XANGA #15

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I’ve got something slightly different tonight. Consider yourselves
warned that this post may be rather long, and being mostly historical,
not very interesting to you. However, reading this may help you further
understand my outlook, personality, and decisions. Also consider
yourselves warned that what you may read may have a rather unhappy mood
to it. That’s not quite my doing. What happened to me when I was
younger was unhappy no matter how you look at it. Now I leave you to
this story.

Friday night I found myself sitting in a car, listening to Mr. Bungle
and talking with my mother about my personality. I was somewhat
distressed over the fact that I felt as if I had lost something. What
it felt like was that I had lost my individuality, those differences
which made me stick out.

After expressing these feelings to my mother, she, I do believe, hit
the nail on the head. She told me about how when I was younger, my
differences and my role as a loner and outsider were not so cherished.
I intend to write of some of these experiences which I underwent young.
Keep in mind that when one has undergone a severe trauma, details and
events can be “blacked out.” You will read of what I can remember.

My father always coached baseball. He helped found East Cobb Baseball
with my godfather, GuerryLet’s see, what else happened today? Well, I found out from Dr. Richie. So, from birth, I had been
surrounded by, and used to, the smell, dirt, and sounds of a baseball
field. Even to this day, I run into people who I should know from
baseball but I simply cannot remember. As a result of my being around
baseball so very much, I was always around older people.

When the team would take trips, my mother and I would go along. My
mother has even told me of their taking me to Louisianna as an infant,
feeding me rice pudding provided free by the hotel restaurant. This
went on until around the age of at least ten. When I was old enough, I
became a batboy. That was at around seven or six. I had become so
accustomed with conversing and being with an older crowd, that I had a
hard time getting used to people at school.

I was well liked on the teams. This was partially because of my
father’s status on the team as a coach, also partially because I could
communicate. Unfortunately, school prooved quite different. Minus all
of my experiences with baseball, I was already at least somewhat
different from my classmates. From the time I was born, I had an
extreme sense of right and wrong, just as extreme was my unforgiving
and analytical nature.

These differences were just part of the reason why for seven years I
was totally rejected by my peers and my teachers. When I would come
back from summer vacation, I could hardly communicate with other
students. They simply were not interested in the same things. I didn’t
even have to worry about that by second grade, for, no one would even
talk to me in a decent voice by then.

As if my communication issues were bad enough, things got worse. One
day I was bicycling with my younger sister through the neighborhood
when some older kids started heckling us. I stood up for me and my
sister and yelled back. Unfortunately, it seems that these kids were
two and three years older than me and decided to take extreme offense
at my words. The chased me and my sister. I hid my sister at a friend’s
house and went out to face them. The chased, whipped, beat, and
harassed me all the way home.

Socially speaking, in kindergarten and first grade, I did not have an
extreme difficulty in getting along. Sometimes kids didn’t connect, but
it wasn’t too bad. After I had been beaten in second grade, my social
life was dead. There was not a soul whom I could call a friend except
for a small few. I would walk down the halls and be heckled and
harassed. When I got off of the bus at the end of the day, kids would
lean out of the windows and throw things at me as well as yelling
obseneties.

For an older brother with two younger sisters near in age, this was
something I had to be strong about. I did not want my little sisters
seeing their brother hurt for reasons of masculinity as well as love.
So I tried to put up with this harrasement during school, on the bus,
and around my sisters. I put up with it all the way to the safety and
sactity of my room. When I was able to rest assured that the door was
safe and shut behind me, I would end up sobbing or retreating into the
mindless escapism of literature.

My parents would comfort me and try to appeal to the school system.
However, I could find no friend in my elementary school. The
teachers could not handle me because I thought differently and
questioned their confidences in their jobs. All they knew was that I
was weird and they told my parents that I probably brought it unto
myself. I clearly remember seeing my father on the front porch with a
video camera trying to catch a shot of one of the hecklers.

So where was I to escape? I had few friends, my parents were busy
people, my sisters wouldn’t understand, the school didn’t care for me,
and I am terribly self-critical. I depended upon books to take me away
from my pain and misery. I read and read, untill my eyes ached from
use. Then, in third grade, I found another escape. My third grade
teacher enrolled me in the Target program.

