Sounds rather dramatic, I suppose, but it seems to suit what I've been struggling with all day. It's a sad fact that there are young people in this great nation of ours who are so greviously harassed by their classmates that they'd give up their education for the sake of avoiding said harassment. Today, I encountered such a child that was also troubled by the regular abuse from his parents for his poor performance in school.
The boy feels that everywhere he turns, he is an object of scorn and criticisim. He feels that his plans for the future are impractical, thus expecting himself to be in jail is a more reasonable thing. It doesn't help that he has legitimate problems academically speaking. Dyslexia is a hellish thing and when it reduces a 17 yr old's reading ability down to that of a 2nd or 3rd grade student's, you can pretty well bet that it's going to be rough, to say the least, for the child in question. Add to this an environment of hostility and harassment, which I have witnessed in effect around this boy and others in the school, and any hopes of academic success for such a child will drop considerably.
Even more so when your parent's idea of encouraging you to do better is a cocktail of bribery (do it and you get to watch pay-per-view porn) and beatings. And this was what I encountered today. Now, aside from the boy's run ins with the law for petty theft and repeated incidents of minor vandalism, he's a good kid. He engages in these acts for attention and to stand at the head of his current group of friends. It's a sad thing when a boy must committ crimes to be a leader in his group of friends. It's an even more unfortunate thing when a boy feels that his life is damned before it even truly begins.
It breaks my heart to see this young man on the road to a life of hardship and suffering. I know a young man that was once at this same point. He made bad decisions and acted with the raw courage and bravado that this young man is right now. That landed him in prision. He's almost half way through his time. He's lost so many opportunities. He's already recieving criticisim for his past actions and current situation from people around. His parents have the misfortune of listening to whispered comments if this wayward son ever comes up in discussion. Now, there is another young man of the same headstrong dispositon.
This young man, who has a heart of gold when you get past the bravado, comes from a home life that is worse then the prisioner had. He is making several of the same mistakes. Gods willing, this 17 yr old will wake up and change his ways. I can't help him, though I desperately want to. It makes me feel so sad, angry, and ashamed to be unable to do anything for this young man who is throwing his future away.
He's worth a hell of alot more then these people that are making him feel like a peice of human garbage.
How the hell do you show some one that?
roses
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Thoughts...
Currently, my darling husband is napping. I was trying to wake him up earlier but I've since decided to give up on it. He'll wake up when he's ready.
I've spent my time reading through his blog. As I'm doing so, I am struck yet again by the sensitivity and depth with which he writes. I sincerely hope that the comments that he has recieved from several individuals recently helps him to recognize that he is a fabulous writer.
As I type this, I'm trying so hard not to listen to an argument that happened between the landlord and the guy who lives upstairs. I like to think that I am generally a tolerant person and that I haven't much in the way of malice in my heart. Malice usually leads to indigestion and ulcers. Usually a miserable state of affairs, so I strive not to indulge in it and attempt to avoid cultivating it. That said, apart of me flared up quickly with the hope that this man is going to get thrown out of the apartment.
I'm torn between horror that such a wish so quickly flew to mind and embaressment that I have admitted it to the whole world. My streak of malice towards this man is not based in something foolishly repulsive like his race or his religion. It's not petty and based upon his profession or his style of clothes. No, my malice is based upon his lecherous conduct towards myself. I have taken to avoiding going out and delighting in the sunlight on afternoon walks when I get home from work for fear that this man may start following me. The times where he has spoken to me, I get looked over like I'm a peice of meat. The expression of "feeling his eyes on me" wasn't in that nice happy connotation, as it usually is in reference to my husband.
Now, I know, somewhere there is some one that will read these words and say "Well, you choose to feel that way when this man looks at you. Just ignore him." That's a rather trite thing to say and it completely devalues my position here. While I conced that we choose how we respond to a situation, I don't think that ignoring the feeling or this man will resolve the issue. This man makes me frightened. I have had him say to me that he's seen me around town, stating that he's watched me go about my daily business frequently. When I lived in Wellsville, NY, this man lived there as well. He watched me and followed me around town on a semi-regular basis there as well.
Now, he lives upstairs from me. I can not ignore the feeling of danger that comes from this. When he has friends over and they happen to see me out and about, all of them watch me the way that preditors watch their prey. I am torn between anger and a desire to run and hide from their eyes. I know the moment a hand was set upon my person, I'd be quick to tear it off at the shoulder. I can't shake the feeling, however, that when I'm home alone and this man is upstairs that I need to lock the door and keep a heavy or sharp object within reach. He's a quiet and generally polite tenant. My argument isn't such that I can exactly talk to the landlord about it.
So, I grin and bear it. But I don't like it. I've thought about throwing some magic at it, as I am a witch. But then I say to myself, what if that is something that hastens the whole mess turning into a disaster. So, I swallow the urges to drop bindings on him and cast some kind of working to drive him away from here. Each time he stares lecherously at me, however, it becomes harder not to do so.
Somedays, apart of me hates men. Then I realize it's not men I hate, it's the ones that view women as objects to be consumed and used to fulfill their appetites that I hate. And there is a disgustingly large number of them in the world. I hate those men.
I've spent my time reading through his blog. As I'm doing so, I am struck yet again by the sensitivity and depth with which he writes. I sincerely hope that the comments that he has recieved from several individuals recently helps him to recognize that he is a fabulous writer.
