Loosing our home... It is difficult to feel like you have let your family down. My health has put me in a bad place the last few years and my doctors believe surgery is the only way I will be put on the road back to something better than where I am at now... I'm scared of open RNY... I'm scared to stay the weight I am... I am scared I will die soon.

Now, we have no choice and need to move out of state. Michigan to West Virginia... I'm tired and curious what a smaller me would look like. I have never seen a smaller me... Ever...

 

It finally might happen now. After years of being sick with Cancer and Embolisms. *sighs* 39 years old... One foot in the grave and no luck. What happens next? When? *shrugs* To much stress in our lives. I can't believe what we live through.

 

So yeah...  I have been in bed, literally for six weeks now.  Multiple blood clots in BOTH legs,  Yeah, cancer can really play havoc even after recovery, so I will be on blood thinners the rest of my life.  

 

Don't have many friends that care these days.  I suppose it is just myself and my wife really.  Oh well...  anyway...  

 

In the hospital thanks to the clots I gained over 60 pounds in water weight.  All in my legs, it was pure hell...  most pain I ever felt in my life.  Thanks to water pills and a doctor who I usually have to lube up his ass to help him get his head out of it, I have managed somehow to get a little better.   

 

Medicare, thank God helped with some home nurses and physical therapy.  I appreciate all you hard working nurses out there, I really do.  The ones who care and really help, I appreciate it!!

 

Due to my own male faults and not setting limits in a friendship, I lost a good friend on here.  Lisa, where ever you are, I am sorry for my own manners.

 

Well, that is my "blog" to who ever reads it.  I might do more, I might not.  I don't know.  I don't even know if anyone reads them anymore.  i am doubting myself and my own weight loss adventure and truly need to get my ass back to the YMCA.  I NEED to start swimming again and I need to start painting again and writing and making guitars.  I find myself stuck in this void of depression, responsibility and excuses.

Tim S.

 SO, I gave up on surgery and have been fighting the old fashion way to loose what I have.  58 lbs so far...  

The High School Diaries 3
  Looking Down The Barrel of a 45: A True story

By

Timothy S.

!! WARNING!!

ALL NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT THE GUILTY; THERE WAS NO INNOCENCE THAT I KNOW OF IN MY SCHOOL. THIS STORY ALSO CONTAINS PROFANITY AND DRUG USE. IT WAS MY CHILDHOOD AND IT WAS A ROUGH TIME. I WANT IT TO BE ACCURATE.

 

As I opened my eyes and glanced to the small square basement window above my bed, I could see the dark blue light of dawn starting to dance with the sky. Looking at the clock I was disappointed to see that I had only slept three hours last night, only three... A grin washed over my face and I smiled; it was Saturday after all, no school today. No “Hellions”, no “Shit Kickers”, and no smug teachers who didn’t give a crap. Today was my birthday and I wasn’t going to let a bad week ruin my weekend, a day to myself and no one else. I glanced at the Dean Koontz book I was reading and recited out loud to myself.

 

“The morning was warmish, and full of hopeful surprises.” I cringed at the words “warmish” with a shiver, a grin filled my face as I rolled from my bed and stretched the night’s sleeplessness away. I had dreams of some day becoming some great master of horror stories, and hopefully I would use better opening lines then “The night was warmish”. I liked Dean Koontz, and I guess being a successful author can let you get away with anything.

 

I thought I could write the greatest and darkest stories of my time and people would question my sanity and my humanity just reading my dark and disturbing words. They would wonder who this man is and what makes him write so many disgusting and yet suspenseful novels. I would be asked in interviews to describe how I began to think up such nightmares.

 

“Honey Smacks!” I spoke aloud. “It was all Kellogg's fault you see.” I spoke to my poster of Elvira, Mistress of the Dark hanging on my wall. She was moon bathing according to the posters caption. She wore a small revealing leather bathing suit; what else would a teenage boy have on his wall? “That darn frog was oppressing and warping my already abused childhood mind. The peer pressure was too much to resist, and I needed Satis-Smack-tion! You dig-em? They're Honey Smackin' good!”

 

My laughter trailed off as I approached the stairs. My family had been busy the past few weeks and I had no hints of any kind of party, be it a surprise one or not. I did my best not to get excited. I was sixteen now, I was going to go get my official drivers license and my permit was history. I could venture out on my own now without having to be accompanied by an adult as I drove. Reaching the peak of the stairs I entered the kitchen entry way and was startled.

 

“Good morning mom, what time did you get up?”

 

“Oh, I haven’t been to sleep yet, I am to busy working on the business, I could really use your opinion on this. What do you think?” My mother said with rushed tired words. She hasn’t slept in days I thought, she would crash soon and hopefully awaken to even more business adventures on her mind. Or maybe she would like to watch a good scary movie with me later, anything but a crash. A crash landing tonight would suck ass and I didn’t think I could put up with it if she did. You can only hear “No one loves me!” so much before you feel like your going to puke.