For those of you whom don’t know, the Target program is for “gifted”
students to work and learn at their own pace. Your enrollment was
entirely dependent upon your grades. If they drop too much, you’re on
probation, any more, and you’re out. I was able to keep my grades
enough for the class so everything was lovely.

By lovely, I mean lovely. I had teachers whom understood me and could
deal with me, the other kids were kids who thought at the same level,
and no longer was I bored with the meniality of regular school. So here
is where I hid for around an hour or so every day untill I was thrown
out. However comforting that time may have been, I still had time to
spend with the rest of my peers.

Third grade was rather tranquil for me, as I had kept my head low and
decided to simply speak as little as possible, for fear of drawing
attention to myself. For whenever attention was drawn to me, I was
humilliated and trod upon. I found increasingly that I wanted very
little or nothing at all to do with my classmates. My friends at this
time were: Tim(since K), John (K), Anthony (apprx
1), and Kat (unknown). These didn’t change very much and to this
day those four are amongst my best friends and true confidants.

Fourth grade one could say I was somewhat of a nerd. I had decided that
if the teachers wouldn’t teach me at the pase I desired, then I would. I
set down and read a set of encyclopedias in the course of one year.
This obviously did not help my social standing at the time. To be
surrounded by a bunch of people whom think that to learn and to enrich
one’s mind is second to social functions was a terrible situation. It
was in fourth grade that I met a new friend through tutoring. Tyler and I became good friends since and still are to this day. Also,
this year the STAR test was implimented. It’s purpose was to measure
the reading level of an individual student so that they may be able to
read better books. The test had a maximum grade level of 13+. In fourth
grade, I scored an 11.

Fifth grade was by far the most traumatic year of my life. I had, to an
extent, gotten used to the constant hatred from my peers and I had
gotten over it, or really, to suppress my feelings. I had also found
solice in the Target program, where I was surrounded by people whom I
could really conect with, and teachers whom showed kindness and
affection.

In that wretched grade, I had taken the test around three times. Why
three? Because my teacher, Mrs. H, had difficulty believing the
answers. The first time I took the test I scored a 13+. So she made me
re-take it. The next time: 13+. She then accused me of cheating somehow
and made me re-take it. I scored the same again and this time
counselors intervened and told her to cut it out.

If that wasn’t bad enough, this woman alienated me in the classroom and
drew attention to me. I could find no peers to fall back upon in the
constant torment of class. This idiot woman would also butcher my
grades, telling my parents that since I did so well on standardized
testing, I should be graded more rigorously than my peers.

This woman angered me greatly. So, being the stubborn kid that I was,
and still am, I did whatever I could to disrupt her class. I would even
go so far as to stand on tables and preach to the class about
conspiracies or what not, to serve no other reason than to show my
rebellion and hatred for her. I was so driven that I started a union.
We were called the Students Against Teachers, or SAT(I know, it’s
terrible.)

This actually helped my social status. I made some new friends and
everything was looking a little better, even if these new friends of
mine cared little for me and by the end of the year would turn against
me and betray me in an hour of need.

After picking up some friends, all I had to worry about was my constant
struggle with this teacher about my grades. She was bound and
determined to fail me, no matter what the cost. She twisted and
manipulated my grades untill I was thrown out of Target, my safe cucoon.

The Target teachers actually called together a meeting for my sake, as
well as two or three other kids. They were aware of Mrs. H’s
indiscretions but could do nothing about it. My fifth grade target
teacher actually cried as she hugged me and said goodbye, telling me to
come and visit.

Without this escape, I had nowhere to hide just as things were getting
rockier. Our union basically colapsed, the members forgeting our
“cause” and hating their leader more than they had before hand. I was
so troubled at this point that I questioned my life, and why I lived
it. This was the darkest time of my life.

Luckily, my parents were able to appeal to the school system to not
have me held back or attend summer school and I was able to start annew
in sixth grade. Although I looked at the new school as a fresh start
and a change of pace, I was also quite cynical. What had once been a
bright cheery kid was reduced to a cynical, dark youth, whom trusted no
one and refused to let anyone close.

