Why the weight of the world weighs on me so.
I seem
to always come off as downtrodden, angst filled, and at times, unbearably
filled with sadness that most cannot stand to deal with. The point being, not a
single person has yet to ask me why I am always so doleful. The truth of the
matter is, no one ever thought to ask me why, so in the following posts, I have
a long story to tell.
So, with all o that in mind, I’m going to
tell you all a story. This story may just give you inkling as to why I’m sad
more often than not. This is a tale of who I was, who I became, and who I truly
wished to be. I will start back as far as I can remember, and just how far that
is may astound, or disgruntle some.
It was
the beginning of fall, 1983, when I first began to notice more about the world
around me, and I was not surprised at what I saw. I was only 4 years old, and
things should have been all about colors, and playing with GI Joe toys, but not
for me. As the other children were playing with their trinkets, I was more
interested in the natural splendor of the forest that surrounded my home, and
deeply engrained in the inner machinations of my imagination. I was born in a
small city in the middle of Pennsylvania, in a county aptly named Snyder County,
directly south of the also aptly named Center County. Middleburg was the name
of the town I grew in, with a population that barely made the town worth
talking about at the time. My parents were, and still are, loving,
compassionate, and understanding. They often times placed my wellbeing over their
own, yet as soon as I was truly able to understand the world, I still felt I
was an outcast.
It was
around the time I was moving into 1st and 2nd grade that
things began turn more somber, and quite sad. In second grade, I was singled
out by a teacher who didn’t understand that I was as different as I am. She
singled me out over and over, in order to use me as an example for other
students. I was berated, and often placed in the coat rack, with my back to
others. I believe it was because she did not agree with me, nor did she
understand what I was trying to explain during basic conversation in class.
When I would correct her on items, she refused to believe that a child could be
correct, as she was the teacher. Don’t get me wrong, I had my fair share of
childish mistakes, like leaving a full banana in my desk for 2 weeks, and no
one could pinpoint where the cloud of fruit flies was originating from. I had
forgotten it in the cluttered mess of books, drawings, and random theories that
was my desk. When she found out, I was forced to dump my desk in front of the
class, and after throwing out everything I had let there, I was once again
placed behind the coat rack, where I listened to the laughter, and whispers of
the other children.
My
confidence took a major hit that day, and in hindsight, was probably a
precursor for the remainder of my elementary school experience. For the first
time in my life, I began questioning what I believe was right, and true in this
world.
We will pick up from there in the next post, and I assure
you it only gets worse.
Until next time.
