Hey Doc, you should post a story about your school life, as in like elementary, high school, middle school. Such as were you popular, were you picked on, were you the bully, did you enjoy it? Obviously you had really good grades, but what did your graduation feel like and such. Thanks for reading, keep up the awesome posts.
Friday, 15 November 2013
I'm a very private person. Anyone who has read any significant portion of this blog knows that I rabidly defend my patients' and family's privacy. But what I don't generally talk about is my own privacy (though despite my attempts to quash you, several of you continue to enjoy trying to unravel the mystery of where I live). I also tend not to divulge specific details about myself, because MIND YOUR OWN DAMNED BUSINESS, NOSEY.
But I've given it a lot of careful thought, and after my ruminations I've decided that I'm not completely opposed to revealing certain things about me. So in the spirit of transparency, I will now truthfully and completely disclose all of my various tattoos, identifying birthmarks, distinguishing features, and piercings.
I have none. HA! I WIN!
No?? What, that's not good enough? Well here's exactly what the jackass had to say in his email:
I try not to talk about my childhood because of how traumatising it was. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really.
Ok there's a very small possibility that wasn't necessarily my childhood. My shrink would say I'm deflecting. I'm kidding, of course . . . I don't need a shrink, I'm fine, dammit. What I said before was true: I was the small, quiet, shy kid. I made up for my insecurities by being the funny one. I learned very early that other kids tease the short kid less when they are amused. So I became the class clown, sometimes getting in trouble for my antics.
As I got older, the kids started to give exactly zero fucks if I was funny. They saw my height as a liability, a weakness, something they could exploit. For a few years I took the abuse, hoping that the bullying would stop as the kids got older - they should grow more mature as they grew taller, right? Mature they did, but all that meant was deeper voices taunting me and bigger muscles hitting and pushing me.
It finally came to a head when I was 12. One of the popular boys was doing his usual ritualistic teasing, and he pushed me and said something relatively insignificant that I can't specifically remember, but whatever it was, I thought to myself "ENOUGH IS ENOUGH". I made a fist, spun around, and slugged him right in the gut. HARD. As he doubled over and slowly crumpled to the ground, the entire gymnasium went silent, all eyes on the short, quiet kid who they thought would always just take it, would always be a prime target, would never fight back. I looked around silently from person to person, the look on my face clearly saying, "WHO. THE. FUCK. IS. NEXT."
Though I generally do not condone violence in any way, no one laid a hand on me or bullied me from that day through my graduation.
Secondary school was not terribly challenging at all, academically or socially. I had a small group of close friends, all of whom I still am in contact with today. I was that guy that never really studied but aced all his classes anyway. You know, the kind of kid that most other students hate. But because of that one incident (and perhaps because my body finally decided to hit puberty at age 15), the bullying was over. Eventually I graduated near the top of my class which helped me get into a good university, though the memories of being mercilessly bullied for years, and the constant fear that it would resume, never went away. The support of my family and friends were the main things that got me through.
Now I think that's enough pain for me today. If you have any other personal questions for me, keep them to yourself. Or if you really want to hurt me again, just give me a nice paper cut and pour lemon juice on it. Now leave me the hell alone. I have to go call my psychiatrist.
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