Part 1: Shut Out From The Start.

Everywhere I go, it seems I make a few meaningful friends, and a lot of...well, not enemies, but people that don't want to associate with me very much.

Let me explain:
I was a unique child. My parents have videos of me talking in somewhat coherent statements, or as my mother says "he was talking in paragraphs!", before I was even a year old. I was walking as well.

From a young age I remember being quiet, kind, gentle, but also a bit stubborn, and very inquisitive. I always considered myself more intellectually based than anything else. My parents would tell you I was a very smart child.

I appreciate things. The sunsets, the grass, another person. I love to work with my hands, and I know anything I set my mind to, I can do quite well. I don't have any specific talent, just a broadened sense of appreciation for everything.
I love to craft things, build something. The things I make, I love. I can create.
Everything has a sense of depth, there is a story in every sidewalk crack, every stone brick, every tree, flower, road, cloud, animal, person. Everyone has a story. I respect and appreciate things, because they exist.

Or at least, that's how it used to be like, until a few years ago.

Now I find myself aggravated. I am pushing to get through everyday it seems.
I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner alone almost constantly. I am still quiet, but things seem dull and grey, most things at least.
I find myself uninterested in things many times. Often I find myself longing for those old sparks of brilliance.
Likewise, I am not social. I am more..networkable, than I used to be. But I am not one to mingle with the crowd at a party.
Mind you, I'm a college aged adult. I'm young.

Before any misconceptions begin: though I'm a bit shorter, I consider myself good looking, as do many others. I work out. I have good hygiene. My room can get messy, I've never been a totally organized person, but I'm not a nasty slob. Nor am I disrespectful.

Back to the childhood:

I was raised in a respectful family. Both of my parents were hard workers. They graduated from a good college (I followed in their footsteps and attend the same one), and worked hard. Dad was an officer in the military, and works with a lot of R&D science and research stuff. He is also the best man I've ever known. He is a musician, a handyman, and all around good guy. He was the "James Bond" hero to me. He could save the world, play a sweet jazz lick, be a charmer, get work done, and he was GOOD at everything. Not the cocky know it all style. But whatever he does, he does. If he decided one day he wanted to play football, he wouldn't just go out and do pick-up games of two hand touch. He would go get a Heisman. And he would do it like it's what he is supposed to do, just like breathing. He is a go getter through and through.
Mom works in the medical field. She is very strong. A hard worker as well. She is very social, but she doesn't compromise herself. She does what needs to get done, and she knows how to suck it up and get through the hard parts. When she is up to bat, she swings as hard and as true as she can. But at he same time she is loving, and comforting. She listens, and does everything with sincerity. She es every small little thing to make sure things are okay. To make sure our family is happy and healthy.
They ended up very well off, and very blessed. I am very blessed.
Both of my parents took special care to ensure I was taken care of.
I was their "miracle child" of sorts, mom being unable to have children.
I am special. That doesn't make the world revolve around me. That doesn't make me king of all that exists.
But
I mean something. I have potential. I have a life to live, and should live it at the fullest.

They took special care of me. They made sure I grew up understanding respect. The beauty that exists in this wonderfully created universe. The ability to explore, and improve. To build, to learn, to love.

So very early on, elementary school really, I learned to go out, make something, or find something useful, and bring it to the table. If you've got a cool game you came up with, share it with everyone. If you get a lot of candy for halloween, ask everyone if they want a piece. Open up to people so you can network and build lasting relationships.
And as always: give something a chance before you dislike it.

They gave me a greater appreciation for life and creativity.

So, in elementary school, I was bullied.
Ruthlessly.

I would try to share my toys with people, share my interests. I would let people go ahead of me the water fountain. I would open the door for people to be nice, to make someone's day, and to also be the guy that people would generally like being around, and I would get trampled. Kids didn't understand me. I blame the fact that they weren't raised to have open minds, they were raised to live with programmed minds (or were left to their own devices).

Some kids would go play football during recess. i didn't know much, so I would try to watch, learn the game, and then play along.
Nope. It always turned into me becoming the butt of jokes.
You may say "this happens to everyone". Well, just keep listening.

