07-15-2011, 04:21 AM
It's hard to say when it all started.
I remember a specific time at school, it was fifth grade.
We had had a big test in math and I thought I had done it very well. Turned out, I hadn't. At the end of a solution, I had marked (translated) "PAN" (proven as needed), which is something used in higher grades to mark the end of a solution. I sometimes studied math with my older brother and I didn't see any issue why I shouldn't mark my work as he does. When the time came for the teacher to hand back our tests she decided not to just hand them out to the class but to hand them out one by one, asking everyone to the front of the class in turn. The same exercise I had marked as said before was the biggest exercise of the test and I had made a mistake somewhere in it. She went on and made a joke of me infront of the whole class, loudly pointing out [i]"...and you wrote PAN at the end."[i] The other children who didn't even know at that time what that marking meant all roared out in laughter and I couldn't do nothing but stand there infront of the class and wait 'till the teacher thought I had had enough and could finally get my test and go back to my seat. There was nothing I would say in my defense, there was nothing I would've known to say.
And there are other times. I remember a similar situation from kindergarden but I don't remember the details. All I can recall is the teacher upbraiding me for something infront of everyone else in our group, including the other younger teachers. At that time I didn't know anything else to do but cry. After the incident was over I felt like no one wanted to play with me anymore, like everyone kept to their own when I came around. There was this one kid who was a year or so older than me and had a similar name and he always played with me and hung around, though. When my parents came to take me home that day I wouldn't say a word, what would I have said?
And my parents. They would fight. They would fight more and more as I grew up. I would be in my room, laying in bed in darkness and listen to them yell in the next room and see the light beam through a bit from inbetween the door. And my father would break the telephone so she wouldn't call the police. And she would yell at her demanding him to stab her. And I wouldn't go stand inbetween them, I was too scared. I cooled down a few smaller fights when I was younger but. Some years later I was at a summer camp for three weeks, the camps were my life, I had no problems there, no problems fitting in. Once I came back I was told my parents had had a large fight again and my brother had went between them, injuring my dad rather badly after he had threatened to attack her with the bottle he was holding in his hand. That's where I felt it for the first time. I wish I could've been there in my brother's shoes and hit my father in the face. I know I wouldn't have, not like him, he's bulky while I'm skinny but.
All these things are years in the past now. My parents have divorced, both have new people they live with and both are more or less happy. I've finished one of the top schools in my country with good enough results to get a scholarship to one of the best universities in the country.
To this day I still have flashbacks to those situations. And dreams. In my dreams I yell out at all of them and I feel even more outcast. In my dreams I hurt them physically. And I wake up and feel like I don't want to talk to anyone, I feel completely out of mood, I feel alone.
Coming autumn I'm going to a university, it's in another city and, in a way, a fresh start.
I'm looking for a way I can put these things behind me and move on. I'm tired of feeling alone and I'm tired of wanting to hurt others.
I remember a specific time at school, it was fifth grade.
We had had a big test in math and I thought I had done it very well. Turned out, I hadn't. At the end of a solution, I had marked (translated) "PAN" (proven as needed), which is something used in higher grades to mark the end of a solution. I sometimes studied math with my older brother and I didn't see any issue why I shouldn't mark my work as he does. When the time came for the teacher to hand back our tests she decided not to just hand them out to the class but to hand them out one by one, asking everyone to the front of the class in turn. The same exercise I had marked as said before was the biggest exercise of the test and I had made a mistake somewhere in it. She went on and made a joke of me infront of the whole class, loudly pointing out [i]"...and you wrote PAN at the end."[i] The other children who didn't even know at that time what that marking meant all roared out in laughter and I couldn't do nothing but stand there infront of the class and wait 'till the teacher thought I had had enough and could finally get my test and go back to my seat. There was nothing I would say in my defense, there was nothing I would've known to say.
And there are other times. I remember a similar situation from kindergarden but I don't remember the details. All I can recall is the teacher upbraiding me for something infront of everyone else in our group, including the other younger teachers. At that time I didn't know anything else to do but cry. After the incident was over I felt like no one wanted to play with me anymore, like everyone kept to their own when I came around. There was this one kid who was a year or so older than me and had a similar name and he always played with me and hung around, though. When my parents came to take me home that day I wouldn't say a word, what would I have said?
And my parents. They would fight. They would fight more and more as I grew up. I would be in my room, laying in bed in darkness and listen to them yell in the next room and see the light beam through a bit from inbetween the door. And my father would break the telephone so she wouldn't call the police. And she would yell at her demanding him to stab her. And I wouldn't go stand inbetween them, I was too scared. I cooled down a few smaller fights when I was younger but. Some years later I was at a summer camp for three weeks, the camps were my life, I had no problems there, no problems fitting in. Once I came back I was told my parents had had a large fight again and my brother had went between them, injuring my dad rather badly after he had threatened to attack her with the bottle he was holding in his hand. That's where I felt it for the first time. I wish I could've been there in my brother's shoes and hit my father in the face. I know I wouldn't have, not like him, he's bulky while I'm skinny but.
All these things are years in the past now. My parents have divorced, both have new people they live with and both are more or less happy. I've finished one of the top schools in my country with good enough results to get a scholarship to one of the best universities in the country.
To this day I still have flashbacks to those situations. And dreams. In my dreams I yell out at all of them and I feel even more outcast. In my dreams I hurt them physically. And I wake up and feel like I don't want to talk to anyone, I feel completely out of mood, I feel alone.
Coming autumn I'm going to a university, it's in another city and, in a way, a fresh start.
I'm looking for a way I can put these things behind me and move on. I'm tired of feeling alone and I'm tired of wanting to hurt others.