 1" because this is a big post I'll have to split up. When I say, "Society," I'm talking human beings. If I typed, "The World," that would include animals, trees, etc. How I see "rocks and plants" isn't my intention with this post so I'll continue.
I'll be boring (probably even more than usual) for a few paragraphs in explaining the Xs and Os of what society is to me from an anthropological and sociological perspective. If you haven't already closed this page, read on. From an anthropological view, humans are motivated by gut instincts such as procreation and the urge to satisfy our needs for food, water, etc. The sociological view of humans is that we form into groups of similar people to satisfy our need for belonging, protection and emotional and spiritual happiness. This is why we form into groups with people of similar religious and political views, as well as groups over things like our favorite sports teams, favorite TV shows, etc. Though humans often like arguing their positions, no one wants to argue all the time. We seek peace and calm, often with family members (the smallest group there is.)
HANG IN THERE! So humans are motivated by gut, physical needs and the physical, emotional and spiritual needs that come from group interaction and participation. STA?Y WITH ME! I've posted his information to give you, the reader, the sense that I know what I'm talking about when it comes to what society is. My perspective isn't distorted and my post isn't a "Society sucks man!" kind of thing that comes from not having a clue what society is.
OKAY. My perspective: I was born in Louisville, KY, in 1973. My family and I considered ourselves at least somewhat "Southern" though I had no idea what that really meant at the time. In 1983, we moved to Wisconsin. I was attacked for being "Southern" by Northern people who are as bigoted and hateful about such things as Southern people are supposed to be (and often are.) For the first time in my life, I learned what it was to be an absolute outcast. Only a few peers in my world came close to defending me. That said, I was far from perfect myself. Some peers wanted to be friends with me but I didn't really click with them. I wasn't completely alone but I went from a great communal feel in KY to being in Siberia in Wisconsin. I'm not saying KY is better than WI, just that I was in a family and community atmosphere from where I was born. That didn't exist where I moved to. So now I'm hated and insulted and rejected and physically assaulted just a few short months after I had friends and extended family and emotional happiness in another place. I leaned some devastating lessons in life's jungle at 10 years of age. I learned what crushing sadness is; I learned what terror is; I learned what loneliness is; I learned how sick group mentalities and bigoted humanity can be; I learned powerlessness and hopelessness; I learned deep humiliation and self-loathing; I learned to hate myself and everything that I was. I learned how evil the world can be because, when you're 10 years old, the world is everything that you experience. I've had to fight and struggle to survive from a very young age in this thing called "society." That is my perspective.
Part 2 will come soon. THANKS FOR READING.
Keeping in mind that we're all animals when it comes to our motivations,
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
My early years of being bullied and humiliated
This is hard for me. I'm trying to organize my thoughts and feelings properly and I'm finding it difficult. I'm 42 and have been in therapy for years and I'm feeling angry and very agitated about writing about my experiences of emotional abuse suffered at the hands of classmates when I was between 10 and 16 years old. I have a lot of emotion stored up over it. I don't want to seem like a whiner or someone who just wants to dump his emotional problems on others. That said, I'll go into my story and end with my thoughts and feelings about how it effects me today.