 

I approached the make shift desk my mother sat at. She came up with the brilliant idea of getting a six-foot piece of Formica counter top from the hardware store and two steel filing cabinets to place it on; presto change’o, a desk. It was a brilliant idea and it worked out well, except her desk, like many surfaces in the house, became infected with Flat Surface Syndrome.

 

Flat Surface Syndrome: 1) the pattern of symptoms that characterize or indicate a particular social condition where people constantly place objects on any cleared flat surface until such surface is completely covered.

a: said surface could easily have multiple items stack upon each other.

 

I tried hard to show as much interest as I could. It was a strain to take another roller coaster ride of emotions and get all excited about yet another financial adventure that she wanted me to be a part of.

 

“This looks great mom, what else do you have planned?”

 

“Oh, that is just the first three pages, here is the rest!” Her hand waved over the stack of at least one hundred typed pages of text. My eyes widened with concern that I might get trapped the whole morning looking over and listening to three days worth of pure manic high adrenaline. A wonderful idea in itself, an idea so very good and brilliant, unfortunately someday forgotten as waste on a desk taking up space. I later thought how much money she could have made if she just kept with it. Her experience in sales was amazing, but her sickness always won over in the end.

 

“I am headed to bed. Would you like to watch a movie later?” Her words were spoken more to the papers in front of her then to me. Unless she was very serious and wanted to be understood, she often talked around many objects instead of talking directly to you.

 

“Mom, I don’t know what you guys have planned later, but I was hoping maybe I could get a birthday present early this morning. I need twenty bucks to go get my license before the DMV closes at three.” She stopped in mid motion and looked at me with a confused look in her eyes. In them you could see her lost in time and space, for a few moments there were many questions in her stare being asked all at once. For one split second in that drawn out stare, she glanced at her wall calendar; it was the quickest glance I ever saw. Her recovery was amazing, but I knew she had forgotten my birthday, everyone did. I was sixteen right, How should I feel?

 

“I will tell you a secret. Your father and I were going to get you a card later and shove some money in there to let you go get what you want for yourself! We figured that would be better then us trying to figure it out, let me call your father real quick to make sure it’s okay. I have to go pee, I will be back in a minute!” She grabbed the phone and headed to the bathroom.

 

I couldn't believe they forgot. Oh well, I understood, they had been busy, right? My thoughts were sad and lonely. I didn’t want a party anyway, but having one would have been nice, would have been normal… But I was an adult, right? At least I had been treated with and the responsibility of an adult for years. Unless I did something wrong of course... Then the punishment of children would fall upon me.

 

“Okay, your dad will be home in an hour and he said he has your birthday money on him, I thought it was in the drawer upstairs, but he has it in his wallet. I’ll give you a hint about how much! It has a pretty picture of Benjamin Franklin on the bill.” She spoke with carefully chosen words and her guilt was remarkably written all over her face. All I could do was think how great guilt could pay off!

 

“That’s great mom, thank you guys so much! Dad has the night off and I would love it if I could borrow one of your guy’s cars tonight? Please? I want to take a few friends out to the movies on my first permit free day!” I said stirring the culpable embers in her blazing fire of guilt.

 

“Oh I am sure that would be fine! You have fun today son, I am headed to bed. Happy Birthday!” She kissed me on the cheek and hugged me. She smiled then and walked past headed to bed

 

“Good night mom, have sweet dreams, I love you, and thanks again for the great birthday present!” I said in my best grateful son voice. I was grateful, but pretty damn angry they forgot.

 

My father arrived home and handed me a card. Inside were five twenty-dollar bills fresh from the ATM machine. I smiled secretly to myself expecting a one hundred dollar bill with Benjamin Franklin sneering at me and laughed it off. I hugged my father and dragged the tired man with me to go get my authentic drivers license; my father’s signature and ID was required for the final draft.

 

Eleven AM approached and I was a free man so to speak. I had eighty-five bucks burning large holes in my pocket, a Lumina mini-van equipped with its very own sliding door, bullet shaped nose and a full tank of gas.

 

The first place I headed was to my good friend Jerry’s house. Jerry was neither my friend or good for that matter. I had a problem many teenagers have, I was addicted to an illegal substance, Marijuana. It had me in its grip; it kept me for many years to come. It made me feel loved and comforted, it helped me let go of the stress of life and for a sixteen year old, I had more stress then I could handle sometimes. My cousin introduced me to the seductress calls of Mary Jane, oh how sweet her kiss could be. The consequences of being arrested for an illegal substance in my parent’s car never crossed my mind. It was just on the list of things to do on my birthday.

