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SIATSIA Excerpt 1

April 15, 2013

i’ve been thinking about my situation at school. It’s been getting worse. Maybe there’s more i can do to stop the verbal attacks, but i’m not sure exactly what. My old school had this bullying program in middle school, you know, and it focused on reporting bullies, etc. Whatever.

Reporting it doesn’t make it stop. Only standing up to the jerks ever makes a difference, and even then, it seems to be hit or miss. If i could get into the bullies’ heads, maybe then i could make sense of it. But i can never seem to figure those guys out. They must be afraid of something i represent, sure, but fear is a powerful thing… kids have been beaten to death for being gay, and i don’t really want to join those statistics.

And i’m scared.  And i’m left back where i started – stuck not knowing what else to do. Hurting myself makes me feel better, but it doesn’t make the comments or threats stop. Being a snitch doesn’t help at all. Meditating (mom’s suggetion), just makes me angry.   So what should i do? Pick a fight? Right. i have no desire to get my ass kicked. Like, why make things easier for those guys at school?

A little later…

i zoned out a little bit, took a good look at the lines of raised skin on my arms – most old, healed scars; some new, allowing me to forget about Jason and the new bimbo he seems to have acquired (more to follow on that sordid tale). But i guess that’s meditation for me, in a way.  To tune out the world around me, inside me, there is clarity in splitting skin. J.G. lent me a book of his once, and one of the characters used the phrase “puzzle of flesh” before he totally tried to dismember his boyfriend – i’m not trying to dismember anyone, including myself, but the phrase always stuck with me. Funny how J.G. loved to read about crazy, messed up characters, wanted to date one… but couldn’t hack it when i tried to be honest with him. But anyway, this is a puzzle i can solve. i’ve never been really good at puzzles, i guess, but this is one i can solve. i focus, and everything slows down, back to a reasonable pace: my breathing, my heart beat, the world, and everything in my head. i cut, and i’m okay again. it’s as simple as that. i tried to explain that to a therapist once, and she asked me, “But isn’t every scar a reminder of how you failed to cope?” i guess that’s a legitimate question, but i liked my response (and still do) better: “No. It’s a reminder of how many times i’ve saved myself rather than do something REALLY stupid and dangerous.” She didn’t buy it. You can call my actions dangerous, irresponsible, irrational. i don’t see it that way.

But now, i’m just feeling so defeated. i’m going to go to school tomorrow, and it’s going to suck. i have gym, and P. is going to make my life hell. One of these days, he’s going to catch me alone, and he probably will attack me. i don’t even want to think about it. Maybe i’ll be okay, and maybe P. is all talk. But it’s talk that just won’t shut the hell up and that i have to face every goddamned day. Today, Jason lurked around the hallways with some new girl that, according to Tim, “he was supposed to show around for a couple weeks because their schedules overlap.” Yeah, right. He looked like he was getting ready to show her around right to his bedroom. So that’s what his dumping me was all about. i won’t put out, and maybe this new girl does. Maybe he’s just a whore; the only people he can get with are the new kids because no one else will touch him with a 10 foot pole. i fell for it, and now this new girl, whoever she is, will fall for it. And yet i still get tormented, with jocks snickering at me, dark, foul insinuations about my sex life. Why is that assumed that just because i’m gay, i’m getting busy, anyway? Why do people think that being gay is any different than being straight? I hate that question, “Well how do you know you’re gay if you haven’t had sex?” God, you just KNOW, okay? And maybe dating a jerk like Jason helped earn that my sexually-active reputation this time around, but it’s something i’ve noticed before, this idea that if you’re gay, you’re a sex fiend. i don’t see how the two are even correlated. Why can’t i just disappear?

Oh, i just wish i had the guts to go up to Jason while he’s with that girl, you know… say something so incredibly rude. i just can’t think of the right thing to say, and, let’s face it, i just don’t have the guts.

Hell, i can at least disappear for a little while. A few shots of cough syrup have already started to do me up just fine (perhaps this rambling will go over a little better with its proper context). Go ahead, mom and dad. Ground me. But you would have been better off just letting me go to Danny’s.

Okay. i need to relax. i have some writing to do for English class on a personal narrative/memoir thing, and i should start it.


From → fiction, SIATSIA

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