(no subject)
Last night, falling asleep, I had a troubling realization.
I'm jealous of H.W.S.R.N.
OK, so maybe that's not news, but what is news is the why: because he fucking remembers his life.
Not me.
I'll tell you what I do remember:
I remember 7th grade, and that I just stopped doing any schoolwork. I didn't cut classes, I was still physically there, but I just sat there, did nothing.
I remember 6th grade, and that I brought a knife to school and threatened another student with it.
I also remember 7th grade and the music teacher who was ... let's call it "inappropriate." I remember him holding me, close. I remember struggling, squirming to get free. I remember him pressing himself up against me.
"Inappropriate"? Damn skippy. "Abuse"? Well, that's a bit nebulous.
I will also say that it certainly never occurred to me that I could -- should -- tell somebody about it. He was a teacher, for fuck's sake -- I was just a fuckup student -- fat girl -- crazy girl --
Hell, my own Dad hardly ever went a day without calling me "crazy girl," "abnormal," "wild like a Banshee ..."
You know, when you get told something often enough, you start to believe it.
So is this why I keep my (paper) journals? Is this why I take all those pictures? So I won't forget? _aqualung_ remembers all sorts of things about our time together that I've long since forgotten, and I find it really troubling.
ratphooey was there when I was in 6th and 7th grade -- so tell me: what the fuck happened?
My mother always wrote it off to puberty ... is that really the best that she can do with that goddamn motherfucking psychology degree of hers?
Cause gee golly willikers ... they all sound like classic signs of sexual abuse to me ...
I'm jealous of H.W.S.R.N.
OK, so maybe that's not news, but what is news is the why: because he fucking remembers his life.
Not me.
I'll tell you what I do remember:
I remember 7th grade, and that I just stopped doing any schoolwork. I didn't cut classes, I was still physically there, but I just sat there, did nothing.
I remember 6th grade, and that I brought a knife to school and threatened another student with it.
I also remember 7th grade and the music teacher who was ... let's call it "inappropriate." I remember him holding me, close. I remember struggling, squirming to get free. I remember him pressing himself up against me.
"Inappropriate"? Damn skippy. "Abuse"? Well, that's a bit nebulous.
I will also say that it certainly never occurred to me that I could -- should -- tell somebody about it. He was a teacher, for fuck's sake -- I was just a fuckup student -- fat girl -- crazy girl --
Hell, my own Dad hardly ever went a day without calling me "crazy girl," "abnormal," "wild like a Banshee ..."
You know, when you get told something often enough, you start to believe it.
So is this why I keep my (paper) journals? Is this why I take all those pictures? So I won't forget? _aqualung_ remembers all sorts of things about our time together that I've long since forgotten, and I find it really troubling.
ratphooey was there when I was in 6th and 7th grade -- so tell me: what the fuck happened?
My mother always wrote it off to puberty ... is that really the best that she can do with that goddamn motherfucking psychology degree of hers?
Cause gee golly willikers ... they all sound like classic signs of sexual abuse to me ...