So much this…
When I was in elementary school, I remember one of my report cards said, “Too sensitive—tears come easily”. I don’t remember why I might have been upset in school, but I do remember being criticized for being too quiet; if one wasn’t a boisterous outgoing hellion; apparently one had already failed at life at such an early age.
I used to irritate my first-grade teacher because I would draw at my desk or read another book while he was trying to teach the class phonics. Phonics was boring; as I could already read. Why should I have to sit through learning to spell out “C-A-T”? If he called on me, I knew the answer, so he was defeated and finally he decided just to leave me alone, because after all, I wasn’t bothering anyone, except him.
A person asked me for a quarter at the bus stop yesterday, phrasing it in such a way, that he might be a distracted genius that he just needed one simple quarter and his day would be made. I gave him a handful of change from my pocket and he was so happy; it made me feel absurd and everyone else at the bus stop stared at me, like how dare I give money to a bum. He was mentally off anyway, but once he was a baby and I’m sure somebody loved him. “God bless you, ma’am,” he said before vanishing into the Saturday crowds and I didn’t need the kind words because I am already blessed to have a pocket full of change I can give away. I felt tiny pinpricks of tears in my eyes and I remembered the old teacher’s scribblings on my report card.
I can’t get through life being emotionally flayed by every sad scene, but if I am instead distant and hardened, I don’t see the point of life. The faces of everyone just seem wreathed in misery to me, even if their owners don’t feel that way themselves.
And what’s wrong with being “sensitive”? Especially as a child, it would simply mean I was holding out against the cruel realities of life; why would you wish someone to be a sad grey shell of a human being? I don’t have any answers for this, but part of me is at least somewhat pleased with the fact that I haven’t entirely given up to the world at large.
I just remembered that one time in the club when a guy sitting next to me put his hand on my thigh and i looked at him with my cold dead eyes and he took his hand off immediately looking terrified while probably questioning his life choices…
Once, when I was in 8th grade, a high school boy on the school bus decided to play “chicken” with me. He put his hand on my knee, moved it slightly up my thigh twice, each time asking “Are you chicken?” And then I punched him in the nose.
All his friends who had been laughing at ME suddenly were laughing very hard at HIM.
Book of Invocations of the Demons Vercan, Maymon, Suth, Samax, Sarabotres, Mediac or Modiac & Arcan | written in Latin written on 23 leaves of vellum by an English necromancer (c. 1600) (via Pin by Fra Mon on Petunias | Pinterest)
Not only a bird-man, but a two headed bird-man. With angry knees.
When I die, can I please be reincarnated as one of these?
Great Windmill butterfly, Atrophaneura dasarada, found in Asia. In some regions, is known as the Butterfly of Death.