The Opposite of Normal, Andrew Boggan [brene brown rising strong .TXT] 📗

if the teacher was speaking in an entirely different language. As soon as we moved on to Geometry and Trigonometry, I was able to absorb all the fine details by reading the text just once. I could never fully understand why I couldn’t get a handle on subtractions but yet I’d fly through Geometry with flying colors. That always seemed to be the way with my learning, I’d both pass a subject and develop a strong base of knowledge about a particular subject, or I would flunk it all together, I never found myself in the middle when it came to my schooling.

The time eventually came when we were given the results of our hard work for our chosen topic in Modern History. I sat in the classroom sitting at perfect ease watching the stress take hold of everyone else around me. I didn’t really think I had anything to stress about, I was writing about a topic that I had a passion about and I simply knew I presented good quality work. Ms Allen began walking around the classroom handing back everyone’s assignments. There mixed reactions in the classroom that morning, some students had obviously failed by the look of extreme disappointment whilst others might have passed but not as good as they were hoping for. Eventually Ms Allen handed me my work, as she handed me my essay she looked down to me, and with a peaceful look gave me a smile and a wink, at the top right hand corner in a big giant red circle stood A+.

I felt as if I was able to project my mind into the future. I knew I would have gotten a high grade for my assignment but even this blew me away to a degree. By no means was I expecting an A+, I thought at least B+ to A-. I was more than overwhelmed, and my confidence received a gigantic boost. I could feel the bottom part of my face beginning to stretch and I sat there for a few moments wondering what it was, as it turns out I was actually smiling for my hard work. The other students didn’t ask what grade I got, they either weren’t interested or jealous. Not that I know how they felt when it came to the grade I received for my work, but the feeling of actually being able to present quality work and give myself a feeling of hope and encouragement was more than something I could possibly ask for. This was certainly a rare moment and one I know that I would cherish for many years to come.


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The entire year of grade 9 was one hell of an emotional and mental rollercoaster. There were many ups, downs, loops, sideways and backwards. Although I had a very set routine structure in place from the moment I wake up till the moment I go to bed, 99.9% of the time this structure and routine was always thrown out of place. I was constantly facing horrendous bullying at school but my home life certainly made up for what I was missing out on at school. 4 out of 5 days within the school week I went home an emotional wreck and mentally exhausted from my brain having to process astounding levels of stress, anxiety and panic attacks.

I had always heard people say that high school is meant to be one of the best times of your life, and for me this certainly wasn’t the case, which always left me questioning when would be the best time of my life? It definitely wasn’t going to be at school.

Every person is created as a unique individual and I know for a fact that I am certainly different to most off my classmates but I could never fathom why. My morals were very clear in that I firmly believed you never ever, under any circumstances hit a person unless it’s in self-defense, never make fun of somebody less fortunate than yourself and always respect people’s backgrounds. But yet, for some strange reason I’m always made fun of and cannot work out why. Occasionally I felt as if school was a gigantic jigsaw puzzle where everyone connects together to create a bigger picture and I’m the piece that was accidently put into the wrong box, only to be left outside of the bigger picture.

Why did people enjoy making fun of me? I know I talk different, and I know act sometimes strange and have a few bizarre habits but I cant control this and I probably never will be able too, is that a fair enough reason to be bullied and beaten up? When these events keep happening to yourself it’s incredibly hard to think that you don’t deserve it considering it keeps going on. I’m beginning to think that I do deserve the bullying and the beatings. I’m so sorry that I’m breathing, I’m so sorry that I’m alive. I didn’t ask to be like this.

The end of the school semester had finally come around, it had been a long time coming and I felt as if a kilo of bricks had been taken off my chest because I could finally breathe. I didn’t have to worry for the next 2 weeks about copping any form of abuse from my classmates.

