I decided to write this after I saw a second or third
"I hate this life, I can't take it anymore" Before you get into any ideas, I do not wish to mock those people. I do not wish to prove that
"I'm better" or that
"I had it worse than you"I just want to say: I was there, I hit rock bottom. Somehow, amazingly, I managed to pull through. If my story brings you at least 0.1% hope and 0.1% comfort, then I have accomplished my mission.
Childhood-Sheltered, pampered by over-protective mother? Check.
-Average, middle-class family, average home in average town? Check.
Let's cut this story short. I hated school. I still laugh when I think of the moment when my cousin described school to me.
What do you mean I have to go there every day? For a year? No, absurd, preposterous!
Wait, for a year every year, for many many years?!?! Nonsense. I won't do it! I'll go against my parents, I'll run away from home if I have to!"I did not, but I still hated every single day of school, for the rest of my life.
But don't get me wrong, I'm not a moron. I managed somehow to learn how to read, on my own, at the age of four.
I'm not a child prodigy either. I'm incredibly dyslexic to the point of repeatedly failing basic algebra/arithmetic.
I chose books, stories and imaginary worlds instead of real friends. Needless to say I become a bit of a recluse. I wasn't old enough to know the error of my ways.
My mother was delighted that I was turning into a bookworm. Her dominant presence was already dreaming of me, winning international prizes for having an overly large head filled with all kind of academic nonsense.
My father, God keep him healthy was too submissive by that point, to even try.
AdolescenceMy mother, my God.
She used to throw screaming fits of fury when I returned home with
anything less than straight A's (or 10's in the European system)
I used to do forced homework way, way past midnight, being constantly reminded to sit straight on the chair, not lose focus, not slouch, not chew my pencil, not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not notnot not not not not...
She poked me in the ribs with a sharp carpenter's adze when I got sleepy, or I lost focus. I wasn't allowed to go to sleep until flawlessly finishing my homework.
She reminded me to keep my feet level and straighten my back whenever we were walking on the street.
She did get into a frenzy every time I got a minor cold and pump me with strong antibiotics.
She could not accept the fact that I was anything less than perfect.
As such she strongly denied that I was being bullied at school (I was a liar). She denied the fact that I had a sight problem (I was too lazy to write down the things on the blackboard). She denied that I had a serious problem with numbers (I was too lazy to pay attention)
What I remember the most, when it comes to my mother....
The 4-hour long speeches that I got at every mistake. She went to great lengths to describe how I will fail at life. How I will never get a proper job, how I will be lost as soon as she dies. And she will die fast, as I am virtually bringing her one step closer to the grave each and every day. I will fail to wash and feed myself without her.
"The worms will eat your flesh into your own bed" was how she ended her speech.
And then invariably she would add
"I gave birth to you, I will kill you with my own hands"I also remember
"I'm slaving until my flesh falls from my bones, for you... men... pigs, you and your father! I'm starving so you can eat!"My father, God help him, and keep him sane, is an angel. My hero. He's clean, quiet and he has retreated into his own world, long time ago.
That was home.
School wasn't any better. I was constantly being bullied for being a wimpy nerd. I did not have any friends, not even one. I did have my books, and the stories that I made in my head.
I was between a rock and a hard place
(Or rather between the anvil and the hammer, as we have a saying in here.)LostOf course that by the time I reached the age of 14 I still had no friends, I greatly feared my mother and I got the idea that I'm worthless and that maggots will eat me someday.
I had no self-esteem. My life consisted of going to a place I hated (school), studying hard, in fear of my mother, dodging ravenous bullies, being beaten, being abused, having my items taken from me, then going straight home, and fast. And then, my mother. The first hours of the day I was pumped with great food and sweets until I puked, I got new
(and terribly expensive, as my mother constantly reminded me) toys that I had never asked for
(and strangely I never never got the toys I did ask for. Like a slinky. A cheap, plastic colorful slinky. Oh, how i begged), I was allowed to watch TV, play games, I was pampered as some sort of "redemption" for what was to follow.
And then... from 4 PM to late into the night ... homework.
I still hate bright light, we had this overly powerful lamp that used to cook my brains, I had to use that as to "not ruin my eye sight".
So. I was 14 and terribly confused.
I started sitting in the dark for hours, pretending I was asleep, just so I could be alone.