 

“Hey man, howz it going?” I threw my words at Jerry as I walked into his very dark living room. The sunlight was completely blocked out by shades and twenty or so black lights burned loudly and pasted the walls and surrounded objects with it’s special light. The walls were covered with every conceivable black light poster you could buy and his fifty-gallon fish tank was loaded with fish and decorative rocks colored to glow when the light came in contact with it.

 

I looked upon the stoned and wasted individuals on the couch in this magnificent throne dedicated to the black light Gods and asked Jerry for a half. One half an ounce of grass, weed, Mary Jane (To the old hippies of the world), pot, what ever you wanted to call it, it was temporary relief from madness.

 

“Back here man.” Jerry motioned as he walked down a black-lit hallway toward the sacred chamber of scales, bags and weed. He sat at a small desk and grabbed for a lock box under it. Now most people when they think of a pound of Marijuana, they see a huge square like bundle of fluffy dark green stuff wrapped in cellophane and tape. When in reality a pound of weed is about the size of one or two decks of cards, the brick being compressed and very dried out. A dealer should re-hydrate his inventory before selling this to add water weight and get the most out of his pound, maybe getting one and one half pounds out of one dried and very compressed brick for profit; Jerry just chipped it off. Inside the box was at least four pounds of Marijuana, I stood watching carefully as he grabbed a brick and proceeded to chip off my half-an-ounce.

 

“You sure that is all you want man?” Jerry asked with a why are you wasting my time for just a half voice.

 

“Yeah that’s all man, thanks.” I breathed keeping a close eye on the scales numbers. Other things were happening in the house while I waited for my buy. A new customer showed up and wanted to make his own purchase. It was Pete, the drug and alcohol receiver for the glorious high school “Shit Kickers”. I had no idea Pete got his drugs from Jerry and I had no clue what I was about to walk into.

 

Jerry grabbed an already rolled joint and examined the paper on the outside of it. He licked his fingers then with a wad of his own saliva and lathered the long white blimp of a smoke to slow down the burn so it wouldn’t waste away to ash to quickly. He took a long draw from the joint and held in the smoke as he passed it to me. As he exhaled the smoke he spoke in a very raspy, dried out voice.

 

“This is the good stuff man, it’s blueberries, one hundred and twenty for a half. I would only take one hit if I were you.” The sweet and sour smell entered my nostrils as I held the joint, I didn’t want to drive stoned, but I had no choice. If your dealer passes you a joint, you take it, you hit it, and you get stoned with him. It’s common courtesy and very suspicious and insulting if you don’t.

 

“Wow, this tastes interesting, is this what it’s suppose to taste like?” I choked as the harsh smoke exited my lungs, eyes watering as the smooth taste of flowers invaded my taste buds. It was instant, the blood rushed by my lungs carrying the poisonous chemicals to my brain and lower spinal cord. The high started quicker then any pot I had ever smoked.

 

“Oh, that...” Jerry sneered up at me with glowing white teeth from the magical lights within the room. “That’s opium laced, nice touch eh?” My world was a daze, I was angry and extremely paranoid about the fact that I just ingested my first narcotic with out knowing I was doing so. I tried very hard to control myself and looked down at Jerry as I felt the high coming on stronger by the second.

 

“I have to split man, I have people waiting, is that cool?” My acting was smooth and I held my fear and temper at bay.

 

“Yeah man, have a good weekend…” Jerry closed the steel lid on his box and threw me a half-ounce sack of weed. After hanging with Jerry and buying from him the past two years, I never saw Jerry’s little box again or his room, and soon his house. I

walked out in to the living room and saw Pete standing there glowing brightly in an all white Nike outfit.

 

Pete’s eyes widened in instant hate when he saw me leaving Jerry’s room. Two guys stood on both sides of Pete, I didn’t know either of them. One was completely bald and wore a sleeveless muscle shirt. He had to be almost seven feet tall. He was literally ducking his head as he stood in the archway to the living room heading to the door. The lights in the room did nothing for his tattoos, but I could clearly make out a swastika painted on his upper arm. The other guy was around my height at about six foot four inches with a buzz cut. His shirt glowed with what looked like millions of tiny white specs.

 

“Holy shit, I don’t believe it. What we have here boys is a golden opportunity to get some pay back.” Pete spat from across the room. Payback I thought. What the hell do I need paying back for now, from HIM! Jerry exited his room and assessed the situation.

 

“Take it outside guys, I don’t want any shit going down in here, or I will never sell to either of you again. In fact don’t do anything outside either. If the cops come here I will swear in a court of law you both help me on a daily basis selling my shit!” Jerry said in a low matter-of-fact voice. “I have several witnesses right here that will say so also.” He concluded.

 

I shot passed Pete and out the door I went. I couldn’t believe I had to put up with this high school bullshit on my birthday. It was suppose to be a violent free weekend. I walked quickly down the back steps of Jerry’s house; everyone parked in the back and drove out to the dirt road. It was a very secluded home and too secluded for my taste at the moment.

