Losing my religion.
I recently announced that I was losing it. Funny that, when in fact it happened when I was in grade 8. It was a time of social pressure and change, friends to make and futures to explore, and I feared every minute of it. My own experience up to then had been happily sheltered, and my experience with making friends had been limited to choices I could bear.
Looking back at it now is serendipitous, but back then it was a time of confusion and trepidation, and the fact that I had very poor social skills and a low emotional IQ made it difficult for me to interact with people. Having big ears did not help and soon earned me a number of nicknames that combined with my inability to make sense of the emotional playing field of High School popularity, and the ideal target for other people to make fun of me.
After a few months in High School I had managed to keep out of the spotlight of attention and power hungry teenagers, and thanks to the fact that my grade 7 group of friends had similar difficulties in being accepted to the more popular groups, I found a fragile safety in the protection of their company. When all the students were together on the playing field for breaks, our huddle kept us from being easy targets, but they were powerless in the face of a direct challenge. When I was called out by one of the popular groups’ leaders they could do nothing but stand and watch my humiliation as the heckler continued to make fun of me.
Unable to provide any explanation for the size of my ears, and trying to ignore the hurtful shame that was the brunt of his joke, all I could do was to hide my mind from the reality of what was happening. I hardly noticed how, encouraged by his group of supporters, the confrontation had changed from humiliation to confrontation, and my mind immediately withdrew against the emotional onslaught of a crowd swept in pack mentality. What had started as an exercise in abusing power of popularity, had turned a group of teenagers trying to fit in into an angry mob, hungry for blood.
As more and more people started pushing me around, my mind withdrew to a corner of safety, my consciousness hiding away from the reality of my abuse. I fell. Someone kicked me, and howling for blood, someone else landed a jolting hit to my head. With a primitive roar the rest of the pack joined in, and my body became the target of every group member that felt they had something to prove. I couldn’t believe what was happening! Through the haze of pain the only thing I could think of was how every single one of them would someday have to answer for the sin.

I felt like Abel once, and wondered if he hardly felt the pain like me, crying at the blasphemy of what was taking place. And then, through the corner of my eye I noticed that one of my friends had joined the angry mob. It felt as if someone had ripped my heart from my chest. As if everything that I believed in, friendship, trust, the goodness of mankind, God and all the angels had all forsaken me.
When it eventually stopped I was laying on the ground, covered in dust, bleeding and broken. I told the teacher that was trying to help me that I was fine and rolled myself up in the dirt, humiliated and hurt, shivering as my physical injury and pain was swept away by the cold and vast emptiness inside of me.
I don’t remember much of the rest of my time at school. Not that day, or much of any other day. I completely lost myself in the pursuit of science, literature and music. Every now and then I would let myself surface for a special appearance, or a performance in drama, music, or singing in the choir, hiding away from every possible source of confrontation. I filled my mind with the mystery of the classics, the wonder of hero’s and myths, and challenged myself in intellectual pursuit, refusing to look anybody in the face. Living my life in fear of recognizing the burning hatred I saw in the eyes of my friend as he kicked me…
To be continued?