I obsessed on death and suicide (I was worthless, I was never going to accomplish anything in my life, worms would eat me in my bed). I never attempted suicide, not because I lacked courage, but because I was constantly thinking and improving my plan, of the "perfect" way to go.
I rarely left home, I had zero friends. My rare moments of joy, were the moments I got to spend with my father and grandfather fixing things, working with tools and powertools and listening to their stories....
AwakeningI think I was 15 years old when I slowly started understanding all the lessons and wise words my Hero Father and my Superhero Grandfather were telling me when my mother wasn't around.
I did something retarded. I was supposed to go on a camping trip with my class. My mother was not feeling well, otherwise she would have accompanied me. (Oh yes, I was 15 and she still insisted on going with me on trips, least I will fail to feed myself for two days. And you can imagine the ridicule that followed. I avoided camping trips, or any kind of museum visits and such. Anyways...)
I was alone for the first time in my life. As soon as we hit camp, our supervisors got drunk, and everyone started going wild. Absolutely everyone, students and supervisors alike was either drunk, stoned, or having sex.
Something broke inside me. I packed my bags, my tent and I left.
I spent my first night away from my apartment, alone, in a scary forest in bear county, just me and my tent.
I thought,
This is it. I die here. It's the end, I'm freeI got drunk, I opened a meat can, spread it around my tent, and collapsed. I
knew a bear, or a wolf would eat me. There we go, my perfect and poetic way to go!
When I woke up, the sun was up and I was pretty much in one piece.
I crawled out of my tent.
I crushed wild mint with my knees. Dew was shining in the grass, birds were singing, a squirrel was chattering in a tree, just one meter away from me. There was sun, warmth, soft grass and peace
everywhere.
I fell to the ground and cried for an hour.
I spent the next day in front of my tent, eating biscuits and canned meat, and watching grasshoppers buzz/sing. Silent, without a thought in my mind. I spent the whole night watching the perfect sky with countless stars. It was only then, after 15 years of my life that I realized I had
never seen so many stars. I had lived all my life inside, or briefly outside, in an overly-polluted city with a thick smog cloak.
I got hungry. I had eaten all my food. For a brief moment I thought of going back to camp, but I was resolved on surviving what was left of my 14 days camping trip, on my own. Or die trying. Maggots eating my worthless body, just like my mother always said.
I realized that all those long hours of reading every book I could, were going to help. I noticed that I recognized two types of mushrooms, I even knew their names Lactarius Piperatus and Boletus Edulis. I fried them. I apologize to the forest rangers. I used a
"don't start fires in the forest" metal sign as my stove.
I made a spear from my fork, a shoelace and a stick, and by stabbing under the rocks in the river I managed to catch trout!
I used the wild mint and thyme to brew tea.
I made fire every night, first by rubbing two dry twigs for what seemed like hours. Then, I learned to cover the burning embers with a layer of dry soot, to keep them burning until the next day.
I saw a mountain goat. I pretended to eat grass, and the curious creature got closer and closer. I was mesmerized, It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It eventually got bored with me and ran away, but I was smiling for the rest of the day.
I saw a bear. Luckily he was across a deep and wide chasm, and the wind was blowing towards me. I bowed in respect, and said "let me sleep tonight, brother".
I saw a viper and I steered clear. That night I was scared, I double-checked my tent's zipper and my sleeping bag.
I snapped the tip of my knife, and I re-sharpened it using sandstone.
I climbed trees and robbed nests for small eggs, scratching myself raw in the process.
My city-boots, unfit for such conditions broke. I melted fir-tree resin over the fire, mixed it with soot and used it as a glue to patch my shoes, with a little help from some pieces of cloth, ripped from a t-shirt. I managed to burn my fingers in the process, and I got two painful blisters. I used sap from Calendula Officinalis flowers to keep them from getting infected.
I dammed the river, got a deep pool of stagnant water into a sunny area, and I bathed for hours.
And last but not least, I ran around in my meadow, wearing absolutely nothing.
At the end of my 10 days, I was hungry, and a bit weak, but mostly, I felt sad to be going back.
I figured out that probably police was already looking for me and my mother will most certainly kill me. But I did not care.
I returned to the camp. No one had noticed my absence. Thank goodness for third-world country irresponsible teachers!
Everyone was just as drunk and high as before.
I returned home.
Turning the tideI was another man. Yes, I could call myself a
man now.
