There were times, as a child, when I thought I was retarded. I wondered why I wasn't in the special-ed classes. I actually thought that people were nice to me because they had to be nice to a kid who was mentally handicapped. Mrs. Berchum and Mr. Moss were both incredibly cruel teachers who destroyed anything resembling self-esteem that I might have had. On the last day of my stint in the third-grade, Berchum told me, "I passed you, but you'll never make it out of the fourth grade."
Fucking bitch. You never say that to a child. Ever.
In high-school, I had a huge crush on a Kathi G. I asked her out one evening, over the phone. She said no, "I'm washing my hair..."
I don't think Kathi was, or is a cruel person... although she would say other things later that hurt. She did ask me to walk with her at graduation. God, I was the happiest kid in the world.
Mr. Osborne would call me "Dud" in class during my senior year. I laughed, because I thought it was true... I was a dud.
I use to spend a lot of time hiding as a youth. I spent a lot of time hating myself, thinking the world was unreasonably cruel, thinking that I had no place to be.
That child still hides within me. He's still there. I can feel him some days, longing to be inside but feeling cold an worthless... on the outside looking in. He's only a shadow, a whisper from a lost voice, but he's still in there... always will be.
And, then there's Danny. I see that same pain in his eyes and it breaks me. I know what he means when he calls himself a "fucking asshole." I've cried those same tears... I too have tried to fit in, and felt the piercing pain of rejection.
Danny, my boy, it's not your fault. It's not your fault...
I hate suffering.
I like Danny.