Enraged
Here's a window into my life, written to put down my memories and to get something off my chest. And by the way, I don't act like this normally. I do not need professional help, either.
My world is falling apart. Ever since I learned about the mind and its capabilities, I just see everything in a different light. I notice things in greater perspective and for once I wish I wasn't so advanced and intelligent. I'm always on edge and I am always angry. And lately talking to Matt isn't as easy as before. When we talk, it is like we are on a tight rope. If one of us says one wrong word, we could go falling.
And I know I've been acting like a butt-hole towards him, but I just can't help it. I know it's not right to channel all of my anger towards him; but I don't have any other way to control it. My so-called parents don't realize how angry I am, how shut-out I am from the world. I have honestly tried to reach out, but it is so depressing to get rejected from them. I have bottled up most of my negative feelings for almost six years now and I think it is all coming out quickly.
I'm not trying to write a book but I HAVE to write until I'm satisfied that I have proof why I'm angry. So, if this becomes published or something like that, understand that writing a book isn't my goal. Putting my feelings on paper, so I can understand all at once why I'm angry is what I want to accomplish. So, I guess I'll will start in third grade and work my way up…
I. Third Grade: The Little Monster
I guess it was during the summer after I had finished second grade when I began resenting my brother, the one I never asked for. I noticed how he got all the attention from all of our family members. They would say, "Oh, he's just so cute", or "Jackie, Isaiah looks so adorable", and he would put on his little show of acting innocent and harmless, even though he was a plotting, little demon. And then they would notice me and say something nice about me, but it was just because they thought it would be fair. And everything I got, I had to share with him, even if he already had received something. Nothing was off-limits to him, basically. When he got into trouble, he would use his innocent puppy face to get out of it. Luckily, that only saved him a few times. And it was because of all this attention that I resorted to bad behavior. I broke some glass on purpose, made my "brother" suffer so he could snitch on me, and started crying way more than normal.
Even if I got a small cut that would only sting for a minute or two, I would start bawling. I know it sounds a bit pathetic but remember that I was only an 8 year old who was a little jealous of the attention his brother was getting. Before cared about the attention he was getting, I was a pretty good kid. I never got in trouble at school, me "grades" were great, and I never really caused any problems at home. I was pretty smarter than those other mini-freaks who were still able to stab themselves with their own pencils.
But apparently, my parents didn't think I was good enough. Don't get me wrong, they treated me okay (most of the time), but they just didn't motivate me or try to congratulate me on my accomplishments when I did something great. And as I previously said before, I realized this during the summer before third grade. And when I came into third grade, I made sure I got attention from everybody. It didn't matter if I had to kiss up to the preppies or get sent to the principle's office for bad behavior, I was going to get some attention. But still Isaiah overshadowed my actions. I remember one day when we had to draw our moms for Mother's Day in Art. All of her classes were doing it. I drew my mom and the art teacher said that I would be a great artist one day. I was so proud! And after we drew our pictures, the teacher would make them into magnets to be put on the refrigerator. I couldn't wait to get home and show my mom. So when I ran through the door I went straight for my mom.
When I got to her I tried to tell her about my picture and about the teacher saying I would be a great artist one day. But before I could tell her that much she said, "Show me later, I'm busy," And do you want to know what she was doing? She was sitting in the chair watching television! And I said "But mommy, it's important! I-". (Guess what she said!...) She told me, "Be quiet! I'm trying to watch T.V.!" So I walked towards the door. (Now I would have let what she said go if she hadn't done this) My brother walked up and said "Mommy look what we did in art!" She stopped watching T.V. and looked at his picture. She said "Oh, sweetie, it's beautiful. Thank you!" I couldn't believe she just did that! I was so angry, so sad, that I just threw it away and didn't say anything about it. That hurt me to my core. And so the next day, when we were riding the bus to school, I was glaring out the window, still angry. And an eighth grader had the nerve to say, "Aw, look. Christian has a wittle attitude. What's wrong, huh? You had a scary nightmare?
