Openeing up the memory closet

I’ve got a name.

I have a name that took a few years for me to get used to .

I hate my fucking name…always have and always will. But i have learned to live with it . The first few years of my life I didn;t know that I was the proud owner of an uncomman name. I was always with family and since they were the ones who picked my name, it never seemed strange to them .

Grade school changed everything. I no longer had the sequrity of my parents to shield me form the social idiots of the planet. Grade school. My first glimpse of human natrure. My first steps out into the world… Grade school. Where for the first time we start to make our own choices, start to form the clay that will make us all individules…BULLSHIT> it’s where they teach us to follow the herd, don;t be different. If your different, your harrassed and shit upon, you become a social outcast for something you had no fucking choice in. My mental photographs of grade school are all beaten up, wrinkled from being crushed up in a ball and tossed in the trash…except i can;t throw these pictures out. Some have burnt edges, but no ammount of fire can really make me not see the image. I hated my grade school years. I did learn alot though. I learned to hate, to carry a grudge, saddness, lonelyness, I learned that your best friend one day will be your worse enemy the next. I learned that just because teachers are supposed to be good and kind , it doesn’t mean that they are. I learned to throw a punch in anger. Worst of all the things i learned though…I learned to not trust anyone…People called me shy and I can see where they got the impression. I went hours at length without saying a word to anyone, I never showed emotion. My grade school life was no place to let your emotions be shown…it only fed the fire and brough more attention to me. Pick a corner of the playground and sit and wait for the recess to be over…sit in class and wait for school to be over….sit on the bus and wait for the ride to be over. sit at home and wait for the next day. Wasn’t that bad really…it only took a few fucking years for the wait to be over. All because of a name…My name. Well not just my name…also the name of a dolly that was supposed to the compitition for barbi. I shall never forget the saturday morning when I turned on the television to watch the cartoons and seen the commercial for her…the smiling plastic bitch with my fucking name. combable hair and interchangable outfits…this was a nice touch giving her different clothes to wear…It was like everytime that fucking commercial came on she would put on a new costume to ruin my fucking life with. The next day at school I was labeled as a faggot, my best friends didn’t talk to me because i was gay. Some kids were laughing and singing the catchy little jingle that went with the commercial and I remember seeing my teacher laugh and tell them that it was rude…but he was laughing with them…a big fucking joke. I was gay because a fucking doll had the same name as me , didn’t matter that they weren’t the same spelling. We had the same name so I’m gay. She was a " cover girl" so i got the nickname of "cover girl" I got harrassed and beaten up because of my name.

I was sitting alone in my little corner of the play ground on recess. I don’t know…call it meditation, but i used to spend my recesses sitting on the ground with my feet stuck out in front of me and I’d just stare at my feet..countless amounts of hours have been spent in my life looking at my feet. I was a cancer…to be seen talking to me meant instant ridicule for the other kids unlucky enough to be dealing with thier own personal hell. so like I said. I sat by myself alot. this one day while staring at me feet i’m instantly snapped out of my daze by the chunk of comcrete that hit me in the face…Seems one of my old friends decided that since it had been about a week since my last harrassing I was over due for some unwarented punishment for being me. My punishment this day was to have a plum sized chunk of concrete thrown at me to be follwed up by being pushed arround and possibly punched a few times. It hit me right on the cheekbone just in front of my ear…I let out a yelp of pain of course and this was followed by laughter from my classmates. " Look at the little baby…going to cry little baby …look everyone the faggot is going to cry"  I remember yellinng at them all to fuck off . I also remeber the way everything seemed to be focused on me, the entire playground was looking at the kid who just yelled out the bad word. I remeber the teacher in charge of recess coming up and grabbing me by my arm and dragging me to the principles office…didn’t matter to this bitch that i got hit in the face with a chunk of concrete…hell it didn;t even matter to the principle who didn’t even hesitate to pull out his leather strap and give me 6 whacks ..3 across each palm…. I said fuck and got strapped…he threw a chunk of concrete at me and got to go back to recess. Of course on afternoon recess the kid came up to me wanting to know if i told on him. it wouldn’t have metter if i did or not…You can’t unstrap me. I told him to leave me alone…so he threw my jacket in a garbage can, spit on me and called me a faggot once for good measure before walking away. I dealt whit crap like that on a weekly basis…It carried over into the first few months of highschool. My older brother came up to me and told me that he wasn;t going to be my body gaurd and that i had to stand up for myself…His exact words were " grab the next asshole that bugs you and beat the shit out of him ."  It turned out to be the concrete throwing idiot from a few years earlier…I was in the washroom taking a leak and the next thing i know I was pushed from behind and called a fag …Pushing a guy who is taking a leak will most likely result in the pee’r to pissing all over himself…I had piss all over my hands. I finished pissing and then proceded to beat the ever loving fuck out of the kid. I ended up on top of him with his arms pinned under my legs and his face fully exposed …I fucked him up. Broke his nose, split his lip..blackeyes..he had so many lumps and brusies the next day  his head looked like a bag of wallnuts. The next day at school my brother and I were walking down the hallway and ran into him …My brother grabbed him and reminded him that the beating he got was more than well deserved. I don’t think that kid even made eye contact with me for the rest of higschool.

I saw him last night at the bar we go to when on the afternoon shift. he was sitting at the bar with a few of his friends and had obviously been drinking. I didn;t say anything to him and I doubt if he even saw me . I don’t have any feeling for the guy …yeah he made parts of my life a hell , but beating the shit out of him made alot of people think twice about me. Beating his ass was probably the best thing I could have done.

Just a little look at the inner workings of m

e.

Later fuckers and fuckettes