I was born in Louisville, KY, in 1973. For ten years, I benefited from a close extended family and good friends in my home state and I was very happy and well socially adjusted. At age 10, my father was transferred to Wisconsin. I was a little torn about leaving home but took it as an adventure. For some reason, it didn't really bother me that much to leave. Wisconsin had a major league baseball team (we moved just outside Milwaukee) and I was VERY excited about that. I remember meeting some of my new classmates (it's fifth grade) the first few days. My Dad, a businessman, told me to shake their hands when I met them. This seems like good advice to me today but I suppose it's not how cool kids do things. My handshakes drew strange looks from my Wisconsin peers. I made a lame joke about the name of one of the people I met; not offensive, just lame. I remember a kind of sarcastic "okay" and feeling that I'd messed the whole thing up. Being a ten year old that loved to play, I went about socializing and hanging around other boys on break. I may as well have had leprosy. No one there wanted anything to do with me. I was from Kentucky and was thus, "a redneck." I had no clue what that even was yet I'm from the "South" so that means I'm a redneck. I was made fun of for my voice and for my walk. Three boys got together and mocked my walk right in front of me. I suppose the little bastards thought it would be funny. It really upset me. I couldn't talk or move without feeling self-conscious, like the eyes of the room were on me. I'll put this into context by saying that this never happened to me in Kentucky. I was some sort of oddball for these people in Wisconsin (oh, and I was in a Catholic school.) In between classes became a nightmare. Bullies would come and bump into me or insult and mock me. Certain classes were a nightmare if the bullies sat near me. In grade school, we had one group and that group went to all the classes. There was no escape. I wasn't very small but I wasn't a fighter. At break time, everyone played "smear the queer." I, to my horror, was the "queer." I'd be standing in the snow with the other boys playing football. They'd throw the ball to me (I didn't want it) and then gang tackle me. I tried to carry as many of them as I could before falling. Once, I sprained a finger being heaped on. I don't know why but I kept sitting near my bullies at lunch. While I was about to pass out from my sprained finger, my main bully kept calling me a jerk off to my face and high fiving his friend. I made it to my feet and was half carried out of the room because of the pain in my finger. That took place in the church basement where there were other incidents. I was garbage to that group. I was worthless. Wisconsin schools had a Secret Santa thing we didn't have in Kentucky. We drew people randomly. One girl drew me and loudly voiced her disapproval to her friends. She had drawn the school loser. I was devastated. Whenever I tried to get into a group discussion, I was mocked. I was like the court jester only I didn't get the joke. My bullies read my notes in class when I was in the bathroom and had plenty to mock me on when I came back. They talked about sexual slang terms to me knowing that I didn't understand them. There was the whole "What's a dick for?" thing, which is I think a joke from Spies Like Us. I didn't know the answer, just that I was being abused. They, of course, said "You don't know what a dick's for?!" I got called gay a lot so I guess that's what that meant. I used to ask my parents if they knew any of these. I even started watching movies trying to learn the slang terms, most of which were very dirty. We had a day when we did outdoor activities like a track and field meet. I tried to talk to others and was laughed at by a group of girls that were mortified I was near them. Oh, they made fun of my haircut too and my hair color (red.) It would be fine if any of this was good natured but it wasn't. It was all done to dehumanize and humiliate me. One girl, considered the nicest in school, attacked me in a gym class and half tore my shirt off. I sat down on the bleachers in shock. No one did anything. I can't remember how I got another shirt. Maybe the worst incident came in gym when we were playing dodgeball. I was having fun. I threw a ball and turned to go to the back line so I wouldn't get hit. I felt a tap on my shoulder. My main bully had crossed the line over to my side and threw a ball in my face from point blank range. Everyone in the gym laughed at me. Things got a little better by only by eighth grade (I learned how to make people laugh.) I remember I got home one day in eighth grade, four years after I'd moved there, and told myself that I'd finally had a day at school when I wasn't laughed at or insulted. My final humiliation in grade school came at the year book signings. Only a handful of people wanted to sign my year book. A few of those that did signed that I was a fucker or they were sad they knew me. When I moved on to HS, it started all over again as I was one of only two people from that Catholic school to go to a public HS. I survived, though I was always unpopular. However, I did have some friends, though they eventually back stabbed me.
Right now, I'm 235 pounds. If any of those people were in front of me this instant, I'd tear them to pieces. In fact, I want to go back there right now, at my current age and size, and see them when they were 10. I'd beat them all to death. Seriously. It's why I try not to think about or dwell on this stuff.
I've lived and relived certain moments of these years in brief flashbacks. I say "brief" because I don't linger on the memories. I get mad and it seems like a cycle. Every time I go to the gym, "I'm not going to be a victim today. I'm going to fight back today" is always in my mind. It always spurs me on to lift more weights and keep a surly "You're not going to fuck with me" attitude. Every time, it's like I'm about to go to school again, only this time I'll be ready. No one will mess with me anymore. These thoughts aren't always at the front of my consciousness. I try to have that attitude in general when I'm exercising but it's always traced to my upbringing. I work out to defend myself. Maybe if I'm bigger and stronger at age 42, I can go back in my mind and come to grips with the times I was abused and pushed around because I was nice and sweet and innocent. The problem is that I've long since moved far away from where I grew up. I wanted to leave. I didn't want to stay in a place where I had been hurt so much and I couldn't go on being angry in that place, almost looking for certain bullies from the past so that I could get even. That kid that kneed me in the leg in front of the other guys because I was "in his seat." That one that humiliated me in front of the other guys. I'd go through the motions of beating them up in my mind. I was consumed by anger and, sadly, feel that I still am at times. I haven't seen or talked to any of these people in years except for one. I called my main bully on the phone from Florida in 2005. I couldn't hold onto that hate anymore. I told him how he'd bullied me. He apologized sincerely. I don't think he thought about it one day after grade school. The victims are the ones that have to live with the hate and shame and humiliation every day. The bullies live in bliss.