 

Pete’s corvette sat parked in the driveway; his mommies birthday present to him this year. I slipped past it and reached for the door handle throwing a glance over my shoulder and heard someone speak. When I looked back the first thing I saw was a huge seven-foot Nazi pulling back his fist to hit me in the face. What I heard was…

 

“Not so fast fat boy, my brother wants to talk to you.” I heard the word talk just as I was looking back. The Nazi’s fist was cocked and coming at me. My first instinctual thought was to drop to the ground, but my instinctual anger and survival decided to kick in instead, with a touch of adrenalin, all slowed way down and playing to the opium beat of narcotics still flooding through my virgin veins.

 

In one quick and lucky motion, I turned my face forward and flung my head back as hard as I could. The Nazi’s fist landed squarely on the top of my skull with a crunch; he had just busted several bones in his hand. The Nazi yelled in pain as I fell to the ground. The darkness was closing in all around me as I pleaded with my body to not give in to the intoxicating drugs and probably severe concussion I had just gave myself; my eyes closed, I was out.

 

“Wake up, fat boy.” I heard Pete’s voice in some distant bad dream I was having and opened my eyes. In front of my face was a 45-caliber handgun. It was so close I could smell the gunpowder in the muzzle. My father taught me many things about guns, and the smell told me this one had been fired very recently. I blinked my eyes and couldn’t feel anything now. I didn’t even feel the warm urine spreading itself out in my jeans and streaming down my leg. My head was bleeding and I knew this was the end. I didn’t even know who had the gun.

 

“Stop it Pete, or your going to regret it,” I heard. Somewhere in the still parts of my brain I understood that Jerry was talking to Pete. Then they were gone. I closed my eyes.

 

“Hey man, you okay?” I woke up to Jerry standing above me.

“Yeah I am okay. What.. um.. oh.. yeah I’m okay..” The words tried to form better meaning, but that’s all I could get out. Even now I barely remember waking up. I stood up, reached for my car door and got in. Jerry was already inside his house when I turned the key in the ignition; I headed home.

 

I stood there in my room emptying my pockets. I threw the bag of weed on my bed and covered it with my pillow, I threw my wallet on the nightstand and stripped off my clothes. I walked half naked to the shower two floors above and tried not to think.

 

You can’t be seriously considering revenge you dumb fool. I spoke aloud to myself. My mind blacked out again and I didn’t remember showering at all, or the trip back to the basement. I stood there wet and in a towel contemplating if I should kill Pete, or just hurt him badly. I glanced at the calendar. It said Saturday the sixth... But my birthday was on the fifth. Ironic laughter filled my head, I don't know if it was out loud or not. We had all forgotten my birthday...

 

I realize this story contained a lot of drug talk and violence, but I really wanted to share it as detailed as I could. For your information, I DID NOT EVER KILL anyone! This story was a critical part in my life and changed whom I was inside. I thought the abuse I took on a daily basis was something most people endured. I was smart enough to know I was singled out quite a bit, but I hated myself for being who I was and I hated the world for not ever noticing what was going on. The next few “High School Diary” chapters deal with this life-changing event of my life. It was a very bad life-changing event. I became a very angry and bad person, and my drug habit worsened. I know many people have had it worse then I, but it helps getting it out after so long… This is one of those stories I have never told anyone before, except a very inebriated friend one night, I don’t think he believed me -laughs-.. I will pick up the next Story where I left off here.

AFTER THOUGHT: I had no idea how emotional it would make me writing this event out for any one who cares to read it. I am sitting here shaking and almost in tears. Reliving moments I have tried so hard to forget. Those moments made me who I am today I suppose.

 

Timothy S.

 

The High School Diaries

I am writing again...  It's hot...  The temperature, not my writing.

Stress sucks and I think I am more in touch with my writing skills when I put it in the form of a story rather then just writing shit out.

I am having breathing issues again and the damn oxygen machine is becoming my friend... again.  I hate the bastard and I hope if I ever become a smaller person that I can get rid of it.

I miss smoking...  I wish I could have a cigarette more then air itself sometimes.  Stress is beyond controlling, so I just let things slide and not think about them.. I mean who could? 

Ok, some more useless words and random randomness...  More odds and ends and crap that really doesn't matter...  Till next time...

T.

Blah blah blah...  Another day..  Same old depression... same old bull crap...

I really got to get on those shrink appointments....  I really have to write some more....

I have to really figure out where we are going to live...

Feels a little crushing...

I hate anxiety...

At least I am not alone...  I drag my wife down to my level for kisses hahaha...  She is amazing... 

ok.. words and stuff...  more words...  Clever remarks... more clever remarks.. humor..

done I think.. wait... ok... now I am done..

T.

