Failure to Fight

January 12, 2020
Fall-Winter 2001
a picture of an unoccupied classrom by Feliphe Schiarolli, courtesy Unsplash Feliphe Schiarolli Shortly after I was admitted to The Children's Village, I had to be assigned to a classroom within the Rafael Cordero Building (which housed both the Elementary School and the differently-named Middle school on the second floor). I was assigned to a class located at the far end of the school. It really looked like an afterthought (or a poorly planned extension). I attended class for the first time on October 15, 2001. And that's when the troubles began.
I was considered a "big-mouth" by some of my peers, and they didn't like my attentiveness in class. It made them feel inferior. So they decided to make up for it by beating me up on my first day. Fighting back against seven people is absolutely pointless if you're the only one doing it. It's even more futile when they're all bigger than you. However, I didn't give up and tried to remain attentive. I continued to get beat up. In a Stockholm-Syndrome twist, one of the aggressors, [#p4t62m], got involved with me sexually the following Thanksgiving.
I was annoying. I did get under people's skin, I'll admit that. It doesn't justify the conduct no less than my transgressions towards others. My hair is naturally wavy, and used to grow at a record clip. The combination of medication, constant beatdowns and subsequent skin-head shaves diminished the quality of my hair over time. It didn't help that [#a2l68m] would shave over my half-healed scabs, and it also didn't help that I picked at them. I got my reprieve when I was moved into [#a3k39h]'s class, but my outing resulted in [#p4t62m]'s aggression toward me redoubling. I rubbed it in his face more than anyone, even revealing the location of a birthmark in an intimate location. I regret nothing.
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