Part 1 can be read by clicking my name and selecting part one. Summary wise part one was an account of early life into middle school. Who I was and how I was and what I went through and how I held up hope. This part two will be the same but from high school.
In 8th grade things were nearly on the line. I was by this time seeing a paid therapist who seemed like she was listening but she wasn’t And when I reached 10th grade her doctor friend (who was a beauty) who gave me zoloft and kept a careful eye on me and my moods. For a while I was doing well on Zoloft and I was still me I just smiled more like I usually do.
But let’s back up to 9th grade. 6-8th grade my middle school introduced transitioning to get us ready for the drastic change in high school. I struggled with that alone with everything else. But when I reached 9th grade it became semi second nature. Semi because I had to share a locker with someone I didn’t like. I didn’t hate the girl, but I didn’t like how she treated people. I didn’t adjust well though when it came to the social dynamic of it all. Always changing classes and never having a person you could connect with, the heavy text books you had to carry which made your arms nearly fall off. But in truth the classes didn’t change enough. Because 9th grade was the worst year.
I was doing alright with school work to start the 9th grade year. I managed an A and Bs and Cs still up and down Ds in math as always. The teachers were ok but math was abit bad. It was a language barrier thing because she happened to also be a french teacher. Everyone understood her enough, I still didn’t no matter what I did. I eventually went back to drawing. Something that also helped me in middle school to manage during the boring times. The teacher didn’t care much until it was time to turn in homework. My problems were wrong and my hand writing wasn’t good. She gave me the grade and like always I threw my paper away. Phys ed was…horrible. Horrible because the girls didn’t do anything but dance on the stage to rap music and talk about what boyfriend they were eyeing or banging or how sexy blah blah blah all that kind of stuff. The gym teacher didn’t care. He was busy using gym time to train the boys for basketball. They ran suicides, played 21 and did regular run in place jumping jack type exercises. When I asked if I could join….LOL yea I fell on deaf ears. I stayed near the stage with the rest of the girls. Pissed and upset. The girls started turning up the music and putting in CDs of songs that kind of should not have been played in the gym but they weren’t bad either. They hip rolled, popped, and kept lifting up their shirts to show off their flat stomach (moderately flat) as they danced. If I had been a few shades lighter I would have been caught blushing at the spectacle. I just tried not to look. Sadly I was eventually discovered by one of the girls who slapped me in the back of the head when she realized I didn’t take my eyes off one dancer. All I could think was oh shit in my head. The questions came. A few were legitimate but the rest were downright rude. The girl in question started avoiding me like a leper. I felt ashamed but confused as to why there weren’t alot of people like myself. I was outnumbered with a total attendance of 100 or 200 students in the school. Word got out fast. The boys started asking their ego inflating questions and kept offering to show themselves. I really don’t want to see that mess.