I recall one time I was sitting on a bench, and a teacher suggested I go play tag. I told her I wasn't interested (because the kids were cruel to me, but I didn't tell her. I would've been ostracized as a "taddle", so I NEVER spoke out first. I just endured it).
Anyway, I got up and went to play. As I walked forward, my mind lightened up. "Maybe I'll try to be more proactive. Try to loosen up. Just chiiiiiiill man".
OK that wasn't an exact quote, but you get what I was feeling. Just calm, content. Open minded.

I walked up, asked if they could use another player for tag. "Oh, it's hide and seek now". Well, ok, if you guys are ok, ca I play? "Yeah sure!"

We did the "enie menie" thing to pick who was it. It was bogus. The kids kept doing it so I was "it" ("ok, I'll be it first guys!"). Yes, I was fine with it. Hey, I was making friends right? Granted the kids said "and you are it" *immediately passes over 7 people and points at me "nonchalantly"* and yeah sure the kids did seem to rig the thing so that I was it undoubtedly, but maybe they've all been it already?

Nope. I close my eyes and count. I hear laughter.
I finish counting and look around. The place was empty, till I turn around.
They are all on the swing set. Pointing. Laughing. Yelling at me. Calling me names. Somehow they got my backpack. They dumped everything on the ground. I tried to hod back the tears, and it worked until I went to bed that night.

Another time we played four square, with the bouncing ball.
I tried playing too, I was quiet and kept to myself. But the kids launched the ball at me. One hit me in the face. Just square in the face. Hard. And then they all laughed, and some kicked me.
He ran off laughing, calling me names. This had been happening for over a year.
I came up to him a few minutes later and asked why they did that. Why they were acting mean. I told them I just wanted to be friends, they seemed cool, I was nice. I just wanted to have..friends.
One kid pushed me down again. Then they ran off, to the teacher. They said I started fighting. They said I hit someone, yet I was the one getting hit.
So I was forced to sit out. I pleaded my innocence, but I was still made to sit out.

There were times kids would try to set me up to get in big trouble. Many times I was called to the principle or counselors office on false accusations. Thankfully the administration was somewhat intelligent and knew I was innocent.
These kids never got in trouble though. They loved seeing me squirm.

This went on from kindergarten to 3rd grade. FOUR YEARS.
Constantly. I had 2 friends the whole time. Neither could help. One was my cousin, the other at another school.

Many times I was left after school crying, waiting for mom to get me so I could go home. Back to my safe house. I could go to my books. I could LIVE in my imagination.
I made worlds for myself. Massive, beautiful creations where I was all that mattered. It was ME. No one hurt me. No one was my enemy, except my enemies, but I didn't let them in. i would imagine them arriving to whatever I imagined. Lets say I imagined myself master of a beautiful island with all these beautiful wonders and exotic things. I would imagine these kids coming to my island, only to be confronted by me and MY people. My people that supported me, in MY world. I made these bullies leave. Back to whatever desolate place they came from. It surely wasn't MY imagination they would torment. I wouldn't let them hurt anything inside me.

This happened all through my childhood.
And then my imagination followed me to school.
I would read, and be the loner. I learned to daydream, or rather, I learned to let daydreaming take over me. So much that sometimes I would get in trouble for pretending my pencil wass a fighter jet I was flying because I would get so distracted that I would jut do other things without realizing it.
This led to more bullying but who cares? I've got my thoughts.

This led to more bullying, which I found a way to sort of escape from.
But it hurt me in school.
I remember one time I got sent to another class because they didn't know what to do. I wasn't causing trouble, I was just weird.
The lady of this class was...evil.
She made me sit at the front. She would have her class do something, and then would interrogate me. And criticize me. And yell.