Hahaha!" (Me and her didn't really like each other that much) I turned in my seat and said, "I know you're not talking to me. Because it would be really sad if I mentioned your hand-me-down clothes that have holes in them, that Jezebel-red lipstick that makes you look like you work the night shift on the corner, and your yellow teeth that makes me think you've been drinking to much popcorn butter and that’s just nasty because the only way your breath smells good is because you have a peppermint in your mouth every 10 minutes. ( I told you I was smart at that age).
And I know I've been acting like a butt-hole towards him, but I just can't help it. I know it's not right to channel all of my anger towards him; but I don't have any other way to control it. My so-called parents don't realize how angry I am, how shut-out I am from the world. I have honestly tried to reach out, but it is so depressing to get rejected from them. I have bottled up most of my negative feelings for almost six years now and I think it is all coming out quickly.
I'm not trying to write a book but I HAVE to write until I'm satisfied that I have proof why I'm angry. So, if this becomes published or something like that, understand that writing a book isn't my goal. Putting my feelings on paper, so I can understand all at once why I'm angry is what I want to accomplish. So, I guess I'll will start in third grade and work my way up…
I. Third Grade: The Little Monster
I guess it was during the summer after I had finished second grade when I began resenting my brother, the one I never asked for. I noticed how he got all the attention from all of our family members. They would say, "Oh, he's just so cute", or "Jackie, Isaiah looks so adorable", and he would put on his little show of acting innocent and harmless, even though he was a plotting, little demon. And then they would notice me and say something nice about me, but it was just because they thought it would be fair. And everything I got, I had to share with him, even if he already had received something. Nothing was off-limits to him, basically. When he got into trouble, he would use his innocent puppy face to get out of it. Luckily, that only saved him a few times. And it was because of all this attention that I resorted to bad behavior. I broke some glass on purpose, made my "brother" suffer so he could snitch on me, and started crying way more than normal.
Even if I got a small cut that would only sting for a minute or two, I would start bawling. I know it sounds a bit pathetic but remember that I was only an 8 year old who was a little jealous of the attention his brother was getting. Before cared about the attention he was getting, I was a pretty good kid. I never got in trouble at school, me "grades" were great, and I never really caused any problems at home. I was pretty smarter than those other mini-freaks who were still able to stab themselves with their own pencils.
But apparently, my parents didn't think I was good enough. Don't get me wrong, they treated me okay (most of the time), but they just didn't motivate me or try to congratulate me on my accomplishments when I did something great. And as I previously said before, I realized this during the summer before third grade. And when I came into third grade, I made sure I got attention from everybody. It didn't matter if I had to kiss up to the preppies or get sent to the principle's office for bad behavior, I was going to get some attention. But still Isaiah overshadowed my actions. I remember one day when we had to draw our moms for Mother's Day in Art. All of her classes were doing it. I drew my mom and the art teacher said that I would be a great artist one day. I was so proud! And after we drew our pictures, the teacher would make them into magnets to be put on the refrigerator. I couldn't wait to get home and show my mom. So when I ran through the door I went straight for my mom.
When I got to her I tried to tell her about my picture and about the teacher saying I would be a great artist one day. But before I could tell her that much she said, "Show me later, I'm busy," And do you want to know what she was doing? She was sitting in the chair watching television! And I said "But mommy, it's important! I-". (Guess what she said!...) She told me, "Be quiet! I'm trying to watch T.V.!" So I walked towards the door. (Now I would have let what she said go if she hadn't done this) My brother walked up and said "Mommy look what we did in art!" She stopped watching T.V. and looked at his picture. She said "Oh, sweetie, it's beautiful. Thank you!" I couldn't believe she just did that! I was so angry, so sad, that I just threw it away and didn't say anything about it. That hurt me to my core. And so the next day, when we were riding the bus to school, I was glaring out the window, still angry. And an eighth grader had the nerve to say, "Aw, look. Christian has a wittle attitude. What's wrong, huh? You had a scary nightmare?
Hahaha!" (Me and her didn't really like each other that much) I turned in my seat and said, "I know you're not talking to me. Because it would be really sad if I mentioned your hand-me-down clothes that have holes in them, that Jezebel-red lipstick that makes you look like you work the night shift on the corner, and your yellow teeth that makes me think you've been drinking to much popcorn butter and that’s just nasty because the only way your breath smells good is because you have a peppermint in your mouth every 10 minutes. ( I told you I was smart at that age).
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