I got off the train that afternoon and headed over the bridge, down the road and into the park. It’s a short-cut home and usually gets me there quicker. I walked through the park and down into the creek bed. The sound of the birds chirping in the trees and the sound of the running water splashing over the rocks made me stop dead in my tracks. For a few moments I had to look around but I was standing there alone. I was standing in the middle of nature and not a soul knew where I was. When I hear the sound of the birds and the sound of gentle running water on the rocks I know I’m in the middle of nature and can attempt to make a deeper spiritual connection with the earth, I know things are about to let loose.

My tears began to overflow, even faster than the water already running in the creek. The build up of emotion from the last semester has finally dropped a bombshell in my head and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. It was like a ticking time bomb that’s finally exploded. I dropped to the ground holding my head in my hands crying like a new born baby, the wave of emotion resembled a tsunami drowning me out and wiping away my integrity. Take huge deep breathes and releasing with a cry for help, I kept on crying and crying and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it.

I couldn’t work out which feeling hurt the most, I don’t know if I was sad, angry, annoyed, confused, happy or thrilled. All I could determine was that my emotions were at boiling point and the bomb had finally exploded. I found a piece of log that had obviously fallen from a tree and I picked it up and began banging it on the rocks using such force the noise echoed through the park every time the log hit the rocks. I was screaming at the top of my lungs “Why me? What the hell did I ever do to you, Why me, I never tired to hurt you why did you hurt me? Just leave me alone, leave me alone”

Eventually I came to stop. My breathing was so erratic that I even felt dizzy. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I gave myself a minor stroke. I picked up my bag and walked out of the park throwing my back pack around pretending to hit people with it. It’s certainly surprising as to how much strength one person has when they become angry. I’m pretty sure I was alone at this point, or had somebody been watching me they didn’t dare try to approach me.

As I walked out of the park and onto the foot bridge, a shopping trolley was blocking the path in the middle of the bridge. Without question and with great difficulty I lifted up the trolley, and placed it on the railings of the bridge. For a few moments I stood there visualizing that all the people this semester who made my school life a living hell were all tied up in the shopping trolley and for once I had control of the situation. Completely distracted from my irrational behavior and without any sort of hesitation I pushed the trolley over the railings, sending it flying like a cannon ball through the air, the trolley made a terrible crashing sound as it hit the rocks at the bottom of the creek bed.

“That’s what you deserve” I said to myself softly and I walked away.

I came off the bridge and decided to cut through the caravan park which backs onto my street. I walked through the middle of the park and found the old telephone box, so I began pegging stones at it until the glass box shattered into a million tiny pieces then I ran off down the back of the park. I’m not sure why I did this, I’ve never been a violent person ever before and I even surprised myself with my own strength.

While I was standing in the middle of the park, reality finally began to sink into my head; I deserve what happened to me because I simply exist. My body felt like a pot of boiling water on the stove about spew over the top. My bombshell might have blown earlier but I felt this wasn’t the end. I began to feel so angry with myself for existing, and for breathing that I could finally begin to understand where my classmates were coming from. There was one common interest that I now shared with them, the hatred and disgust of myself – I had to be punished.

My back pack was loaded with a few heavy text books which made it quite heavy to carry. I lifted my bag into the air and started throwing it over my shoulders making it hit my back with extreme force.

I swung once, then bang. I swung second, then bang and then I kept on going and going and going and going until I couldn’t stand the pain any longer. The pain was excruciating and I could barley walk. The other people at school didn’t hit me hard enough and I had to finish it off for them. My arms struggled to keep the bag in the air, as I swung it high into the air my veins looked as if they were about to burst out the skin. I kept on swinging and swinging but eventually I had to stop, purely to give my arms a rest than my back.

I kept on thinking to myself, if I continued to hurt myself with pain then it would wake my stupid brain up and make it to behave normal for a change, or if I was to cut myself open and the let my blood run free then all the dirt and disgust within myself had a chance to escape and I could start fresh next semester. If I did all this now by cutting my body open to bleed, the old me has a chance to escape and a new, proper normal me could grow. I was never very big on pain, and as a child needles used to freak me out, but I was going to do what was right and