I became cunning. I said "Yes mother, certainly, right now, of course, whatever you wish" a lot. And I mean
A LOTShe was so happy with it that rarely bothered to check on me. And obviously, whenever I could, I did things my way.
I learned to
love life. I spent more time with my Heroes. I became interested in survival, in the great outdoors, I read more and more about it.
Of course, things were not perfect. I still had to please my mother.
My body was weak, incessant reading won't grow muscles on you.
My bones and my teeth were frail, I had always been lactose intolerant, and I never assimilated calcium properly.
I was hunchbacked from all that reading and nearsighted. I had to almost get killed by a car, for my mother to acknowledge that I
may have a problem with my eyes.
As always, she screamed at me for hours at an end for "not telling her". I used to complain about it every day. But ... I decided not to argue. "Sorry mother, it won't happen again"
So, I did not have a strong foundation, but damn, I was going to make the best of it.
I noted the things that I could not do. Math, numbers, calculus. Charisma, perfect body posture, beauty, muscular frame, raw strength.
I focused on the rest. My mind, my ability with foreign languages, my computer skills, my tinkering skills... I perfected those. I learned as much as I could from my Heroes. I went on more and more trips. I weaved a web of lies. My mother was home, thinking I'm with my class on a field trip.
I was alone in the wilderness, and loving every second.
At about the age of 18 I discovered that I was too absorbed in pleasing my mother and hiding my new occupations from her that I had ignored one tiny, little insignificant aspect...
My sexuality and Walking into adulthoodWhen I was 16, I got my first part-time job. My grandfather pressured me into getting a job. He had always worked into a factory, and he managed to get me into the worst, dirtiest, most horrible job he could find.
I hated him for that, I could not understand. But, he also managed to convince mother to let me keep the money I was making. He got
hell for that, every single day of his life, until he died, but I did keep my cash, and I used it to get "Motherly-Unapproved" clothing that would allow me to go outside and blend in with the rest of teenagers.
I learned how to get out more. Lucky for me, my work mates were roughly my age. Brutes, drunkards, foul mouthed beasts, nowhere near my level, yet... friendly. Simple, friendly, happy, factory workers, that did not give a flying crud that I was a geek. I slaved into the same oily residue as them.
So, they dragged me out into a few horrendous bars.
I still remember this one...
It was called "the dirty indian". There was mud, beer and vomit on the ground. The tables were made out of stolen road signs, welded on metal poles stuck into the floor. The chairs were broken. The roof was made out of reeds and hay. There was a grime-encrusted stereo whining the worst music possible. There was no kitchen, One half-naked, fat, hairy man was frying questionable meat, on a grill, just outside this room. The sweat was pouring on him as he was singing and blowing into the flames. The waitress could have been pretty but she was fat, dirty, unkempt and as foul-mouthed as my companions. They pinched her generous ass when she passed our table and she was giggling.
The beer mugs were chipped. Then, thousands of drinking mouths smoothed the sharp glass edges, and they got chipped and smoothed over and over again.
We drank foul home-made booze made of twigs, yellow like piss, and it was so bad, that the elders poured cigarette ashes into it to improve the taste!
I got roaring drunk for my first time, and I puked and puked my guts out. My mates laughed hard, but they helped me puke.
It was the first time in my life someone
actually helped me do something.
These simple guys whom I have known for less than a month... they accepted me among them. And.. helped me. I was
a part of a group for the first time.
Sure. Not the best group to be a part of, but... man!
I eventually changed that job. I still miss those guys, and I remember them, and their names, as opposed to all those... faded faces in school and highschool.
When I got my second job, my Grandfather asked me
"so... how was the first day?"It was amazing. Darn it, of course it was amazing compared to wallowing in residue from the oil pumps! Anything was amazing compared with that!
And then... I understood. And I stopped hating my grandfather. All my other jobs after that were amazing. And I could have the exquisite privilege of going to work with a smile, for the rest of my life!
He was smiling, warm, like a saint, like he always was. He hugged me and told me he was proud.
Now that I no longer smelled like train oil, I could go to fancier clubs, and meet other people...
And so I did. I was stepping out of my mother's shadow more and more each day. Her influence lessened.
Obviously, things are never as easy as they seem.
I hope you don't feel that I have wasted your time so far.
Please tell me if I should go on.