This was also the time I discovered some boy liked me. He was tall light skinned, wore glasses lanky and kind of stiff when he walked. I thought he was cool until he told me I was a sick person and was some type of freak to him. He like the rest abused me when they got the chance. He slapped me quite hard and a few times threw an over inflated basketball at my face. Everyone just laughed and the teacher didn’t take it seriously when I complained. I did something though that I regret and glad I learned fast. I tried to go with a boy at this school. His name I’ll call “Tom”. I thought he was beautiful with his beaver teeth, cocked eyes, tall and wide frame and the fact that we shared some things in common. He didn’t like me but he didn’t say it out loud. I tried to play with him and hug him. But he didn’t like that I played rough, he took advantage of that quite often. He verbally abused me in front of the class and the teacher in this one was a bit sterner but it didn’t have much affect on him doing it again. We got into physical fights often. One was playing but it escalated and he broke my finger. The other was started by myself because he kept throwing my text books off the desk when I wanted to study with him. I had had enough at slapped him with a closed fist. Not punch a slap. He rebound punched me be I could figure out what happened. EVeryone laughed and teased. His mother never scolded him and took him home. MY mother told me I should have been killed. Then another boy. One I had knew since I played golf with a young kids league. I felt I could trust him since he knew what I was going through. I trie dto date him and would kiss him in the halls after everyone was in class. KIssing him was uncomfortable but I figured all girls feel the same and do it anyway. Then he tried to make a pass. A pass I could not forget. I follwoed him down the unused hall to the lunch room (that bad part about having a huge scholl with few students) and we walked into an abandoned classroom. I was curious as to why we were here but he kissed me. He tried to lift me up and that’s when my inner male kicked in. I let myself be dead weight and he nearly hurt his back. I wanted to know what the hell he thought he was doing and he said he wanted to taste me. Suffice to say my hackles raised in anger and feared and I proceeded to leave but he grabbed my arm. Being stronger physically than most women I resisted his pull until he gave up. He ripped my sweater and destroyed my sense of security. THat was when I started cutting. My parents had shown me at an early age that I can only fear them not trust them. So I never told them about it. Cutting is what I used to get by along with listening to Linkin park, and drawing demons. Most of the time that year was spent crying. Just like all my life. And people made fun of it. My art saved me those years since I didn’t have much else. Everyone feared the demons I drew. They were vivid and since I was in a wananabe Catholic school the holier than thou black teachers preached about this and that. That’s when I closed my heart and opened fresh wounds on my body.
When I reached 10th grade at a new school (my grades were too low for anywhere else) things started off slow again. This school was more diverse. There were Caldeans, A few Asians, A few Caucasions, Muslims, Spanish and just a mix of people. I was excited to be amongst diversity for a change. The school year wasn’t that bad work wise. I wasn’t doing the best like always but I was doing. The pressures came from home and from looking for a relationship. In my oldest post I often mention one of my natural goals. A wonderful wife. It was my dream to be married, adopt some children and a dog and learn and grow with my family. So I was always actively looking for prospects for what I thought a good wife entailed. I was still rejected in this school but I wasn’t so ACTIVELY teased like I was at the last school. Their were actual people above teasing and even frowned at it. Of course they never did much to help but neither did they participate. We were more of a community. I could handle that well and began to open up some to others. I discovered here that their were lesbians and bi’s and pretty much different queer people like myself so I did what I could to try and get with this community that was established before I got here. That didn’t work at all. I was constantly pushed away because I’m by nature very masculine in manner even if I can discuss things women usually talked about. Because I didn’t fit a “standard” I was looked at as an outsider. I tried to woo this one girl. She was possibly puerto rican mixed with african american. Whatever she was she was beautiful. She seemed quite bright too just by being in her presence. But she didn’t talk to me much. She had a friend who I later discovered was a lot closer than I imagined and yet it confused me. She was her best friend and some type of lover but was technically not her girl friend. I didn’t understand so I continued to persue her. I wrote her love lettersm poems, I made her drawings. She said this is nice and gave them back to me. I was lost as to what that was supposed to mean. That December in 11th grade (same school) I bought her earrings. She loved them and I had the priveldge to see her eyes glow even though i forgot to take the tag off (bad habit). I got my only hug from her that time. It felt comfortable to be in her embrace. She smelled good and she was 4’5 or 6 so I had to lean over a bit. It gave me my dimming hope a big brighten. But the hope started to whittle as I was always kept away from her by her friend. It takes me a lot of courage to walk up to a girl who has a huge group around her. But If I want it I’ll do what I can to get it. And fail. She wasn’t allowed to talk, and barely defended me as her friend and a nearby bully started pestering me. I was at a loss for words. It sent my already close depression in the ground again. I scraped along each day hanging with a new friend I met in 10th grade. He taught me a lot of things but we were honestly in similar situations. We weren’t attractive, very intelligent, depressed and respectful of our parents rules. We hadn’t done drugs or drinking but we both craved to be bad. We eventually were.