ALL NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT THE GUILTY; THERE WAS NO INNOCENCE THAT I KNOW OF IN MY SCHOOL  I have only embellished whom these individuals were in school. Certain roles and grades of these people I have changed. I only do this because I have respect for individual’s rights. (More then I ever received anyway.)

 

The dark sky looked down at me as I stepped off the porch into the cold and bitter wind that only the lakes of Michigan know how to create. The morning started off great; my mother had been up for what seemed like three days on a bipolar high about some new adventure that would save us from all our financial woes. She had a huge breakfast waiting for me when my shower was through. As I stepped out of the steamy bathroom I was met with the aroma of bacon and eggs; my mouth watered. I rushed with the towel to get to the feast down below.

 

Damn it’s cold this morning. My teeth chattered as I walked the icy sidewalks toward school. The sun had yet to rise and I was annoyed that winter couldn’t make up its mind this year. One week of sunny skies and seventy-degree weather, and now it’s ten below zero and six inches of snow.

 

Ok, maybe it’s only five below zero and there is only 2 inches of snow. BIG DEAL, MAKE UP YOUR MIND I shouted to no one in particular on my walk. I laughed amusing myself and pondered the two weeks of freedom since the incident in the hallway at school. None of the “Shit Kickers” had even glanced my way. It made me nervous.

 

“Maybe I should skip the next few days till the weekend,” I said to the sidewalk. I could see the school now, the steam from the boilers shot into the air like a rocket ship. All I could do is walk and think of my impending doom and what was for lunch of course.

 

“What door should I choose today?” I thought aloud again as my eyes marveled at the clouds rolling up into the air.

 

I think maybe the back doors today. I have been seen too many times this week going in from the side. My thoughts raced. They always matched my heartbeat when I neared school. I rounded the corner and reached for the handle to pull open the big door.

 

“Got ya fat boy!” A gloved hand grabbed my jacket and yanked me to the side and behind a large brick wall.

 

You see, the back of the school had small walls sticking out from each side of every window. I doubted it had anything to do with structural architecture; it was all probably just for looks. It gave many a student the opportunity to push against one side with their feet and press their hands against the other side and climb the walls to the school roof. I also doubted very much the architects and school district had this in mind either. The odd walls also gave a great opportunity for people to hide out of view from others, as well as secretly meet that special girl or boy in semi-secret with out prying eyes. The window blinds were almost always closed, so it was the perfect hiding spot. I always gave the walls a wide proximity for just that reason… No need to just offer myself up for sacrifice!

 

Shit! Was my first thought even as I was saying it aloud. The “Shit Kickers” had me once again in their claws and there was a good chance no one else would use this door for a good while this morning. My heart was in my throat. Pete, the athletic drug and alcohol receiver, thumped my head against the windowpane.

 

“Damn it, I wish you guys would stop doing that to my head!” I cursed an instant before I realized Pete was alone… bad move for Pete. I was about to give him a lesson about trying to pick a fight with a bear and not having back up. Before I could make my move, John dropped from above my head, a spider going in for the kill from the roofs edge, waiting for me to be in just the right spot. I collapsed under John’s weight to the snow covered ground; my face being shoved deep into the cold ground. John rolled off of me and grabbed my hair and yanked. My face popped up, spitting out a bloody mixture of mud and snow. The lump on my head was now pounding and my skin burned red from cold and anger.

 

“You like that fat boy?” John grunted as he spread his lips to reveal his perfect teeth. I peered at those teeth; I was amazed how fast his parents had gotten him a false one to replace the tooth I had previously knocked out. No one at school had even talked about his missing tooth. It was like no one had even heard of the incident. It was pushed far under the secret carpet of lies. I always thought John’s friends new better to say anything or start rumors about it. It was amazing how no one knew, but I knew, I would always know, and soon I would have a permanent reminder of it.

 

John stepped back away from me, “Get up, fat fuck. I want you on your feet before I kick your ass.” he spat at me with a grin so wide the Cheshire Cat would shy away.

 

“Old assholes can learn new tricks!” I said putting the emphasis on “can”. I started getting to my feet. I had more wise ass remarks that I had been saving but I didn’t have time to say them.

 

“You afraid something might get squeezed or hurt again Jon’ boy?” I sneered with a widening smile. I was about to unleash a rage upon the two boys; an anger that had no problems surfacing once my control was unleashed. One would expect to see my skin turn green and rip my clothes like the Incredible Hulk, the image was not to far off from that reality.

 

John’s hand whipped out a long silvery object. I froze in one spot looking at the sharp knife just under my nose. Pete said something then, I thought it was a swear word but didn’t really hear it, I had more important matters at hand. Pete said something else and started running away. John stood there glaring at me with those fucking white teeth of his… minus one real one.

 

“You better kill me John… you better do a good job too…” My breath was coming in hard puffs from my mouth and nostrils. “If you don’t, I will kill you. You hear me John? Don’t you? With all that crap you call a brain bubbling in your head? What the hell did I ever do to you John? WHAT? Can you even understand me you dumb fuck!”

