Post by Kunabee on Jun 13, 2013 19:48:04 GMT -5
As you all know, I refer to myself as Kunabee Tiger when interacting over the net. You know my real first name - Rachel. Some of you probably know my last name as well, though I've told you over safer places than the net.
You know a good amount of my story. Let me tell you all of it.
I can't start from the beginning, because I don't remember. I suppose this is a short memoir of sorts.
I can start from preschool. I remember the floor of the playground - it was that black squishy stuff, but I remember a green dinosaur and I imagine there were other stuff on the ground. After the half-day at school we would go out and play.
My crush was in first grade, and he was the older brother of my best friend. On the last day of preschool, he gave me a kiss on the cheek. You can't imagine how happy I was.
In this time, I met Tony. He's still one of my two bestest best life-long friends. We met at the playground by my house - a HUGE old grassy area split by a road, with the school and its three (yes, three) playgrounds on one side, then a barbecue area and the park's playground on the other.
For all intents and purposes, I was a total guy. I tried taking off my shirt and peeing in the bushes (I was quickly scolded for the shirt, and the peeing thing... well, it went badly). We rode our bikes together. There was Daniel, and in second grade Reese (who was from Australia!) was there.
I remember my chalk drawing of a girl in a dress... well, I drew circles for hands, and the boys added lines that they called "fingers". I went to Tony's mom to try and save any future chalk drawings from the future humiliation.
In second grade, Tony - hanging out with a little demonchild named Tucker - peeked under my skirt. I was wearing shorts for just that reason, though of course they claimed it underwear.
I remember playing the name rhyming game with Tony and Tucker, and Tony was doing Tucker's name... well, guess what rhymes with Tucker.
I bet you're all surprised that my first run-in with the F word was in the second grade.
I remember swimming, and there was one swim coach I admired. He had taught me privately, and then on this team. His name was Ryan. I adored him. To this day I admire him. He, like me, was somewhat bullied in the swim team. The other coaches weren't nice to him. The other kids weren't nice to me.
I remember going in circles while doing backstroke.
I remember Alyssa, the girl who was always in front of me in alphabetical-order lines and who bullied me. I would cry. I would insult her back. I would tell teachers. They never did anything. Until the fifth grade, when my mother scared the principal and vice-principal into taking action.
In the third grade, I told my Language Arts teacher to "go to heck". I tried to help out a kid by signing the initial of his dad on a paper (of course I got caught). Two boys were threatening to get machine guns and "shoot down everyone in the school". I threatened that I would play my flute to "call down birds and peck your eyes out!" Then I ran to tell a teacher. They got there first. I got blamed for the machine guns, even though that was never me at all - and I fully admitted to the flute threat. I got in trouble - they didn't. Man, I was angry at EVERYONE. My parents admitted later that they wanted to congratulate me.
A thousand hilarious stories of the elementary school days.
On the first day of sixth grade, I dressed up. I wore my mother's lipstick, and a skirt, and made sure I looked nice. In elementary school it was a big thing to dress up on the first day of school.
About three other people dressed up - thankfully, one of these was my other best friend, Kaitlyn.
The first day went smoothly, and I was excited. I had made about ten "friends" and I was really enjoying my classes - all my teachers were FANTASTIC!
The end of the first week I came home crying. I had sat by myself at lunch, and the math homework was really hard. Some of the teachers were mean. I didn't enjoy all of my classes.
And then there was the bully. His name was Mark. He bullied me. He picked me out specifically. My locker partner was one of his friends. On my locker decoration (a white board) they conspired together and wrote "F*** you". They also blocked out my locker and made it so I was unable to open it, because I got to it first before my partner.
I of course switched partners, which was a lot better. She was my friend.
But a month after I befriended her, she moved.
I had no other friends.
So every day I would come home crying. I would cry myself to sleep. I would wake up with tears in my eyes, not wanting to go to school. I hated it.
I couldn't talk to my mom. My dad was going, going, gone. He was depressed. He was a total mess. She couldn't handle two crazy people at once.
So I was in isolation.
Seventh grade was better. I had friends again. My teachers - and classes - were great. Well, math was hard, but the math teacher was super nice and helped me out! I don't have a lot of memories of seventh grade, probably because it went so nicely.
That summer, however, I didn't swim. On this new swim team I was on, I still got bullied.
And screw it, I was exhausted enough from school. Suddenly something I enjoyed going to every day was a horrid chore.
Then came eighth grade. And suddenly I cried a lot and wanted to die again. I had a language arts teacher who caused me a lot of anxiety. He was a bit of a... rough person. He was also called gay and people were rude to him, so he had reason. Still, we had a... tremulous relationship, to say the least.
This was also where I discovered the song that saved my life. The World I Know by Collective Soul. I was googling ways to kill myself, listening to a song we were introduced to in the English teacher's class (he had a prompt writing to a song every day). I looked up at it just as the man stopped to feed the pigeon with the bagel in his pocket.
I started crying and stopped Googling, then watched the music video from start to finish, and just listened to it over and over again.
I attempted to drown myself in the shower. I had several attempts where I chickened out with a knife.
My dad and mom separated.
But I finally got help from a counselor.
I don't remember her name, but she was great. But also... Me, ya'll know I'm like super-creative. I write, I draw, I dream. She had this sandbox that I LOVED. But she'd always try to analyze stuff that I wrote, or the scenes I made in the sandbox (there were little figures to put in there...). While I write with my soul, I don't want it analyzed. But other than that, I liked her.
Summer came. School ended. I was feeling good - 100% better! The depression was gone!
