08-29-2003, 02:02 AM
Habba doobi?
*didn't think he understood the topic but....*
When I was a little kid in kindergarten, and grades 1 and 2, everything was okay for me. It was when I moved to Quebec when I was in Grade 3 that I had trouble.
I was exceptionally smart as a young child. I had some sort of "Gifted" label on me. 'course, smart people are beacons for trouble. At the end of the 3rd grade I was skipped ahead to 5th grade, but my third and fourth grade tormentors were still around. So-ho I changed schools.
In this new school, the teacher and principal said I should be put back to fourth grade so I "could learn paragraphing skills". That wasn't exactly helping my confidence. On top of that, I showed big progress in my classwork, so new tormentors took the old ones' places. The assaults continued, and I continued to hide and run away from my problems (Literally)
In Grade 6, my old school and my school then fused into one school (Which was a wholly english school, rather and a split french and english one). This brought my past back in my face. No buenos.
That's when a change happened in me. Both physical and mentally. 2 years later by Secondary 2 I was no longer the quiet intellectual who drew pictures in a corner of the class - I was the loud obnoxious classclown asshole who enjoyed to piss the world off; interrupting teachers constantly and becoming a general nuisance to anyone who slighted me in the smallest way.
My pent up anger from my childhood was beginning to leak out as I began to fight and take gangbeatings. Hell, I even tried to hijack my schoolbus because of the blindness of the driver. The next two years of my life were crucial. Secondary 3 went out with explosive tempers, but Secondary 4 showed by true potential for rage and damage. I fought constantly, and I found I liked what was happening. People began to fear my presence. I was a jerk, but they feared to do anything about it because they didn't know if I'd go off. My fighting ways escalated one day to the point of little return.
Days before Christmas holidays, I got into a fight after a guy pushed me against my locker. I swung around and pulled him into a reverse chokehold. It took three people to pull him off me. I stormed out of the school and while walking back to my house some guys in the class higher than me gave me the international sign for "pussy" from their bus. I ran down their bus and challenged the two to fight me right there and then. They didn't want to go anywhere. They knew me. I wasn't some weak bookworm. I was beast with massive destructive potential who often got kicked out of gym for using excessive force in activities. Hell, they put one of their girlfriends between me and them. The girl was kicking me in the chest area as I was mounting into the bus, but, as you'll know if you're been pushed past the brink before, you'll feel little or no pain. On top of that, one of the guys was whacking me with a broomstick. I grabbed it from his hands and snapped it in two before tossing it away outside the bus. The bus then took off again which sort of forced me from it.
Needless to say I was expelled and entered into a juvenile hall. All of my drawings that I had made while brooding were examined and used against me in court. I never felt so much hate for my family before.
For 8 monthes I brooded in the facility, obeying every order the guardians had to give. I was the model in there. They thought me perfect. They didn't stop to think that I was hiding from them. I willingly stayed in my room whenever I had the chance. I didn't "reform" or "get better" or anything of the sort. I merely learned to wait and watch. I'm fairly good at manipulation, so I just had to change my habits slightly to get what I wanted. Soon, while I was still at the facility, I got to go back to my school full time and I got to spend any free time I had outside in town unsupervised.
When I had returned to school, things were different. There was a new found respect for me. I could almost call it a fear. The bad girls found me interesting in that "bad boy" sort of way.
It's been a year since I got out, and since then I've had little troubles of annoyances - no one wants to try anything with me
Good and bad things have come out of it though.
I mean, I lost a lot of my life to burning hatred and rage... and that includes my future which I sort of pissed away. With the things I've done, there's little chance I'll get into any college with prestige, and when I meet new people I'm ashamed to tell them my past, so it's a great burden on my heart.
On the plus side, I have greater self confidence, a greater wealth of knowledge and art skill (Remember how I said I spent my time in my room? I was either reading one of the 8 400 page books on politics I went through and borrowed from my history professor or drawing)
Of course, I can't say my life is total shit. I got a fairly large group of friends, and plenty of great pastimes (Though BMX isn't too good from the knees, I suppose)
*didn't think he understood the topic but....*
When I was a little kid in kindergarten, and grades 1 and 2, everything was okay for me. It was when I moved to Quebec when I was in Grade 3 that I had trouble.