As I type this, I'm trying so hard not to listen to an argument that happened between the landlord and the guy who lives upstairs. I like to think that I am generally a tolerant person and that I haven't much in the way of malice in my heart. Malice usually leads to indigestion and ulcers. Usually a miserable state of affairs, so I strive not to indulge in it and attempt to avoid cultivating it. That said, apart of me flared up quickly with the hope that this man is going to get thrown out of the apartment.
I'm torn between horror that such a wish so quickly flew to mind and embaressment that I have admitted it to the whole world. My streak of malice towards this man is not based in something foolishly repulsive like his race or his religion. It's not petty and based upon his profession or his style of clothes. No, my malice is based upon his lecherous conduct towards myself. I have taken to avoiding going out and delighting in the sunlight on afternoon walks when I get home from work for fear that this man may start following me. The times where he has spoken to me, I get looked over like I'm a peice of meat. The expression of "feeling his eyes on me" wasn't in that nice happy connotation, as it usually is in reference to my husband.
Now, I know, somewhere there is some one that will read these words and say "Well, you choose to feel that way when this man looks at you. Just ignore him." That's a rather trite thing to say and it completely devalues my position here. While I conced that we choose how we respond to a situation, I don't think that ignoring the feeling or this man will resolve the issue. This man makes me frightened. I have had him say to me that he's seen me around town, stating that he's watched me go about my daily business frequently. When I lived in Wellsville, NY, this man lived there as well. He watched me and followed me around town on a semi-regular basis there as well.
Now, he lives upstairs from me. I can not ignore the feeling of danger that comes from this. When he has friends over and they happen to see me out and about, all of them watch me the way that preditors watch their prey. I am torn between anger and a desire to run and hide from their eyes. I know the moment a hand was set upon my person, I'd be quick to tear it off at the shoulder. I can't shake the feeling, however, that when I'm home alone and this man is upstairs that I need to lock the door and keep a heavy or sharp object within reach. He's a quiet and generally polite tenant. My argument isn't such that I can exactly talk to the landlord about it.
So, I grin and bear it. But I don't like it. I've thought about throwing some magic at it, as I am a witch. But then I say to myself, what if that is something that hastens the whole mess turning into a disaster. So, I swallow the urges to drop bindings on him and cast some kind of working to drive him away from here. Each time he stares lecherously at me, however, it becomes harder not to do so.
Somedays, apart of me hates men. Then I realize it's not men I hate, it's the ones that view women as objects to be consumed and used to fulfill their appetites that I hate. And there is a disgustingly large number of them in the world. I hate those men.
Minor amusement to assuage apathy
Pithy humor and sarcasam are the soul of wit.
Who's Your Happy Bunny?
Along with pyromaniac lived vicariously through Google Videos and witnessing stupid human tricks.
No.. I don't get misanthropic when I'm feeling down, I really don't. I'm like this 90% of the time and I just don't show it.
Well, no, not really, but it feels like that some times.
Who's Your Happy Bunny?
Along with pyromaniac lived vicariously through Google Videos and witnessing stupid human tricks.
No.. I don't get misanthropic when I'm feeling down, I really don't. I'm like this 90% of the time and I just don't show it.
Well, no, not really, but it feels like that some times.
Why I haven't posted in a while...
There's no great and grand theory of life that I'm going to drop down here onto the internet for an explination of why I haven't been posting things for you, gentle Reader. While I could say something poetic and try to deflect you away from the real problem, I owe you honesty in my writing. Integrity as an author is among my highest ideals and aspirations. When I write non-fiction, honesty and truth are vital. I hate lies.
Unfortunately, lies have been what's been keeping me away fro writing for you, gentle Reader. I've been facing a whole host of lies about my youth. It's horrifying to realize that your childhood was far darker then you wished to say it was. There was a streatch of several years that I didn't remember from when I was a little girl. Now the blockage is cleared and those memories are flooding forth.
Memories of abuse at the hands of family, teachers, and others who I trusted. I'm not entirely sure how to cope with this pain. I feel torn between grief, rage and utter dispair. I'm at a loss for words and yet overwhelmed and burdened with this sad, sad story to tell. Some day, perhaps, I'll exhaust this bitter well that keeps being funded from the black spring of repressed memory. Then, I may have the good fortune of not having my work shaded by sorrow.
Unfortunately, lies have been what's been keeping me away fro writing for you, gentle Reader. I've been facing a whole host of lies about my youth. It's horrifying to realize that your childhood was far darker then you wished to say it was. There was a streatch of several years that I didn't remember from when I was a little girl. Now the blockage is cleared and those memories are flooding forth.
Memories of abuse at the hands of family, teachers, and others who I trusted. I'm not entirely sure how to cope with this pain. I feel torn between grief, rage and utter dispair. I'm at a loss for words and yet overwhelmed and burdened with this sad, sad story to tell. Some day, perhaps, I'll exhaust this bitter well that keeps being funded from the black spring of repressed memory. Then, I may have the good fortune of not having my work shaded by sorrow.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
1st day of school for the '06-'07 year
And I feel like a zombie now that the day is done.
:p
I hate waking up at 6 am.
Ok, I think I'm done griping.
I'll post something more interesting later. :)
:p
I hate waking up at 6 am.
Ok, I think I'm done griping.
I'll post something more interesting later. :)
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