Chapter Text
It’s not easy being so different. People judge you all the time, they think that just because you look like everyone else, that you should be able to act like everyone else, think like everyone else, be like everyone else. They don’t get that a lot of us just… can’t be like that.
I remember when I was in kindy. Absolute nightmare, that was. I think most of my issues can be traced back to it, really. No one knew what I had at the time, and quite frankly no one at the school cared to check. I didn’t fit into the neat little box all the other kids were able to fit into, and as a result, the staff made my life a living hell. One day in particular sticks out to me more than the others, I don’t know why, but I always think back to it on my bad days.
I was 5 years old, just bouncing in my seat in class at this awful school in Melbourne. I had this teacher that was just the worst: he was strict, he got in my face all the time, and he punished me for the slightest slip ups. That day we were doing some stuff on recognizing shapes, and the teacher was just standing there pointing to a drawing on the chalkboard.
“This shape has three sides, can anyone in the class tell me what this shape is called?”
I knew what the answer was, I knew it and I felt compelled to shout it out, to prove that I’m like the others. I was excited to make him proud, because I knew he’d be proud if he saw that I was smart. I opened my mouth and immediately shouted out the answer without much of a thought.
“IT’S A TRIANGLE!” I exclaimed, my tail wagging quickly as I smiled at the teacher. I knew he’d be proud this time, I just knew it.
A silence fell over everything as the rest of the class turned to stare at me. Everyone looked so confused, or amused. Some were even angry.
…None of them were as outraged as the teacher, though. His face turned absolutely red from anger at my outburst, and he walked past the students and right up to me, ready to unleash hell upon me once more.
“MR. RUSSELL!” He snapped. “How many times do I have to tell you that you need to raise your hand and wait to be called on?!?”
“But-“
The teacher slammed his hand down on my desk, causing me to jump in my seat. “DON’T GIVE ME EXCUSES! WE HAVE BEEN OVER THIS PLENTY OF TIMES!”
He leaned in closer to me, and I was terrified at this point. I could smell his rancid breath, and I could see the pure rage in his hateful eyes. Fear had overtaken me, and I had begun shivering in terror as I anticipated what he would do to me. Would he call my parents? Throw me out of the room? Make me apologize to the entire class? What if this time he got so mad he decided to actually hit me?
“I-I’m s-sorry, s-sir…” I whimpered, praying that he would calm down.
“ARE YOU?!” He roared. “We’ve gone over this so many times now! You must follow the rules, Mr. Russell! You know what happens when you break them, and you know what I said would happen if you broke them again!”
But I didn’t remember. I was too scared to remember, and even if I hadn’t been so scared I still probably wouldn’t have remembered.
“Wh-what’s that?”
The teacher sighed, and looked me directly in the eyes. “I told you that if you broke the rules one more time, you would be spending your play and snack breaks outside at the bench for the next seven days.”
My face turned pale, and I began to panic.
The bench.
That damn bench.
It was a punishment I got practically all the time, to the point one could call it my second home, really. The bench was just outside the classroom and overlooked the playground that everyone else got to use, which ensured I got to watch the entire school enjoy their playtime while I sat there, alone.
“But! But!” I stammered.
“Eight days!” He growled.
“B-but…”
“Nine days. Want me to add a tenth to that?”
“No, sir.”
“Ten days. Stop talking.”
I slumped down in my seat and the teacher stomped off while grumbling to himself, and the last thing I could make out as he did so were words that still haunt me to this day:
“There’s something wrong with this kid.”
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It was playtime, and of course I was out on the bench. The sun was beating down on me, and the paint on the bench’s wood was painfully hot. I could only watch as everyone else ran around and played games, made friends, got into arguments, and just got to be a kid. Honestly? Even if I wasn’t stuck on the bench, I was still alone. None of the kids liked me, none of them wanted to be friends with the weirdo that couldn’t sit still and follow directions. I was the class freak; the kid that everyone laughed at.
As I sat there watching everyone play, I felt some critters crawling on me. I didn’t even have to look to know what was crawling on top of me, I mean, it happened every time I sat there. There was a nest of spiders by the bench, and they absolutely loved to move around on top of whoever sat there. Since it was usually me at the bench, I was typically the target. These nasty eight-legged beasts would crawl around and make me feel so nervous that I wanted to scream, but I knew if I did that I would get in even more trouble. After all, the last time I screamed, I got put back out here for another day. The worst part was that these spiders bit me a lot, so I often found myself with itchy lumps on my arms and legs after each break. I didn’t know how I’d survive it this time. I mean, ten days in a row during a thirty minute break? I was going to be a swollen lump by the end!
So I just sat there all by myself, being bit by spiders, watching the other kids play and eat without a care in the world, leaving me to sit and think to myself. It all felt so unfair. Why was this happening? Why did everyone hate me? Why was I like this, why couldn’t I just stop being like this like the teacher wanted me to?
These answers plagued me daily, and I kept thinking back to things the teacher said, things the kids said, things everyone said. Eventually I remembered what the teacher had mumbled, and I began to realize that he was right; if I couldn't be like everyone else, if I couldn't sit still or remember instructions or objects like everyone else, then it had to be true. I sat there, repeating what he had said until it well and truly started to sink in:
There’s something wrong with me.