Then, mid-July, the anxiety attacks happened.
(WIP)
planned:
ninth grade
tenth grade
other
You know a good amount of my story. Let me tell you all of it.
I can't start from the beginning, because I don't remember. I suppose this is a short memoir of sorts.
I can start from preschool. I remember the floor of the playground - it was that black squishy stuff, but I remember a green dinosaur and I imagine there were other stuff on the ground. After the half-day at school we would go out and play.
My crush was in first grade, and he was the older brother of my best friend. On the last day of preschool, he gave me a kiss on the cheek. You can't imagine how happy I was.
In this time, I met Tony. He's still one of my two bestest best life-long friends. We met at the playground by my house - a HUGE old grassy area split by a road, with the school and its three (yes, three) playgrounds on one side, then a barbecue area and the park's playground on the other.
For all intents and purposes, I was a total guy. I tried taking off my shirt and peeing in the bushes (I was quickly scolded for the shirt, and the peeing thing... well, it went badly). We rode our bikes together. There was Daniel, and in second grade Reese (who was from Australia!) was there.
I remember my chalk drawing of a girl in a dress... well, I drew circles for hands, and the boys added lines that they called "fingers". I went to Tony's mom to try and save any future chalk drawings from the future humiliation.
In second grade, Tony - hanging out with a little demonchild named Tucker - peeked under my skirt. I was wearing shorts for just that reason, though of course they claimed it underwear.
I remember playing the name rhyming game with Tony and Tucker, and Tony was doing Tucker's name... well, guess what rhymes with Tucker.
I bet you're all surprised that my first run-in with the F word was in the second grade.
I remember swimming, and there was one swim coach I admired. He had taught me privately, and then on this team. His name was Ryan. I adored him. To this day I admire him. He, like me, was somewhat bullied in the swim team. The other coaches weren't nice to him. The other kids weren't nice to me.
I remember going in circles while doing backstroke.
I remember Alyssa, the girl who was always in front of me in alphabetical-order lines and who bullied me. I would cry. I would insult her back. I would tell teachers. They never did anything. Until the fifth grade, when my mother scared the principal and vice-principal into taking action.
In the third grade, I told my Language Arts teacher to "go to heck". I tried to help out a kid by signing the initial of his dad on a paper (of course I got caught). Two boys were threatening to get machine guns and "shoot down everyone in the school". I threatened that I would play my flute to "call down birds and peck your eyes out!" Then I ran to tell a teacher. They got there first. I got blamed for the machine guns, even though that was never me at all - and I fully admitted to the flute threat. I got in trouble - they didn't. Man, I was angry at EVERYONE. My parents admitted later that they wanted to congratulate me.
A thousand hilarious stories of the elementary school days.
On the first day of sixth grade, I dressed up. I wore my mother's lipstick, and a skirt, and made sure I looked nice. In elementary school it was a big thing to dress up on the first day of school.
About three other people dressed up - thankfully, one of these was my other best friend, Kaitlyn.
The first day went smoothly, and I was excited. I had made about ten "friends" and I was really enjoying my classes - all my teachers were FANTASTIC!
The end of the first week I came home crying. I had sat by myself at lunch, and the math homework was really hard. Some of the teachers were mean. I didn't enjoy all of my classes.
And then there was the bully. His name was Mark. He bullied me. He picked me out specifically. My locker partner was one of his friends. On my locker decoration (a white board) they conspired together and wrote "F*** you". They also blocked out my locker and made it so I was unable to open it, because I got to it first before my partner.
I of course switched partners, which was a lot better. She was my friend.
But a month after I befriended her, she moved.
I had no other friends.
So every day I would come home crying. I would cry myself to sleep. I would wake up with tears in my eyes, not wanting to go to school. I hated it.
I couldn't talk to my mom. My dad was going, going, gone. He was depressed. He was a total mess. She couldn't handle two crazy people at once.
So I was in isolation.
Seventh grade was better. I had friends again. My teachers - and classes - were great. Well, math was hard, but the math teacher was super nice and helped me out! I don't have a lot of memories of seventh grade, probably because it went so nicely.
That summer, however, I didn't swim. On this new swim team I was on, I still got bullied.
And screw it, I was exhausted enough from school. Suddenly something I enjoyed going to every day was a horrid chore.
Then came eighth grade. And suddenly I cried a lot and wanted to die again. I had a language arts teacher who caused me a lot of anxiety. He was a bit of a... rough person. He was also called gay and people were rude to him, so he had reason. Still, we had a... tremulous relationship, to say the least.
This was also where I discovered the song that saved my life. The World I Know by Collective Soul. I was googling ways to kill myself, listening to a song we were introduced to in the English teacher's class (he had a prompt writing to a song every day). I looked up at it just as the man stopped to feed the pigeon with the bagel in his pocket.
I started crying and stopped Googling, then watched the music video from start to finish, and just listened to it over and over again.
I attempted to drown myself in the shower. I had several attempts where I chickened out with a knife.
My dad and mom separated.
But I finally got help from a counselor.
I don't remember her name, but she was great. But also... Me, ya'll know I'm like super-creative. I write, I draw, I dream. She had this sandbox that I LOVED. But she'd always try to analyze stuff that I wrote, or the scenes I made in the sandbox (there were little figures to put in there...). While I write with my soul, I don't want it analyzed. But other than that, I liked her.
Summer came. School ended. I was feeling good - 100% better! The depression was gone!
Then, mid-July, the anxiety attacks happened.
(WIP)
planned:
ninth grade
tenth grade
other