Now that I've written this, I'm going to state that I've bullied others, too. While I was being bullied, I tried to bully other newcomers to my grade school from time to time. Sadly, I became a "social ladder" person. Anything to not be on the bottom. I grew up learning how to insult people to get the laughs of the group for me instead of against me. Maybe that's why I went on to minor in politics in college. All that just makes me look back at myself with even more shame that I mocked and laughed at others at times so that I wouldn't be the butt of the joke. All those jokes on the Simpsons about Bart's classmates ring very true to me. Oh, and no one wanted to sit next to me on the bus and they'd block the seats to keep me from sitting there. I forgot about that one.
In closing, I'm going to state the name of where I went to grade school. It was St. John Vianney in Brookfield, Wisconsin. Shame on everyone that worked there at the time. There was rampant bullying and horrible abuse and the principal and staff never did anything to protect the students.
I was born in Louisville, KY, in 1973. For ten years, I benefited from a close extended family and good friends in my home state and I was very happy and well socially adjusted. At age 10, my father was transferred to Wisconsin. I was a little torn about leaving home but took it as an adventure. For some reason, it didn't really bother me that much to leave. Wisconsin had a major league baseball team (we moved just outside Milwaukee) and I was VERY excited about that. I remember meeting some of my new classmates (it's fifth grade) the first few days. My Dad, a businessman, told me to shake their hands when I met them. This seems like good advice to me today but I suppose it's not how cool kids do things. My handshakes drew strange looks from my Wisconsin peers. I made a lame joke about the name of one of the people I met; not offensive, just lame. I remember a kind of sarcastic "okay" and feeling that I'd messed the whole thing up. Being a ten year old that loved to play, I went about socializing and hanging around other boys on break. I may as well have had leprosy. No one there wanted anything to do with me. I was from Kentucky and was thus, "a redneck." I had no clue what that even was yet I'm from the "South" so that means I'm a redneck. I was made fun of for my voice and for my walk. Three boys got together and mocked my walk right in front of me. I suppose the little bastards thought it would be funny. It really upset me. I couldn't talk or move without feeling self-conscious, like the eyes of the room were on me. I'll put this into context by saying that this never happened to me in Kentucky. I was some sort of oddball for these people in Wisconsin (oh, and I was in a Catholic school.) In between classes became a nightmare. Bullies would come and bump into me or insult and mock me. Certain classes were a nightmare if the bullies sat near me. In grade school, we had one group and that group went to all the classes. There was no escape. I wasn't very small but I wasn't a fighter. At break time, everyone played "smear the queer." I, to my horror, was the "queer." I'd be standing in the snow with the other boys playing football. They'd throw the ball to me (I didn't want it) and then gang tackle me. I tried to carry as many of them as I could before falling. Once, I sprained a finger being heaped on. I don't know why but I kept sitting near my bullies at lunch. While I was about to pass out from my sprained finger, my main bully kept calling me a jerk off to my face and high fiving his friend. I made it to my feet and was half carried out of the room because of the pain in my finger. That took place in the church basement where there were other incidents. I was garbage to that group. I was worthless. Wisconsin schools had a Secret Santa thing we didn't have in Kentucky. We drew people randomly. One girl drew me and loudly voiced her disapproval to her friends. She had drawn the school loser. I was devastated. Whenever I tried to get into a group discussion, I was mocked. I was like the court jester only I didn't get the joke. My bullies read my notes in class when I was in the bathroom and had plenty to mock me on when I came back. They talked about sexual slang terms to me knowing that I didn't understand them. There was the whole "What's a dick for?" thing, which is I think a joke from Spies Like Us. I didn't know the answer, just that I was being abused. They, of course, said "You don't know what a dick's for?!" I got called gay a lot so I guess that's what that meant. I used to ask my parents if they knew any of these. I even started watching movies trying to learn the slang terms, most of which were very dirty. We had a day when we did outdoor activities like