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No. 25324
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It's the worst. Trying to talk to someone about something you deeply care about, whether it's casual interests or hard personal issues. Realizing they can't wait for you to shut up, realizing that they themselves don't shut you up only out of embarrassment and forced politeness. It's the worst. Futilely trying to make someone else care. They never do. I hate these memories. I hate myself. I hate everyone.
I remembered something that happened to me sometime halfway through the primary school. One of many similar incidents.
It was a typical gloomy day in the decomposing eastern bloc. It was wet and cool, snow was almost gone. The awful weather somewhere between winter and spring.
Outside of the schoolyard's fence there was a short, shallow ditch running along a rarely used road. It drained water from a little ground seep. Kids used to play there after their classes were over.
I had no friends, but I wanted to. I never wanted to be alone.
That day after school a group of kids stayed to play at the stream, and I tagged along. I should have went straight home.
The water was full of hair-like algae, bright green. We would gather long streams of these things with sticks, wave them around like whips and chase each other.
We threw the wet algae against the road's asphalt. They made funny slapping sounds and could be arranged in patterns. On warm days they would dry up and harden into a stiff grey mass.
That day was particularly muddy. I picked up a big clump of the green stuff, and decided to throw it straight up in the air, as high as I could. I thought it would be funny. Mud sprayed as I swung my stick to launch the alga rocket.
Some of the the dirt landed on another kid, leaving a stain no bigger than 5mm on the sleeve of his green-blue winter jacket.
It got him very angry immediately.
I was confused. I thought I everyone was having fun, I got somewhat dirty myself. I didn't mind.
He got in my face and told me to lick the sleeve clean. I didn't understand what was happening and why. I said no.
He slapped me and ordered me to lick it, again. I refused, already crying. He slapped me, pushed me against the school's rusty fence.
I couldn't think of anything I could do to get out of that situation so I threw the muddy stick I was holding at him and called him some names, just to spite him.
He held me against the fence, hitting me in the face repeatedly.
It felt like it took a long time but it must have been seconds. He couldn't have hit me more than 2 or 3 times.
I tried to swing my arms pathetically trying to punch back but it was useless. I was useless, and the feeling only made me cry harder.
Then he dragged me to the road, threw me against the asphalt and kept beating me and grinding my head against the rough tarmac.
Others just watched, no one said a word.
When he was done with me I ran home stumbling and crying, covered in snot, spit, caked mud and blood.
I was always weak so it wasn't really a run, more like a pathetic trot, no faster than walking. In my nightmares when I try to run I always do the same retarded trot.
Behind me I heard the fun times resume, like nothing happened. Others were laughing, running around, doing their thing. No one cared.
When I returned home my mother got scared for a second, then angry, both at the other kid and at me. My father didn't care, as usual.
They didn't say it to my face but they were ashamed and disappointed I was such a loser who couldn't resolve any issues by himself.
Mother called school about the issue. The next day me and that other kid were brought before the principal, scolded, made to promise we wouldn't cause trouble again and shake hands.
I felt hurt and wronged. I didn't think I did anything to deserve what happened, yet we were punished the same. Additionally the silent conclusion was that I was a problematic element who provoked others into abusive behaviour and violence.
My mother also told me I shouldn't hold it against the other kid because I always had it easy and he was from a "hard home." I did what she said, and felt even worse about myself.
To this day when I remember the event I wonder if the whole situation got that Arnie in trouble, if his father beat him for it or something.
This is how things were my entire life. I was told to be open and understanding of others and their struggles. I did my best to, but no one ever did the same for me. I couldn't ever make anyone help me unless I forced them to. I can't stand it. I was told to care while no one else did.
When I ended up in situations requiring arbitration of others, theories were constructed after the fact to explain why I deserved what I got, why I deserve to be a reject.
I suffer. 30 years, I suffer without a pause. Alone. Banging head against a wall. Normals can't imagine what it does to a human heart.
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