This is where the story continues. .
Now, before anyone says anything this isn’t me. It’s similar to how I did it. Mine were more on the inside of my forearm. And a lot deeper than these ones. When I got older they got deeper and I started to spell things…
I think twelve is about the next good place to continue my story. I’m guessing that’s when my depression took over. This is when my memories started to come back.
I had moved to my grandparents house an was going to school there for a year. I was told my parents were having problems years later as to why I needed to leave.
At my grandparents I went to a little middle school. I started having more emotional problems. My anger was growing and was hard to control. I remember as always being picked on when I first got there. One kid in particular did it a lot at first. I had him in two classes. The second class was home ec. For those that don’t know, it’s where boys an girls are taught to take care of themselves. Cooking, sewing, etc.
It was in this class that I broke for the first time bad. He was a fat kid. Very fat. I was overweight, but no where near as bad. Every single day he would make homosexual comments to me. About what he wanted to do to me. Wanted me to do with him. I would complain to the teacher and she would say she couldn’t do anything about it because he denies it and she never saw it happen. So I took it for two months. Then it happened. I thought it through as to when and how. I got to class early that day. I grabbed the wood handled broom and stood behind the door waiting for him to come in. About a third of the class came in before he did, so a lot of people saw what happened. When he walked in, I started hitting him with the broom. Keep in mind I’m a overweight twelve boy. I hit him so many times and so hard I broke the broom handle off on his back. Then I proceeded to keep hitting him as hard as I could till he was on the ground. And I still didn’t stop until the teacher grabbed me and pulled me off. He ended up going to the hospital for a week. And that week, I was kicked out if school. I couldn’t come back until.. I WROTE HIM AN APOLOGY LETTER!!
I said no, so I had to stay out an additional week until I gave in otherwise I would have to find another school to go to.
Needless to say, they removed him from both my classes and shortly afterwards he left the school completely.
Everyone now saw me as the big bad kid. Nobody at that school ever messed with me again. Lol that’s where I think my bipolar fully kicked in and it was a ride. I started drinking before school. Drinking after school. Smoking cigarettes. And smoking pot. My neighbors had a garage behind my house with a bunch of old toys from when their kids were smaller. I would hang out in there and drink vodka and scotch straight. After a few months I started lighting fires in their garage. Last time I remember going in there an drinking was the day I poured gasoline all over a big wheel and light it. I came home for lunch that day and saw it was still smoking and the neighbors were talking to the police.
Yep, I was fairly out of control. But it didn’t stop there…got kicked out of school dances. You name it.
Then I met my first real girlfriend. I was in love. I knew I loved her more than anyone ever and she was the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Long red hair. Pale skin. Slender build. Actually had brests. Lol
We talked every night. That was back in the day when the phones had cords. My grandparents had what I remember as a 80′ long cord. After homework, her or I would call and we would talk for an hour or two about who knows what..This went on for about three months. Those were wonderful, peaceful, happy months…I was in love and she loved me back. Then one day she just didn’t come to school after the weekend. We didn’t talk that Sunday because I had family things going on. But Monday I called her house and her parents would say she stayed home because she didn’t feel well. For two more weeks I called every night and she was too sick to come to the phone. Her girlfriends started asking me where she was but I didn’t know. That made me feel a little better knowing it wasn’t just me who’s calls she was avoiding.
After two weeks her mom finally said she had moved away an she didn’t know where she was coming home. I called every few days for an update. But it was always the same answer. Two months later I called an her mom was crying and finally told me what had happened and couldn’t lie to me anymore because she knew I truly cared about her. She had been institutionalized and during her stay had committed suicide.
At age twelve to be manic, drinking, and in love. ..to hear your first love had killed herself was devastating. This is when I started cutting. My favorite object was my grandfather’s yellow straight razor. It’s very clear in my mind. I cut and cut until I almost cut too deep. They began asking questions and hid everything in the house that I may be using to cause it.
To this day, red heads grabs my eye and I have to stare or flirt with them regardless where I’m at. Red heads are my weakness. But that girl was my one and only red headed girlfriend.
(To be continued)