Unfortunately, to this day I am very much the same. After all that I’ve
been through, I have put up a wall to keep everyone away. I have become
an island within my mind. To this day, when I am complimented, my mind
out of habit is skeptical. I have become severly unemotional, cynical,
untrusting, and self critical. To this day I have never had a
girlfriend whereas my peers have had several.

I have not attended nor been invited to a single party since the
seventh grade. I’m not altogether certain that I would attend if
invited. The only large dance that I have ever been to was the eighth
grade formal, where I spent my time with Kat and left
melancholy. I did attend the Sadie Hawkins dance this year, however it
was smaller and I knew almost everyone there fairly well. I still left
rather melancholy.

To this day, I have trouble opening up to anyone at all, even my best
and most trusted friends. I am so severely detached emotionally, that I
rarely smile, and when I do, it it upon forced effort. I did not write
this piece to beckon for sympathy. I don’t want it,  I can’t use
it.

There were many reasons for the concieving here. One, I needed to let
it all out. I am so tired of people and their games and pettiness that,
damnit, I will tell my story here and if anyone can connect and take
something away from this, then I am happy. If not, then whatever,
I needed that.

Two, so that those close to me whom have not witnessed the living
hell that I went through for a decade can get a better understanding
from what I say and do. My perspective is rather different now because
of these experiences. I may say or do something which from an
outsider’s glance, seems inappropriate for my character, but upon
further inspection, falls in line.

Three, reciprocity. This is for those who did witness my torment and
either did nothing or contribute. I sincerley hope that those of you
who have put me through such hell read this and cannot sleep out of
guilt. I hope that you are haunted by your viciousness the same way
that I am haunted day after day by the images and memories of a
difficult and turbulent past.

Your insincerities and hatred only made me stronger and wiser. I
progressed in character while you degressed. You will live your lives
shallow, and without tase and meaning. Whereas every moment I look back
upon my past and I find pride that I made it.

I wear these scars as a testiment to the human spirit. What have you?
nothing but coldness and numbness. I see you and your knid today in the
halls. You haven’t changed or grown. You are still the shallow, empty
soul which I suffered with infinite impatience five years ago.

Am I bitter? Yes, I am. I think I have a right to be though. I think I
have a right to harbor so little trust and kindness for those of you
who did this to me. It now takes effort for me to even smile. Yet my
smile means more and has meaning to it. I have sincerity in my
bitterness as well as my kindness whereas you haven’t any at all.

I can now read people and see their inner demons whereas you still take
hazzard in your relations. My friendships, the true ones, are few yet
deep, whereas yours change from day to day. You rotten shitbags play
shitty shallow games with people even to this day. I have been the
blunt of your sick jokes for so long that I refuse to play them or
engage in them.

The akward, soft kid, new to being an outsider, has become seasoned
with experience and hardened with cynicism. this post is a tesiment to
all of those whom have gone through such barborous treatment. Even if
the reader has had a relatively tranquil life, hopefully they can still
connect and derive something from my story.

If anyone really read this mosterously long post, they probably would
not comment on it. Fine, whatever. I welcome any and all comments as
long as they’re kind. As for those whom don’t, either they didn’t read
it, or they’re feeling guilt somewhere.

As for not having a girlfriend, this is why. I haven’t been able to
commit to something willingly that I know will end up like so many of
my friendships. That’s why I am so hesitant to ask out K. Even though
I have known her for as long as I have, I don’t want to get hurt, or
hurt her.

Kayla, when I was talking to you about this I told you that I didn’t
want to ruin me and K’s friendship. Your responce was that my
“excuse” was old. Now upon further examination, things are somewhat
different. What’s at stake is a not just a friend, but a close
confidant, someone who has heard my deepest thoughts and desires. She
is the truest female friend that I have ever had in the entire history
of my life. That’s alot at stake. I hope you read this, but I wouldn’t
bet the farm on it simply because of it’s size.

To everyone else. Sorry for the rant, I needed that. Everyone have a good night.

Night Y’all
Andrew Poland