 

I was talking as fast as my brain would let me. Even as I write this I know I said much more to him. Pleads mixed with insults. I was scared and pissed at the same time.

 

The knife was inches from my nose. John was looking in both directions, his paranoia was on edge; he just noticed Pete was nowhere to be found to back him up. He took a step back now, the knife getting further away from scaring my face or blinding me.

 

“What are you going to do you ass? Make up your mind.” I seethed with anger and hate as my words poured from my lips. I had made up my mind. The minute John lunged at me, I would grab the knife, or try and block it with my hand. I would get sliced, sure, but I would survive.

 

“You are such a freak!” John spit out of his mouth with intense hatred. His eyes were looking everywhere at once. The intense cold of the air was freezing the sweat in his hair and he stood there with a newly frosted hair-do. His stare was intense and you could see the decision hanging there in his eyes. The hate and disgust for me was plain as day and night on his face.

 

“I am a freak? ME? You dumb fuck! Look who is holding the knife! Look who needs all his friends to pick on the fat kid at school?” I spat with fury and my own hatred.

 

“And now you stand there, ready to what, you asshole? Stab me? Kill me and show the whole world how much one person that is different then you should be dealt with. What did I ever do to you John? What?” My tears mixed with my sweat and dripped to the snow covered ground below. Johns arm dropped and the knife lay at his side.

 

“I hate you, you fat fuck!” John said as he brought the knife back up and threw himself at me. I stepped to the side and the knife slashed into my coat and through the t-shirt and flesh below. I fell to ground and hit my head against the brick wall to my left. When I looked up, John and the knife were gone. No one would believe me if I said anything. I knew I had no case, especially with a star athlete that all the teachers loved. I picked myself up and headed to the high school office to see what would happened next.

 

“It looks like you hit your head Mr. Stafford, do you need an ice pack?” Mrs. Dean said to me in the most stuck up way possible.

 

“That would be great, thank you. Is Vice Principal Tucker in, or Principal Roberts?” I said in a low voice. I had yet to look at my arm or take my coat off to see the damage to myself. My head was spinning and I felt like getting sick.

 

“No, the Principal is gone for the week, but Vice Principal Tucker will be here soon. Here is a tardy pass for class.” I looked at the small square piece of paper with puzzlement. She was trying to make me leave for class.

 

“I’ll wait…” I started saying as VP Tucker walked into the office. His voice boomed like a marine as he saw me sitting there.

 

“Your not sick Mr. Stafford, get to class, you have missed enough school this year already, don’t you think?” I looked up at him and started speaking and was cut off again.

 

“If it’s that important, talk to me after school when I have more time.” His voice faded on the last part as he was walking in to his office shutting the door. The secretary looked at me with a smirk on her face and was waiting for my next move. I got up and started leaving the office.

 

“Don’t forget your pass Mr. Stafford” Mrs. Dean said with a definite attitude and some how, with much practice I am sure, a perfect amount of sarcasm.

 

“Don’t need it.” I said as I walked out of the office and then out the front door of the school headed home. I arrived to find my mother passed out from being up three days in a row and a very sound asleep hard working stepfather as well.

 

“I need a vacation,” I said aloud to myself. I peeled off my jacket in the bathroom and found my arm sleeve soaked with blood. I grabbed for the med kit and tried to close the wound as best I could; it no doubt needed ten or twelve stitches. I wrapped my arm up and went to my room… it was going to be a day of Nintendo instead of school.

 

I tried explaining what happened to the school counselor the next day. She did not believe me at all. That week she suggested to my parents, I go to the local “Rough Neck” school called Discovery. Hell, at least they got smoke breaks every two hours! I almost wished my parents had agreed to it. To this day, John has never had to take responsibility for his actions. I have quite the scar from the knife cut; it doesn’t look so bad after nineteen years! -Laughs-

The world caves in on itself and I grab onto what is familiar, my wife's beautiful smile and the innocence of my children.

I had a sleep study last night and while trying to sleep with countless wires attached to my body and an uncomfortable mask on my face to help me with my sleep apnea, I thought of my family.

I don't like being away from them in the neighborhood we live in.  I don't like living where we are and having no control of what happens next.   People live with the illusion of control I think most of the time.  I find it empowering to read peoples stories on OH and see them taking control of their food eating habits and using the tools they were given to reach for a dream that many people have told them in their lives was impossible. 

I relive countless moments in my head and I can never seem to be free of the monsters in the shadows.  What amazing strength you all have to try and reach for that goal.

I listened yesterday as my wife reads a letter out loud to me.  It changes nothing and yet, it changes everything...  A cryptic sentence I will probably never explain and a rambling of words I only wrote for myself.

