School

Okay so let’s try this a different way and get some introductions out of the way. 

Parents. That seems like an insulting word. A parent. An up bringer. They did bring me up in their cesspool of vile- 

I got angry. Genuine anger. Almost gave myself a headache. Let’s just call them parents for now. 

Mrs Odella Hall- The Monster’s Ode. A vicious woman steeped in the same shitpile my parents came from. A boxer’s right hook and a ring the size of my hand. She hit you where people wouldn’t see and claimed they were bruises from falling. She paid no particular mind to me- I got the work done. But that made me invisible. I never knew indifference hurt so much than when I walked into that hall.

Rupert Hall- Rupert was a bully. Rupert was Odella’s son. Rupert was her angel and my demon. He used to put out tobacco pipes on my forehead and when I told his mother I was given a bruise on my elbow twice its size for saying something about her angel. I was a liar and he was fed meat fit for a king... I was jealous of a monster. Maybe that’s why I became one. 

The Class- I don't remember most of them. Just faces in nightmares. Ashes they called me from Rupert’s smoke scars. Vile, spineless little creatures. Wish I were one of them. 

So what do I remember about school? Not a lot. It was a blur a lot like my early memories. Maybe they were hit out of my head. I remember there was a small toy I really liked. It was one of those ball cup things. I took it because I liked it and no one else really touched or played with it. My father found out though. My mother did first actually. She held it over me and made me do all the cleaning by hand for the bathroom. She told him anyway. It was night when he screamed for me and slapped my eardrum so hard I still hear the ringing if I sleep on that side funny. I returned the ball-cup. No one touched it for a couple of years. It went into the bin. It taught me a lot now that I think about it. Things I enjoy were to be moderated. Life is suffering and pain for those who indulge in joy. Joy is folly. Things that bring me joy should be discarded. I believed that for a long time. I think I still believe that. 

There was the time with the chocolate. There wasn't much on my frame but it was a tall frame. I was proud of that fact. People taller than me make me uncomfortable. That’s a strange thing to admit. I was the tall one. It was my gimmick- so much so that I reached a tall shelf with sweets and knocked it down for the class. I felt like a hero. Until Rupert told because he didn’t get the first pick. His mother knew at this point about the shithole I called home. She didn’t lay a finger on me. Simply told my mother. That was hell. I didn’t trust her “not telling if you…” ploy. Once bitten, twice shy as the saying goes. 

In a slightly better memory I do remember the time I first met Lisa. She was a bit younger than our first official encounter and was I think a substitute for the Hall. She saw me write down a poem and encouraged me to show it to the head of the school. I went all the way to her room. She was talking. I came back and told Lisa she loved it. I lied. 

Are all my memories soiled? Am I just a coagulation of the misery they gave me? I don’t think this is the norm but the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree… I always did have my father’s temper. Maybe I’m more like him than I care to admit. Oh God. 

Rupert tripped on my leg one day. A curse of being of a tall frame is that sometimes my limbs were unruly. Especially when I was tired. I wasn’t really conscious enough to apologise when he demanded it so he grabbed me by the throat and pinned me to the wall. I was scared. So scared. So so scared. I couldn’t mumble a “help” if I tried. Weak. Weak. Weak. A penny for the weak. Why, though? The world doesn't care about your weakness. It lets you suffer and makes you grovel. So why should I offer a hand? WHO WAS THERE FOR ME? WHO GAVE ME THAT HAND? F*****G NO ONE. I GOT WHERE I AM BY MYSELF. 

Oh. Almost lost my composure there. I loved reading though. Mental maths came easy too. Reading about sciences made me excel. Answering whys to questions helped me develop cognitive thinking. I excelled at physics and made my own map of how the world fit together. I got good. I started to excel at school. No one cared. Top of the class? Bottom of significance. Ophelia needed the others to pass so I was a ghost on her radar. My parents didn’t care. The grades upped their social standing. 

“We have such an intelligent child” they sang. Like the dodo bird though, I was not part of that nest. 

Used and used and used for nothing but what my body offered. What my limb-length afforded me and what my brain comprehended. That's what school was for a 10 year old me. A cesspit of apathy.

EDIT AGAIN

What does it make me feel like? 

She asked me to elaborate on my feelings at the time. How did I feel? I was nothing. I was an insignificant thing with so much pain in such a tiny- albeit lanky- body. I wanted to hurt them. My parents, Ophelia, Rupert. I wanted to dismember them. With a sharp enough scalpel I knew exactly how to hurt them. I fantasised about it. I wished for it. But I still wanted their love and approval. I still wanted validation. I still wanted someone to tell me it was okay to live. To breathe. To simply be. I wanted to exist and be happy and all I got… was that your worth is linked to what you can give- what you sacrifice for them is your value. There is no self. Just the people. And if I didn’t learn that quickly then the only thing I would have is imaginary friends. I did for a while. I sometimes still have those conversations and seek comfort in them. Something to bring to life so it held mine that crumbled. My best friends were imaginary and they held me with my own arms.