She pulled my grades up in front of this class. Kids I didn't even know, in a classroom that wasn't mine (it was a 4th grader class. I was in 2nd).
I had a "bad" grade in one of them. She yelled. She mocked me saying "I thought I was your friend? MY FRIENDS DON'T GET BAD GRADES. I DON'T LIKE YOU ANYMORE! SO SHUT UP AND WORK!" "DONT CRY? Your mom isn't hear, so SUCK IT UP".
I was bawling. I felt like a chained up puppy getting beaten with a broom handle.
I screamed. I ran. I ran out of there back to my 2nd grade class to my teacher. This one loved me. Legitimately. She was a family friend and genuinely cared. She would let me stay behind during recess because she knew I was getting bullied. She did what she could to make my life more comfortable.
I burst in crying. She sent the class to the gym and talked to me. I told her what happened.
She marched into the 4th grade teacher's room and did everything but beat the hell out of that lady.
The school then petitioned my parents. The school said I was mentally retarded, which I am not. They said I was going to be put in special education (by the way, there were also autistic and mentally retarded kids at this school. They were bullied as badly as I was).
My parents said no. They had me tested, and the tests proved I wasn't either of those.

So I was pulled out halfway through 3rd grade. Homeschooled. It was HEAVEN.
I went to a doctor, and was diagnosed with ADD, which had been the reason for some of my problems (not being able to focus on homework, excessive daydreaming, not being able to really connect). So I was given meds. I still take them. And they help, alot.

Homeschooling was okay. It let me study at my own pace, and study what I wanted.
I hated math and struggled, but with the meds I was able to do it really well.
I studied lots of science. Specifically space and the solar system I got to work with other homeschooled kids and made great friends with similar people like me. I was doing alright. I was happy.

But it made me disconnect from society. I wasn't just a weird kid on the outer edges of the social groups. I was out in deep space. I was totally disconnected.

I explored my neighborhood when I got my bike at the end of third grade. I met some kids. They seemed okay.
Then I realized these kids knew those monsters at my old school.
And being the nice, somewhat passive person I was, the bullying started. I guess it made them feel better, knowing I wouldn't resist much.
This time though, I was on my own. I would go out to play with these kids, and hell would reign down.

This neighborhood was in a forrest. Literally. I shared the street with a family of deer. In my childhood. I likened the place to Narnia (one of my favorite books). Because it felt like that. The adventures me and my 2 friends had in hat area were incredible. The woods went on, and on. With a creek, and small shallow caves, and animals. We knew it like the back of our hands. It was our magical kingdom.
But the bullies came back. Different faces, same bullies.

I would go play in the woods. And they would join. Things would start out fine, games of tag, cowboys and indians, building forts, etc
Then the games would turn to take advantage of me.
And then, they would simply mock me.
And beat me. Beat. Taking sticks and hitting me in the head. Throwing me into the creek. Pushing me down a hill. Bringing paintball guns and shooting at me.

I was given a nice Birdhouse skateboard for christmas (before they turned to crappy walmart boards). They stole it. And made me find it.
A month later, I found it on a rock in the creek, just sticking above the water.

Finally I snapped. They came at me and pushed me one day, about to beat me up again. I pushed the kid back and said "STOP".
The next thing I remember is a loud "POP". From what little information I've gathered, one of them hit me in the back of my head. With my own skateboard.
I woke up with one of them on top of me, slapping me, mocking me, and spitting on me.
I went home, crying.

I became a total hermit.

And then finally, my parents moved me to a private school, to try to get me on my feat again.


I had alot of very amazing moments in my childhood. Mostly with family, and with only a small handful of people that were my true friends.
But mostly, I endured people that never ere too excited by me. Or they just bullied me to exhaustion.
And I endured it. I didn't resist. Hey, at least I was hanging around people, that counted for something, right??
================================

That is it for tonight. That is a HUGE part of my childhood. Outside of family, relatives, and maybe 5 true friends that I had fun adventures with and good memories, that WAS my childhood.
It was awful. It was hell.

And sadly, it gave me a warp perception, and affected my personality so badly that I still suffer today.
But now I want to talk about it. I want people to know who I am before they shut me out and dismiss me, or think negatively about me.
Everyone has a story, please do not live in ignorance and superficial stereotypes.
Listen.
Open your mind.

Part 2 will be coming along soon. Maybe tomorrow?

**Sorry if the grammar is bad. Or there are typos. I hammered this out flying by the seat of my pants. i typed it like a journal, so bear with me. I'll spell check it when I have the time.
TheEmptyFacade TheEmptyFacade
70+
Nov 28, 2012