(no subject)
So I have repressed memories. Lots, apparently.
It's not that I've got dark, dark secrets of abuse and horribleness buried in my subconscious. Because I don't. There are just large portions of my early life that, for whatever reason, I decided not to think about until I forgot they occured. Partly, granted, because of my circumstances and the things that happened to me and my circle. But mainly because thinking about those events involves remembering who I was. And who I was, was pretty damn shit.
It's mainly the fear, I think. I've seen it described in a couple of once-I-was-bullied-but-now-I'm-not books, and each time the description is accurate, familiar, and utterly insufficient. The state of being afraid of humiliation, yet firm in the knowledge that humiliation is inescapable. Newness invites attack, which lowers confidence, which invites further attack. It's the sort of vicious cycle that turns so many 'geeks' into maladjusted tossers. Those lucky enough to be socially accepted look on and wonder 'why did he do that?. If they ever work up the empathy to *ask*, they find that said sociopath usually replies 'what else could I do?'.
Then usually follows the useless advice. 'Be confident!' Confidence is not a choice. For the socially adjusted, confidence is a privilige - of a cycle of reinforcement, just as humiliation is a cycle of reinforcement. For someone stuck in the latter, confidence is earned through self-overcoming, which is the most intensely personal process imaginable. It's also pretty damn difficult, and it isn't made easier by the legions of fucktards who think it's *funny* when (for example) a maladjust gets a crush on someone 'out of their league'. Protip: It isn't funny, fuckers. It's tragic on both sides, doubly so because there's nothing either side can really do about it. Similarly, it isn't *funny* when a physically-unfit maladjust (and that's most of them, really) tries to join a school sports team to try and gain some acceptance, and ends up being mocked for their unfitness. Everyone starts somewhere, you drooling syphilitic retards.
And actually, this isn't really too relevant to my point. Because none of the above has happened to me. The few out-of-league crushes I've developed have been pretty carefully managed, on the whole. I avoided joining sports teams because I had eyes and ears and could see what happened when others like me tried it. *I* was mocked for being foreign, and having a funny accent, and being clever. Which, incidentally, is why I get rather upset when people imply that I don't know anything about cultural alienation because I'm white. And by 'rather upset', I mean 'violent'. Get a clue, you racist motherfuckers.
And to be honest, if I hadn't moved to London in Year 10, I'd still be there. I only managed to break the cycle because no-one at Nower Hill knew who I was - I still wasn't 'cool', but my kungfu and my acting and intelligence and my satire won me a certain measure of respect. I may not have been in with the best crowds, but I was at least in with the crowds in general.
And I'd like to be able to say that the experience made me treat the maladjusts at Nower Hill better than my peers did. I'd like to, but I can't. I was just as mocking and dismissive as everyone else, which is another thing I don't particularly like to think about, but which I force myself to every so often as a reminder. We are all the same, in the end, and sometimes sociality is a zero-sum game.
Anyway, this is getting rather essay-ish, so I'll get back to my point. Today it rained, and then it was sunny, and I went in the gardens. The smell of the sun-warmed wet earth reminded me of rugby at SIlcoates, in the bad old days, and I had the most vivid flash of memory I have ever experienced. Almost hallucinatory, but not quite. It was deeply unsettling, and painful to remember the specifics of the incident, but at the same time oddly compelling - like Reverend Wright and Barack Obama, Silcoates is part of me. I hated it, and it harmed me as much as it helped me, but I cannot turn away from it. Today in the garden proved that.
It's not that I've got dark, dark secrets of abuse and horribleness buried in my subconscious. Because I don't. There are just large portions of my early life that, for whatever reason, I decided not to think about until I forgot they occured. Partly, granted, because of my circumstances and the things that happened to me and my circle. But mainly because thinking about those events involves remembering who I was. And who I was, was pretty damn shit.
It's mainly the fear, I think. I've seen it described in a couple of once-I-was-bullied-but-now-I'm-not books, and each time the description is accurate, familiar, and utterly insufficient. The state of being afraid of humiliation, yet firm in the knowledge that humiliation is inescapable. Newness invites attack, which lowers confidence, which invites further attack. It's the sort of vicious cycle that turns so many 'geeks' into maladjusted tossers. Those lucky enough to be socially accepted look on and wonder 'why did he do that?. If they ever work up the empathy to *ask*, they find that said sociopath usually replies 'what else could I do?'.
Then usually follows the useless advice. 'Be confident!' Confidence is not a choice. For the socially adjusted, confidence is a privilige - of a cycle of reinforcement, just as humiliation is a cycle of reinforcement. For someone stuck in the latter, confidence is earned through self-overcoming, which is the most intensely personal process imaginable. It's also pretty damn difficult, and it isn't made easier by the legions of fucktards who think it's *funny* when (for example) a maladjust gets a crush on someone 'out of their league'. Protip: It isn't funny, fuckers. It's tragic on both sides, doubly so because there's nothing either side can really do about it. Similarly, it isn't *funny* when a physically-unfit maladjust (and that's most of them, really) tries to join a school sports team to try and gain some acceptance, and ends up being mocked for their unfitness. Everyone starts somewhere, you drooling syphilitic retards.
And actually, this isn't really too relevant to my point. Because none of the above has happened to me. The few out-of-league crushes I've developed have been pretty carefully managed, on the whole. I avoided joining sports teams because I had eyes and ears and could see what happened when others like me tried it. *I* was mocked for being foreign, and having a funny accent, and being clever. Which, incidentally, is why I get rather upset when people imply that I don't know anything about cultural alienation because I'm white. And by 'rather upset', I mean 'violent'. Get a clue, you racist motherfuckers.
And to be honest, if I hadn't moved to London in Year 10, I'd still be there. I only managed to break the cycle because no-one at Nower Hill knew who I was - I still wasn't 'cool', but my kungfu and my acting and intelligence and my satire won me a certain measure of respect. I may not have been in with the best crowds, but I was at least in with the crowds in general.
And I'd like to be able to say that the experience made me treat the maladjusts at Nower Hill better than my peers did. I'd like to, but I can't. I was just as mocking and dismissive as everyone else, which is another thing I don't particularly like to think about, but which I force myself to every so often as a reminder. We are all the same, in the end, and sometimes sociality is a zero-sum game.
Anyway, this is getting rather essay-ish, so I'll get back to my point. Today it rained, and then it was sunny, and I went in the gardens. The smell of the sun-warmed wet earth reminded me of rugby at SIlcoates, in the bad old days, and I had the most vivid flash of memory I have ever experienced. Almost hallucinatory, but not quite. It was deeply unsettling, and painful to remember the specifics of the incident, but at the same time oddly compelling - like Reverend Wright and Barack Obama, Silcoates is part of me. I hated it, and it harmed me as much as it helped me, but I cannot turn away from it. Today in the garden proved that.