a track and field meet. I tried to talk to others and was laughed at by a group of girls that were mortified I was near them. Oh, they made fun of my haircut too and my hair color (red.) It would be fine if any of this was good natured but it wasn't. It was all done to dehumanize and humiliate me. One girl, considered the nicest in school, attacked me in a gym class and half tore my shirt off. I sat down on the bleachers in shock. No one did anything. I can't remember how I got another shirt. Maybe the worst incident came in gym when we were playing dodgeball. I was having fun. I threw a ball and turned to go to the back line so I wouldn't get hit. I felt a tap on my shoulder. My main bully had crossed the line over to my side and threw a ball in my face from point blank range. Everyone in the gym laughed at me. Things got a little better by only by eighth grade (I learned how to make people laugh.) I remember I got home one day in eighth grade, four years after I'd moved there, and told myself that I'd finally had a day at school when I wasn't laughed at or insulted. My final humiliation in grade school came at the year book signings. Only a handful of people wanted to sign my year book. A few of those that did signed that I was a fucker or they were sad they knew me. When I moved on to HS, it started all over again as I was one of only two people from that Catholic school to go to a public HS. I survived, though I was always unpopular. However, I did have some friends, though they eventually back stabbed me.
Right now, I'm 235 pounds. If any of those people were in front of me this instant, I'd tear them to pieces. In fact, I want to go back there right now, at my current age and size, and see them when they were 10. I'd beat them all to death. Seriously. It's why I try not to think about or dwell on this stuff.
I've lived and relived certain moments of these years in brief flashbacks. I say "brief" because I don't linger on the memories. I get mad and it seems like a cycle. Every time I go to the gym, "I'm not going to be a victim today. I'm going to fight back today" is always in my mind. It always spurs me on to lift more weights and keep a surly "You're not going to fuck with me" attitude. Every time, it's like I'm about to go to school again, only this time I'll be ready. No one will mess with me anymore. These thoughts aren't always at the front of my consciousness. I try to have that attitude in general when I'm exercising but it's always traced to my upbringing. I work out to defend myself. Maybe if I'm bigger and stronger at age 42, I can go back in my mind and come to grips with the times I was abused and pushed around because I was nice and sweet and innocent. The problem is that I've long since moved far away from where I grew up. I wanted to leave. I didn't want to stay in a place where I had been hurt so much and I couldn't go on being angry in that place, almost looking for certain bullies from the past so that I could get even. That kid that kneed me in the leg in front of the other guys because I was "in his seat." That one that humiliated me in front of the other guys. I'd go through the motions of beating them up in my mind. I was consumed by anger and, sadly, feel that I still am at times. I haven't seen or talked to any of these people in years except for one. I called my main bully on the phone from Florida in 2005. I couldn't hold onto that hate anymore. I told him how he'd bullied me. He apologized sincerely. I don't think he thought about it one day after grade school. The victims are the ones that have to live with the hate and shame and humiliation every day. The bullies live in bliss.
Now that I've written this, I'm going to state that I've bullied others, too. While I was being bullied, I tried to bully other newcomers to my grade school from time to time. Sadly, I became a "social ladder" person. Anything to not be on the bottom. I grew up learning how to insult people to get the laughs of the group for me instead of against me. Maybe that's why I went on to minor in politics in college. All that just makes me look back at myself with even more shame that I mocked and laughed at others at times so that I wouldn't be the butt of the joke. All those jokes on the Simpsons about Bart's classmates ring very true to me. Oh, and no one wanted to sit next to me on the bus and they'd block the seats to keep me from sitting there. I forgot about that one.
In closing, I'm going to state the name of where I went to grade school. It was St. John Vianney in Brookfield, Wisconsin. Shame on everyone that worked there at the time. There was rampant bullying and horrible abuse and the principal and staff never did anything to protect the students.
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