I got home early this morning.. It was 5 AM...  A gun shot in the distance makes me pause for a moment and then I shake my head... We are trapped and yet we will have no choice to leave our prison we call home.  That makes me happy and yet, where do eight people go with no resources to get there?

I quickly unlock my door to check my family and maybe sleep for a few more hours...

Anxiety takes hold...

The High School Diaries 1

 

ALL NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT THE GUILTY; THERE WAS NO INNOCENCE THAT I KNOW OF IN MY SCHOOL  I have only embellished whom these individuals were in school.  Certain roles and grades of these people I have changed.  I only do this because I have respect for individual’s rights. (More then I ever received anyway.)

 

THIS STORY ALSO CONTAINS PROFANITY.  IT WAS MY CHILD HOOD AND IT WAS A ROUGH TIME.  I WANT IT TO BE ACCURATE

 

INTRO

The high school was a combined school of junior high students and high school students at the time I was there.  Seventh through twelfth grade all in one place, this story takes place in the ninth grade.

 

      It’s noon, I had made it through half of my day.  My thoughts were full of the afternoon dread that was to come and I couldn't’t skip school today.  The test in science was important if I were to get at least a “D” on my report card. It was all review now, for the test any way.

 

     Ok, get home quick, shower, get my ass back to school and to class as fast as I can.  My thoughts were in race now; a race with time, with my heart, and with the dark, well lit, passageways of my high school. 

 

     If I could be fast enough I could do it, I had done it many times before. Today was like no other, but it had been awhile.  The hunt of “Tim” was in “season” now, and the game was being stalked.  I knew I was on the war path of certain individuals.  I was always on the “Shit list” as they liked to call it.

  

   I peddled my bike as fast as I could toward home.  On bike I could be there in four minutes.  That leaves ten minutes for a shower, throw back on my clothes and head back out the door.  My mom and dad were sure to be asleep, especially when dad was home from his third shift job.  Hopefully my mom was sleeping.  If she weren’t, maybe today would be one of her “good days”.  No time to think about that now.  No time!

 

   I threw my key into the lock, turned it and exploded through the back door.  I almost slid into the counter as I rounded the small hall from the back door into the kitchen.  Through the dinning room, hit the foyer, grabbed the banister and flung myself up the stairs fast.  My legs slowed to almost a halt at the top of the steps; my parent’s door was there.  Quietly I turned down the hallway to the forever-entitled “Pink Bathroom”; holding this title for the pure fact that the entire bathroom, when they first moved in, was so many dark and light shades of pink that the entire room was indeed pink, from floor to the literal ceiling.  I often remember feeling the weird texture of the wallpaper with its fuzzy pink hairs as I sat worshipping the porcelain god with an offering.

  

   The shower was cold today.  My parents didn’t budget money for the gas bill and the water heater’s fire sat cold in the basement of the old-Dutch colonial home.  It only took the one time to be stained with being the smelly fat kid at school.  I was in the fifth grade when the gas and water was once shut off from not paying the bill.  I had no clean clothes for days and was cursed with no showers.  Something I grew used to over the next several years of my life.  It wasn’t like the gas gone on and off like a light switch, but it happened more then the whole family really wanted.  The water basically stayed on after that… basically.  I spent a lot of lunch times scared of smelling and even though the kids at school made fun of my odor, I knew I was clean, cold shower or not.

  

   I wonder if they know the gas is off yet. I said out loud to myself.  My thoughts often found vocal speech, even when I was alone. 

 

   There, all washed and smelling clean. My thoughts were still in a whirlwind.  No time to waste.  A splash of baby powder on my arm pits a splash more in my socks.  The deodorant stick went to work as well.  All was looking good for the afternoon. 

  

   Go, go, GO…  Come on I have to go.  I was out of breath on my way back to school.  I was almost there and I had ten minutes to spare.  I started to sweat, but not from the short bike ride.  I could do three times that ride before I started sweating.  It was the possibility of the “Shit Kickers” I feared.  They always seemed to find me no matter what steps I took; lately they had been recruiting lower class mates to help them with their dirty work.  It was getting harder and harder every day to survive the ninth grade.

 

   The bike lock was thrown onto the old rail bike rack and into my front wheel spokes.  I walked the long way to the back of the high school.  This was the dangerous part; if they were outside today they would get me for sure.  The grounds were almost empty.  It was getting close to class time and usually every one headed to class ahead of time so they weren’t late; so they weren’t tardy and received a slip!

 

   Almost there, almost… I thought aloud again, when in reality I was only half way there.  Once inside I needed to go past the doors to the cafeteria, walk through the gym and head into the industrial hallway.  It was called that because the hall contained only three doors.  The doors opened into three enormous rooms of the school.  The wood shop, the metal shop and the drafting room for Mechanical Drawing and architecture class.