I was exceptionally smart as a young child. I had some sort of "Gifted" label on me. 'course, smart people are beacons for trouble. At the end of the 3rd grade I was skipped ahead to 5th grade, but my third and fourth grade tormentors were still around. So-ho I changed schools.
In this new school, the teacher and principal said I should be put back to fourth grade so I "could learn paragraphing skills". That wasn't exactly helping my confidence. On top of that, I showed big progress in my classwork, so new tormentors took the old ones' places. The assaults continued, and I continued to hide and run away from my problems (Literally)
In Grade 6, my old school and my school then fused into one school (Which was a wholly english school, rather and a split french and english one). This brought my past back in my face. No buenos.
That's when a change happened in me. Both physical and mentally. 2 years later by Secondary 2 I was no longer the quiet intellectual who drew pictures in a corner of the class - I was the loud obnoxious classclown asshole who enjoyed to piss the world off; interrupting teachers constantly and becoming a general nuisance to anyone who slighted me in the smallest way.
My pent up anger from my childhood was beginning to leak out as I began to fight and take gangbeatings. Hell, I even tried to hijack my schoolbus because of the blindness of the driver. The next two years of my life were crucial. Secondary 3 went out with explosive tempers, but Secondary 4 showed by true potential for rage and damage. I fought constantly, and I found I liked what was happening. People began to fear my presence. I was a jerk, but they feared to do anything about it because they didn't know if I'd go off. My fighting ways escalated one day to the point of little return.
Days before Christmas holidays, I got into a fight after a guy pushed me against my locker. I swung around and pulled him into a reverse chokehold. It took three people to pull him off me. I stormed out of the school and while walking back to my house some guys in the class higher than me gave me the international sign for "pussy" from their bus. I ran down their bus and challenged the two to fight me right there and then. They didn't want to go anywhere. They knew me. I wasn't some weak bookworm. I was beast with massive destructive potential who often got kicked out of gym for using excessive force in activities. Hell, they put one of their girlfriends between me and them. The girl was kicking me in the chest area as I was mounting into the bus, but, as you'll know if you're been pushed past the brink before, you'll feel little or no pain. On top of that, one of the guys was whacking me with a broomstick. I grabbed it from his hands and snapped it in two before tossing it away outside the bus. The bus then took off again which sort of forced me from it.
Needless to say I was expelled and entered into a juvenile hall. All of my drawings that I had made while brooding were examined and used against me in court. I never felt so much hate for my family before.
For 8 monthes I brooded in the facility, obeying every order the guardians had to give. I was the model in there. They thought me perfect. They didn't stop to think that I was hiding from them. I willingly stayed in my room whenever I had the chance. I didn't "reform" or "get better" or anything of the sort. I merely learned to wait and watch. I'm fairly good at manipulation, so I just had to change my habits slightly to get what I wanted. Soon, while I was still at the facility, I got to go back to my school full time and I got to spend any free time I had outside in town unsupervised.
When I had returned to school, things were different. There was a new found respect for me. I could almost call it a fear. The bad girls found me interesting in that "bad boy" sort of way.
It's been a year since I got out, and since then I've had little troubles of annoyances - no one wants to try anything with me
Good and bad things have come out of it though.
I mean, I lost a lot of my life to burning hatred and rage... and that includes my future which I sort of pissed away. With the things I've done, there's little chance I'll get into any college with prestige, and when I meet new people I'm ashamed to tell them my past, so it's a great burden on my heart.
On the plus side, I have greater self confidence, a greater wealth of knowledge and art skill (Remember how I said I spent my time in my room? I was either reading one of the 8 400 page books on politics I went through and borrowed from my history professor or drawing)
Of course, I can't say my life is total shit. I got a fairly large group of friends, and plenty of great pastimes (Though BMX isn't too good from the knees, I suppose)