One stanza poem to a special girl

The other girls, in large amount, are as pretty as can be.
And even if it doesn't count, you're still beautiful to me.

5th Grade - Welcome to Hell - Part II

I've never recovered emotionally. The fear that I felt everyday still floods me like a hurricane when I think of it. Every second of everyday was terror. When was the insult or attack going to come? It became impossible to have a positive attitude. I imagine WWI soldiers didn't feel overly positive in their trenches everyday but at least they had each other. The worst times were on the bus in the morning, where I often had someone already sitting in a seat move to the edge to keep me from sitting down. "Don't you know you're social garbage, fucker?" was what the move said every time. In class, I was at least a little safe, though I dreaded the classes where the bullies were close to me because they liked whispering insults to each other about me. The breaks in the hall between classes were horrible because I was vulnerable. There were occasional insults and the occasional physical attack at me. I remember the fear and am reliving it even as I'm typing this now. Break outside was another terror because of vulnerability. Girls would be disgusted if I came by. The boys would throw a football to me because they could gang up and tackle me on the ice cold turf. People would kick me out of their lunch room tables until I had to eat by myself or insult me as I sat there. One girl, supposedly the nicest one in school, attacked me in gym class and almost tore my shirt off. Stunned, I just sat down on the bleachers with my head in my hands. The gym teacher did nothing. It was like they were all in it together. Another time we played dodgeball. One of my bullies crossed the line, tapped me on the shoulder and threw a dodgeball in my face when I turned around. Everyone laughed. I laughed, too. Doesn't everyone laugh at the joke? Emotionally, this was devastating and I am still suffering today. I tried to fit in many times, basically a Stockholm Syndrome kind of thing. Then there were the attempts try and mitigate the damage. My Mom was my emotional support and I tried to learn things from her about what they were saying. I tried to learn jokes to impress them. My family told me it was my fault because I got upset at the insults. They were trying to help. They didn't know they were giving the bullies a free pass. My mother told me to try laughing myself. So there was me being bullied and I laughed at getting hurt. I've since felt and learned the dysfunction in my family and how crappy their advice was. Finally, after coming home on the verge of tears many times, Mom just told me to go punch one of them in the nose. As a Catholic kid, their previous advice had been to turn the other cheek. Now I'm supposed to hit someone! I wasn't like that at the time. It took me years of abuse before I got the point where I would fight if I had to. That wasn't me then at all. Everyday after school and before the next day became my heaven. That's when I tried to be happy. As the time came closer for sleep, I'd check the clock every five minutes. I tried to live every second of my life in those hours before I had to get beaten up again the next day. The shame and guilt and fear and embarrassment and depression and feelings of utter worthlessness return when I relive these memories. I have to get to the point where they don't destroy me anymore. I have to get to the point where that traumatized little boy feels safe and happy and worthwhile again.

5th Grade - Welcome to Hell - Part 1

I did the set up a bit to let you know a bit of who I was. I was also a Catholic, and a decent sized believer, at that age and grew up in Catholic school. I had had no social problems in Kentucky and had several friends. Now it gets very tough for me. I have wanted to journal about this for a long time but I haven't been able to face the pain for any length of time. I don't literally remember the first day of school. I remember that first term. The weather was freezing, much worse than anything we'd had in Kentucky. I'm not sure if it was early chemical problems but I remember feeling depressed for the first time in my life. At school, the kids hated me. I suppose I was the picture of being uncool. It was a classic case of doing everything differently than they did. I made jokes which made people laugh at me. People hated my voice, hated my walk, hated my expressions. I rapidly became a social pariah, the bottom of the totem pole. There was only one kid more unpopular than me. Sad to say, I was glad of it. It gave me a chance to insult someone, to be part of the group. Of course, now I look back at it and loathe myself for that kind of behavior. That was my reality. I was not a good person. I was an emotionally floundering, socially desperate person. Girls would laugh at me because they considered me some yokel joke. I was minimized. There was an instance where they did something called "Secret Santa" in Wisconsin. People would draw lots in pairs and gave each other Christmas cards. The girl that got me said: "Not him!" in disgust when she drew me. This was in front of her girlfriends. This wasn't a funny, teasing thing. This just sent a message that I was garbage. I was a social leper. Being near me was like being forced to hug a skunk. The boys would make fun of me because I didn't know all the sexual slang terms. I was a Catholic school kid. What the hell did I know? You know the sensitive young person in the slasher films that has the cruel trick played on him by the "cool" kids? That was me. And if I saw any of those poeple again now, it would be very hard for me not to break their bones.

My Apocalypse - Age 10 - The Move

When I was 10, my family and I moved from Louisville, KY, to just outside Milwaukee, WI. At that age, I didn't understand, in a social sense, what moving from one part of the country to another meant. My Dad got transferred and asked my sister and I if we wanted to go. My parents wanted to go and it was a done deal so we agreed, of course. My sister Shannon was two years older and I think the move hurt her more than me. I had friends but the lure of moving to Milwaukee, namely because of the Brewers, became tremendous. We were huge baseball fans and had been frequent attendees to Louisville Redbird minor league games so the thought of having a local major league team to see was very exciting. The Brewers had been to their first World Series the year before (and lost to Louisville's offiliate, St. Louis, who we were cheering for. The idea of players and a town associated with beer was a major turn off for me but they were a major league team. We were the kind of family that didn't cheer for a team or city like Milwaukee yet we were on our way. I must also admit that we considered ourselves "Southern." I had no idea about the Civil War at that time but my family was a Dukes of Hazzard, Hee Haw kind of family though I also loved shows like Knight Rider, Sanford and Son and pretty much anything on TV. I was a culture sponge at a very young age. So it's 1983 and we move to Wisconsin in the summer.