  

   Now the gym…  My heart thumped harder with fear as my breath escaped my mouth with words.  My breath was so hot that you could visibly see it in the well-cooled hall.  The girls for the seventh or eighth grade gym class were lined up on the gym side stage. The back of the gym and the front of the auditorium was separated by a huge stage. The gym portion had a gigantic, thick divider wall to shut off the noise from the gym classes.  There was a three or four foot portion of the stage that stuck out from this wall and every one always sat up there.  I stepped quickly into the gym to staring faces.

 

   “BOOM BADDA BOOM BADDA BOOM” The girls chanted as I walked by. 

  

    That God damned “Stand By Me” movie is going to drive me fucking insane! I said once again only to myself.  The anger from the junior high girls filled my mind as I exited the gym into the industrial hallway.

 

   I only need to get down the hall, up the stairs to the next floor and directly into science class to make it… My words echoed.

 

   Half way to the stairs now!  I was breathing hard.  My head kept turning and glancing over my shoulders.  I had used this way too many times the last week.  My luck was going to run out.  Five minutes ‘til class time now.  It will only take one minute to get there from here.  I came up on the lower section of the stairs, still glancing over my shoulder.  As I reached the side of the stairs, my hand reached forward and grabbed the steel railing to whip myself around and up.  There they were… five of them today! 

 

    Oh shit, five of them!  I said to myself as my head exploded with adrenaline.

 

   “Well if it isn’t fat ass.  What are you doing sneaking around fat boy?”  John said as he stood with all of his friends in unison gripping their fists like they were about to get in to a fight… they were. It was like a dance group or swimming team in perfect time with one another.  On more then one occasion my sense of humor got me into more trouble then one would think could happen.  I couldn’t help it… I laughed!

 

  Three of the group came at me fast. Joe, Alex and Pete were huge guys from the wrestling team.  Joe always wore his wrestling uniform under his clothes and often used it as his shirt in place of normal clothing.  Alex was a follower.  He would do and say what any of the others would tell him to.  You could always see his bright red hair from a mile away in any crowd.  Pete was the team’s athletic drug and alcohol receiver.  I always found that funny because he was on the football team also. 

 

   The three grabbed me and pulled me back under the stairway out of passing eyes and faces where no one could see.  The left over two stood guard and watched for teachers. 

 

    My body was thrown hard against the cement wall and my head thumped on the brick; for a moment I saw bright rainbow spots in front of my eyes.  When my eyes opened, John stood before me with a glaring, perfect, white smile; John would loose that top tooth today before things were through.  The shit kicker stood 6 foot and four inches, the same height as my self.  He was on the football team and was well in shape physically.  His teeth showed with a pretty boy’ smile and his blue eyes were always on fire.  His hair was buzzed marine style and was his only style haircut through high school.  I always though it would be fun to stick Velcro to it some time and see if it made the same ripping noise when you pull it off his head.

 

  “Don’t forget to take this to class with you fat boy!”  John’s hand came up from his side and slugged me in my stomach.  My breath exploded out of my mouth as I kneeled over automatically from the blow.  From the sides, his friends took turns slamming their fists into my kidneys on my back; I collapsed to my knees.

 

   “Let’s go.” John said to his friends.  “Don’t want to be late for class.”  His words were slurred and his teeth were grinding some.  What lovely drugs these guys were addicted too.

 

   I looked up with pure rage in my eyes.  No rational thought existed anymore; they were my prey now.  My hand reach for the first thing I saw when I looked up; John’s crotch.  My fingers wrapped around whatever God gave that boy and squeezed as hard as I could.  John’s body doubled as a natural reaction just as mine had done previously when he punched me; bad move.  My head flung up as hard as I could and I felt Johns mouth make contact with the top of my skull.  John’s tooth embedded itself into my flesh and pulled free from the shit kickers gums; I later, in the bathroom, pulled the tooth from my hair.

 

   John’s friends were standing in stupid awe when the bell rang.  They ran abandoning their friend bleeding and crying on the floor.  I looked up and saw no teacher or student in site.  I looked down at John and spoke to him.

 

   “You better have more friends with you next time asshole!”  It was a mistake I soon regretted saying that day.

 

   John went to the Med Center and then home. His story was that he slipped down the stairs and bashed his mouth on the stair well.  Soon after, new grip strips were installed on the ceramic steps.  I knew what happened to John that day, his coward-ness, as well as his friends, the bullies of the school, “The shit kickers”.  I threw his tooth away in the bathroom.  I thought about keeping it as a trophy of my triumph, but the thought made me ill and I vomited on the spot. 

 

   The torture continued…  Many moments before this event…  Many after… I have written some of them out… Just to get them out… All this because I was different then the “normal people”, different from what society says I should be… different because I was over weight.  Maybe some of you can relate and see that even then, you weren’t alone.

 

Timothy S.

 

The High School Diaries