A Little History

This is basically describing my early childhood and how I have grown up to overcome the bullying that I used to receive. It also describes how estranged my parents and I have become over the years.

I try not to remember most of my days

in elementary school.

And that’s because

those memories hurt too much.

You may not understand what I mean.

But maybe, just maybe, you do.

You might remember being made fun

of on the playground because

you and your friends were “weird”.

Or maybe, like it was for me,

friends were hard to come by.

You see,

in elementary school,

I had three, maybe four real

friends that I can still talk to today.

Other friends, they changed by grade.

Sometimes kids only became my

friend because it was convenient

for them. Others were dared to

play cruel jokes. Cruel jokes that

were played on a small, glasses-wearing,

skinny, shy boy who only wanted

to make people happy. In a way,

he accomplished this,

through his own pain and suffering.

He may have had a few friends,

but he was basically alone to face

the tyranny of the more popular

kids. The kids who weren’t so nice,

and only aimed to make themselves happy.

And that small, shy boy?

He was smart.

Oh, so smart.

And that intelligence was worthless

against the bullies.

Any retaliation from him,

even one sarcastic phrase,

would be discarded from their ears

as if they didn’t hear what he had to say.

They aimed to get a few good laughs

out of his misery. And so

the boy turned away from people

almost entirely. He couldn’t tell

whether or not people were really

his friends or if they were using him,

or tricking him.

So he turned to video games,

and he turned to the TV,

because those characters,

those people,

couldn’t hurt him as bad

as real people already had.

And as for the boy’s parents?

They never said a thing.

They let the boy waste his life away

up to grade six.

And they let him fall into depression

without ever saying a word.

But when he was evaluated with

clinical depression in grade ten,

they couldn’t believe it.

They were ashamed,

and not of themselves.

Not of the school system

that had neglected him.

They weren’t ashamed of the bullies,

the hateful kids,

or anyone else,

except for him...

They were ashamed of their own son

for having told someone

that he wanted to put a bullet

through his own head

because he thought that he was better off dead.

They called him weak

and said that suicide was cowardly,

right to his face.

They thought he was an

embarrassment to his family

because he didn’t think he could deal

with the pain.

They are ashamed

because he...

will never be what they

want him to be.

And frankly,

he never wants to be

anything that people like them

would ever want him

 to be. When he

told his mother that he was an atheist,

by his own choice,

she said that he did it to hurt her.

And now she is ashamed in him.

She told him that when he

was little she expected him to either be

a preacher or a politician,

because he had that gleam in his eyes

and he was so well-spoken.

Now she has a son

or has no religion

and who hates most governments

all together.

And whenever he wants to do

something, he has to worry

about how it will affect

his mother’s feelings,

because apparently

her being happy

is more important than

his entire life at times.

And his parents...are cruel.

They may have never hurt him physically,

but words can hurt too.

They think the worst of everyone,

and hide it behind nice gestures

and warm smiles.

If their son

ever tells anyone of their cruel nature

he is to be ashamed

as they play mind games and act as though

he will never amount to anything.

At first, when he finally mustered up

the courage to tell his parents

he was depressed, after nine months

of living in it, they told him

it was just hormones.

They thought he was joking.

And even after a doctor confirmed his claims,

they still say that it is all a lie,

even though they take the boy to see a therapist.

In many ways...that boy has changed.

He is no longer small.

He is tall,

and somewhat muscular.

His bright blonde hair has faded

to a dirty blondish-brown color.

He wears contacts instead of glasses,

and braces cover his teeth.

His hair has longer bangs,

and he now speaks his mind.

He has become wiser, smarter, and stronger

with age, and he can now control his anger,

though it is tested at times.

That little boy who was bullied is gone.

His body has evolved,

along with his mind.

And all of this is a summary.

A little history.

A short, little history

about me.