I started to wear my clothes like I wanted in school. Untucked polo shirt and low riding dockers. Most teachers didn’t say much except the principal who turned blue when upset. When he finally was allowed to drive his parents car he took me from my hell as often as he could. We went to the mall, the store, or when we met a new friend who was also like us, we travelled to the suburbs and visited our friend to rescue him. We rode the bike trail, started smoking cigarettes because I physically looked older that I was. We cried alot to near the docks. smoking and crying. They had help me over come the stupid girls I kept trying to date online. The prozac facial twitches I was experiencing and overall odd tremors. We all wanted to commit suicide. We all wanted to be free and loved. But our families hated us, society didn’t want us, and we couldn’t keep our heads above water alot of the time.
Of the three of us I ended up still behind. Like always. One friend the one who was our age but was short due to late puberty ended up getting hooked on drugs. He happens to be intelligent like us so he always shared the pros and cons of the drugs he did. I miss his semi-emotionlessness and true knowledge. The other has been trying to fit in with local society. He doesn’t care anymore. He dresses like everyone else now. Baggier pants, hoodies and more rap music. He doesn’t like anime anymore. Not regular anyway. And he betrayed my trust a few too many times when it came to entrusting him with my video games which meant alot to me and also helped keep me afloat in the lavas of hell. I grew up and realized who you surround yourself is a show of your own integrity. I don’t like liers or cheaters, manipulators and such. I miss both my friends but I needed to let them go on with their own lives and maybe we’ll cross roads again.
12th grade was a reflection of 9th grade. Only I was more actively suicidal. This was a new school since I failed at the last school yet somehow the new school let me into the 12th grade anyway. Thanks. Earlier mornings were when I was bullied along with another boy I knew from an older school. He smiled while he did it. Like a Cheshire cat with the caterpillars’ haze in his eyes. He bothered me every chance he got in the halls and just like everywhere else I wasnt widely accepted. The few who did tried to keep me going to best they knew how. They knew when my mood changes. Like a light switch the life of the party leaves home and all that is left is an empty vessel. They tickle me or play rough with me (i like a show of strength even from girls) or they let me be but kept an eye on me. Their were a few teachers who kept the bullying under control as best they could if it happened in their class, but ultimately the bully would get completely kicked out to avoid disturbing everyone else. I made it through this time with more art, heavy metal and still talking with my close friends from 10 and 11th. I tried smoking weed around this time. I like the smoke but the weed had no effect on me. I wanted to try other drugs but my bio mom’s “history” made it too risky to even try the hard stuff once. I gracefully declined.
I graduated high school. It wasn’t a bout of happiness. It was a relief. I was finally going to get that one year of rest I wanted to have so I could move on. Thanks parents for ruining that for me. I was forced into trade school or I would be thrown out on the streets which I would have committed suicide then too. I failed the prelimenary test for this school so I was thrown into the reeducation program.I was 6th grade or abit less in math and it was not enough. In this class I met a beautiful girl who was differnet than I had ever seen. She looked like an angel that fell from heaven and was sitting in the class in front row. During a lunch break I had walked to the hostess shop to buy a box of nutri-grains bars and when I came back she was still sitting there. I looked at my big box and the her and asked her simple if she would like to have some. We became friends from then on since I discovered to a slight disappointment that she was straight and engaged. We had a lot in common in terms of being disabled. She had albanism which is why she looked like an angerl and she had astigmatism in her eyes which made her legally blind. Her vision resembled mine when my glasses came off. And we had made it this far. We grew closer and one day I had the chance to meet fiance who lived with her. Just like when I meet any new male I give them the testing eye to see what they are worth. IT didn’t take long before we too were best of friends and I realized the me and he were like brothers from another mother. Our past is similar. Just change race, location, and a few other things.
I’m going to stop for now and write about the present in part 3 when I’m not so tired.
The things from high school that I used to cope were friends, video games, music, nature, hopes at love, art and food.