Life

Oh well, everyone seems to post their life-story on here, so why not.

School
My first memories are from when I was about 2 or maybe 3 (this is extraordinary, I know). At daycare they thought I was weird, other children wouldn’t play with me. They hated me. First year at elementary school was about the same, as was the second year. I had to redo the second year, but that school couldn’t handle me. I went to another school, which could handle me, at least, it could for a few years. I had a very nice teacher. Then the next year I got another teacher, who absolutely hated me. The first few years I didn’t notice, but after a few years she started to get really mean. She would yell at me, call me names. My other teachers hated me as well, they made up stories about how I made a huge mess while in reality I didn’t do anything. My parents believed them. So in my sixth year my parents started to look for other schools, more suitable for me. I ended up in an elementary school for children with behavioural and learning difficulties. My first year on the ‘crazy school’ went really good. I had an amazing teacher (two, actually). But the second year I had a muslim teacher. Now I have nothing against muslims, but let me explain why this was a problem: there were a lot of children with muslim parents, and I have atheist parents. I never thought it was a problem, I never thought about it at all. Untill I made the mistake to talk about evolution. One of the muslim boys got really agressive, he was like ‘How dare you say something like that! Don’t you know people were created by Allah from the sand!’ (something like that, I don’t really remember what he said, so I might be wrong about the sand thing). Now here’s were I got agressive, I started to yell at him about freedom of speech, how I was allowed to believe in Darwin’s theory if I wanted to (I was 12, so I knew quite a bit about things like that already). My teacher was with the boy (which was not fair at all because he was the one that got agressive, I just responded to him). I became a very agressive child from that point. Yelling, fighting, threatening. It got so bad they seperated me from the other kids. At first I still got some form of education, but that disappeared after a while as well. At first I communicated with my class through changing the computer’s background image to short messages I typed in Paint. But that was taken from me as well. Have I mentioned my teacher also tried to accuse me of trying to kill her baby while she was pregnant? I was agressive, not stupid. If that’d be true I’d be locked away in a home for sure. Actually I was quite tempted to DO kill her baby, but fear stopped me from doing so. After education got torn away from me my parents decided to just keep me at home untill I could go to highschool (in my country there is no such thing as ‘middle school’) after the summer (it is a school for autistic students, I will explain later). First year in highschool went by, there were a few kids who called me ‘gothic’ all the time (over the year I became more and more different-looking) and one that liked to yell at me, and just disturb the lessons in general. That kid got send to the mental hospital for severe behavioral problems and marijuana-smoking. Second year was better, nice people, no bullies, a bit of a hyperactive class, but what would you expect from a bunch of 14 year olds (I’ve always been a bit ahead of my age, say a good two years). Those two years went by with very good marks (except for the mathematical subjects, that’s because I’ve  got some weird IQ related problem) so towards the end of year 2 I was told I was going to be in the gifted programme next year. The gifted programme is a class of people from year three to year six, all doing the highest school level who were scoring extraordinarily high before they got there. I couldn’t fit in with them, though I do have some friends. Now I just stay at home because school is too much to handle for me right now.

Aspergers
I was diagnosed with Aspergers syndrome when I was 9. I’ve had difficulty believing I really was autistic untill last year. I accepted it, it’s not a big deal, just means that you have a few traits that make you different from the average person.

Mental hospitals
I got a panic attack during an appointment with a psycholigst once. I got myself put in the hospital because I just couldn’t calm down. Guess who was in the hospital once I got there? It was the guy who got send away for his behavioral problems and pot-smoking. I hated it there, I had a lot of arguments with some borderline-***** (16) and a psychotic, cocaine addicted ***** (19). I was 14 at the time. After that I got send to another, more open hospital. I got myself out of there because I wanted to go home, because the meds were working and I just didn’t want to be there anymore. Went home, turned 15, everything was okay untill I started to have suicidal thoughts. I got myself into another hospital (my parents didn’t like the way the first hospital treated me) and stayed there for a few weeks. The thoughts were gone, I could go home. I spend one night at that hospital again a week ago because I kept having arguments with my parents and both me and my parents wanted to rest. I was going to stay there for three days but got sick of it the next day and kinda forced them and my parents to let me go home.

Self-harm
I first cut when I was eleven. I was always trying not to eat back then because I thought I was fat (I am not, 165 cm, 55 kg). But I sometimes ate a lot. I hated myself, I needed punishment. I must say, I absolutely HATED it the first time, it didn’t satisfy me at all, it just made me feel guilty. Then, on a day when I was 13 I got tempted. I did it again, and this time it didn’t feel that bad. It didn’t really feel good either though. I stopped because my mom noticed. Then, when I was 14 (almost 15) I started again. Told a counselor, counselor told parents (I was later told she wasn’t even legally allowed to do that). 15: started again, small cuts on the wrist, nothing major. They slowly got longer and deeper, and stared to spread on my body (I now avoid the wrist, as it isn’t easily covered up, not even with long sleeves). Stopped for a few weeks, just because I didn’t feel the need anymore. Then I started again, just a few days ago. My psychologist knows, she asks me a lot of questions about it. I started to cut in a distinct pattern (kinda criss-cross-ish, I can’t really explain, I might upload a picture some day) only a few days ago, I like this pattern because it’s pretty (ok, that just sounds sick, but it’s the way I see it) and it feels more intense. Oh well, I don’t intend on stopping anytime soon, it’s like smoking, only less lethal. It satisfies me. It gives me pleasure (very creepy, I know). Why would I stop? For scars? I don’t care about scars, some are quite pretty (like the heart shape on my leg, even my psychologist had to admit it was quite cute (she didn’t see it though)) and they are all part of my personality. It is misunderstood by so many people, they think it’s weird, crazy, sick. But when you ask them if they smoke they all say yes. And smoking is actually a lot more harmful. And that’s the logical truth.

So, no-one’s ever gonna read this entire post because it’s insanely long. I didn’t include anything about my family because they are quite avarage and loving. I have a mom and a dad, they’ve been married for quite a long time and still love each other. Two grandparents are still alive, the other two have died before I was even born. I have a dog and two cats (but I don’t really like animals). I have an older half-brother (27) who’s always been very nice to me. I really like him and his girlfriend. No real problems in the family-area as you can see. Oh well, I’ll stop ranting before this already insanely long post reaches epic proportions.