8 Year Old Justice


On my 21st birthday I was described as a river. I have my shallow beautiful bits that are fun to play in, and you can cross safely from one side to the other but not far away are the rapids that wash over sharp jagged rocks – and it’s easy to get hurt. I don’t mean to hurt people – but I would be lying if I said I minded that I offend so many. There was a time when I cared too much and it landed me in so much pain so many times, that a switch broke somewhere and now I simply am not interested in what other people think and feel –unless those people are my very close friends or fall into my category of ‘worth the effort’.

I remember the kids at school who I saw as worth the effort. But I also believed I was smarter than any of them, and although my physical appearance made me suicidal and depressed, I still felt that I was superior intellectually.

In pre-school there was a girl with three fingers on each hand and she obviously struggled with basic things. One particular boy used to harass her relentlessly and during an exercise where were cutting wool with scissors, I took my little pair of (thankfully) cheap and not very sharp scissors and tried to cut one of his fingers off. It made total sense in my head- that the only way for him to feel her pain was to lose a finger, with my help of course. As I had failed my dismemberment attempt earlier in the day, I just pushed him off the jungle gym later. Being a kid, I remember the gym to be HUGE and high, but obviously it wasn’t that big because he didn’t die. He just cried and ran inside. I was very disappointed.

School years were not fun for me. The only moments I remember with any fondness are the boys I had crushes on and slamming some girls head into bathroom cubicle door frame because she was trying to bully me. It was most satisfying – and probably the beginning of my realising that my two arms and hands were capable or more than just limp attempts at fending off the ‘giants’ who made me miserable.

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