“The things that make you feel the most alone have the biggest potential to connect you.” – Ze Frank
In nursery school, I remember chasing all the other kids around because one of them pissed me off or something. I also chased this other kid around, who I think I thought was my best friend, because he stole my Voltes Five pencil. It was one of those old pencils where you took the lead out of the bottom and pushed it into the top to dispense more lead. High-tech stuff. The teacher didn’t help and I never got the pencil back, I don’t think.
In kindergarten, my social life was a little more stable. I had friends and we all ate lunch and sat together on this bench in the foyer of the school. Not really a foyer at all. Hard to describe. Maybe I shouldn’t try. Anywho, the school I went to was quite great. The washrooms didn’t have lights and were haunted, and so was the top floor. I shit my pants in class one day because I would’ve done so anyway if I tried to stay in the washroom for longer than say, a second.
Anyway, on my last day there, before getting on a plane to the Canada, I sat where me and my friends usually sat. Their lunchboxes were there, and I waited for them. The guy who drove me and my sister to and from school (in a tricycle (motorcycle with attached sidecab)) was there, and I guess I didn’t wanna keep him waiting because I never said bye to those friends of mine.
Canada, oh Canada. Lol. I gotta remind myself to keep on topic. What about my past makes me feel the most alone?
Between 1st and 5th grade, I went to 4 different schools. No, 5. One in Vancouver for 1st and 2nd grade; 4 in Calgary, one for each grade except for 5th grade, which had me move to another school for the rest of the year and the 6th grade.
I guess I didn’t fit in with the other kids. I try to rationalize this part of my life a lot. I try to make it seem like it made sense, like there was some clear cause and effect. And to an extent, I still believe there was. But I guess it can’t all be explained away.
I guess I’m not conveying my emotions very clearly. Actually, I don’t feel much about it now. But I guess, at the time, my priorities were to look out for myself and enjoy myself as much as possible. But I don’t want to be rational about this, I want to share my loneliness or something.
So by the time I managed to make a group of friends, I basically had to leave. I could blame my parents, but really, who cares? Lol. I wonder if I think they should’ve thought something like this could happen. Watch me as I avoid a potentially stressful topic.
And Idno. I guess being unliked led to my retaliation, which led to my own bad reputation, which led to false accusations, etc.
I’m sorry if this post seems incoherent. I don’t want to make too much sense. See, these memories of mine don’t exactly pain me. They don’t make me feel lonely, per se. But they do make me angry. They don’t make me sad, they make me want to forget.
And I complain about not having childhood memories like everyone else but I guess I do, and I’ve proven that (in another post). But it seems I don’t remember because I don’t want to. And that’s a shame, because I’d like to have memories to share and feel nostalgic about but when I look back at it, all I feel is an inclination to turn back around and keep walking away from the past.
False accusations and violent altercations, though not that violent. The worst I’ve ever received in a fight is a nose bleed. And I could say I walk away with a broken ego but I swear I don’t, lol, because I don’t think I walked into a lot of fights with much of an ego anyway. (There was one time, actually, where it seemed I was blessed with godly empathy. A friend of mine punched me in the face in the presence of two older boys. Afterwards, after I was done crying and bleeding all over the place, I told him that I don’t hate him, ‘cuz I swear I would’ve done the same thing if I were him.)
I’m a great person. I truly am. Look at me, forgiving my enemies.
And forgetting about the ones I can’t forgive.
So where was I? Ah. I rationalize my current social situation thusly:
- I moved around a lot and never had too much time to make friends. So,
- I learned to make myself seem greater than I truly am. Basically, learned to lie. So,
- I never really showed those kids who I really was. I shot myself in the foot, in the race to make actual friends.
But what probably happened was this: I arrived in the 5th grade while everyone else knew each other since perhaps kindergarten.
I’m a fucking whiner, I realize that.
I could’ve fixed things, wouldn’t have been hard. Wasn’t a priority of mine, though. I mean, if I really wanted to fix things, I would’ve gone to school more often. Damn, though. I carried that dishonest, make-myself-seem-bigger-than-I-am attitude to highschool, when I got with a whole new group of friends, etc. For fuck’s sake, I don’t feel lonely at all. I feel angry.
I don’t know what makes me feel lonely. I guess being ostracized or ridiculed makes me feel lonely. I guess that’s it. Not being understood, maybe?
The anger of people who’d rather me not talk about arbitrary things? And I guess it makes me sad that I try to please these kinds of people, and that I’ve changed a bit thanks to them. I wonder if it’s been positive or negative. But when I try to think about it, I get angry because I don’t understand what there is to be angry about. I don’t understand at all.
I guess the disapproval of my peers makes me sad.
But that’s typical and uninteresting.
I’m rambling. Because even walking along the border of thinking about these things seems to have exhausted me. You people better connect to me after this. Please and thank you. I hope I don’t grow up to be a grumpy old man.