What about this...
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TL;DR The true story of how I am and was a shitty human being, and the fake story of what my life would be like if I went back in time and changed it all.
If you could go back and change everything... as in, take your current consciousness and memories and transfer it to a younger version of yourself, how far back would you go, and what would you change?
In my case, I'd go back to the earliest memories I've retained, and make myself magnificent and kind rather than a shitty excuse for a terrible human being. Screw blending in, all that did was screw me over anyway.
Here is a summary of how I'd change things, starting from age three-four (I can't remember how young I was):
At the age of three, which is my earliest surviving memory, yet quite vivid among early memories, I was taught by my father how to read out of a newspaper. He did this because my first words were delayed, and I never spoke a word until I was about 3. My first words, however, shocked him. I pointed at a sign while they strapped me in the car seat and said "Fred Meyer", apparently. I don't actually recall this incident, but that is what my parents said happened, so all I can do is take their words for it.
Later on is my earliest surviving memory. My father showed me a newspaper with a picture of a man skiing down a mountain. The headline was "SNOW WARNING". I never did learn to read the word "warning" that day, but I did learn "No", "Now", and "Snow". Words I never learned before. At that age, I'm sure I only understood what simple words meant, not meaning wise, but how to use them. I had only a basic comprehension at best, but give me a break, I was only 3 or 4 years old and prior to that had never spoken before. Not even the word "No", apparently.
So, my parents initially thought I was going to be a vegetable, but they soon realized I was soaking in everything they threw at me like a dry sponge dying of thirst. I learned how to read and write at a 2nd-grade level by the time I was 5, and ended up eventually skipping the 3rd grade because I was ahead. I also skipped the 5th grade for the same reasons. I was placed in middle school at 10 years old. However, this is where the main problems in my life (most of which I caused without even knowing it) began... But we'll save those for later.
The point of this is to tell a story. A story of what I would do if I had my intellect, memories, and consciousness from now, starting from when... I was five. That's a good time to start. Because, at that time, I also met my new stepbrother, and my life would change forever, for better in many ways, and worse in many others...
Chapter One: A Girl Named India
At the age of five, my father remarried and I got a little brother. He was my stepbrother. We competed in everything, yet I was better at everything. Stronger, faster, smarter(well, at least when it came to academics), and crueler than you could possibly imagine. I used to beat my brother to tears on a daily basis because everything that came out of his mouth was provocation... or at least my five-year-old mind interpreted it that way. He had a speech impediment, but I didn't understand that at the time.
Whenever he'd get scolded and told to apologize, he'd say "apologize" instead of "I'm sorry". This only angered my five-year-old self more, though, as if he was telling me what to do. No one tells me what to do. Except for Dad. 'Dad is scary'. My five-year-old mind knew this much. He'd often say this while crying, and I'd interpret it as him insulting me and telling me to apologize when usually he provoked me in the first place. I'd beat him more until mom or dad came.
A few weeks (or months, not entirely sure) into living there, we had a new neighbor, and they had a daughter named India. My brother and I played with her outside in the shitty apartment complex, collecting daisies and making daisy chains together. One time, though, my brother picked some roses from someone's yard beyond the fence, which we were absolutely not supposed to cross. We competed for her affection, and the fact that this rose impressed India made me really angry.
I chased my brother down and beat him mercilessly until he was slobbering and crying all over himself, and bleeding and bruised. This time I was in deep trouble with mom and dad--my dad grounded me for a week (light punishment considering I essentially brutalized my own brother). After some time and many apologies, all was well again.
Chapter Two: Brutality in Academia
Soon, my brother and I would end up in the same school, in the same homeroom class. This was 1st grade. I despised him for getting the attention of all the girls--they thought he was cute, and they didn't like me. I would get in fights with him at school, beating him some more until teachers separated us. Many times did I go to the principal's office.
Eventually, they decided to transfer me to a different school, since most of my fights were with my brother and not other children. It appeared to my parents that, rather than a severe anger problem and a crippling lack of social skills, as well as anxiety and personal insecurities (which are the things I actually had), they came to the conclusion that I just had some childish, deep-seated hatred of my brother, and that it would pass. This was, of course, the wrong conclusion.
Later, after I lost a race in 4th grade, it would become apparent that my temper was rooted in how easily frustrated I was, and that beating others up was my only way to vent it. I resorted to violence readily and almost constantly, getting in fights with people younger and older than me, boys or girls. It didn't matter if it was wrong to hit a girl, it never even crossed my mind when I stabbed Alicia with a pencil.
I was then expelled from Chatman Elementary. I was being expelled left and right from every public school they put me in, and it was becoming clearer and clearer that I had deep seated emotional instability and anger problems as well as potential psychological issues, rather than simply hating my brother. I was sent to a locked residential facility (surprisingly not Juvenile Detention Hall) for stabbing that girl with a pencil. I spent about two years there, from age 8 to age 10.
I ended up skipping the 5th grade as well, because my academics were superb as before, and I always aced all of the tests and my homework was always 100% correct. I never made mistakes on assignments back then, and my ability to solve basic mathematical equations of addition, subtraction, and multiplication in my head quickly without the use of pencil and paper or a calculator astounded my peers and teachers alike. My behavior was also very mild for the most part, here. I had many friends, and got along with everyone swimmingly. Everyone had problems, but few people provoked one another.
The only time I got into a fight there, was when someone called a Pokemon card I owned (a foil Chansey) a fake, and if it wasn't fake it'd be shiny if I ripped it in half. So, I ripped it in half to prove I wasn't a liar, and they all laughed and called me stupid. I was fuming and yelling at the other kids, but the teachers stepped in before a fight could break out, and explained to me that these kids had issues at home and that is why they tease others in these ways. I didn't feel sympathy or anything noble like that, I felt superior, that I was better than them, they were just immature little boys (then again, as much as I'd thought otherwise, the same was true of myself).
However, on account of me not beating the other kids up, despite this being the first 'real' provocation I received here, the teachers and my parents came to the conclusion that it was time for me to go home finally. I'd improved, I'd matured, and was ready to go back into the world... right? Wrong. After transferring out of there, I was transferred to a middle school in the town I lived. I was two grades ahead, which was pretty unusual, and already learning algebra. At first, the other kids just teased me for being the teacher's pet, but the homeroom teacher at my middle school was pretty, and like I had a crush on her, so I didn't take it to heart much and didn't even realize they were teasing me.
I kept going on and even gave the teacher a paper bag filled with apples one time after class, which the teacher thought was sweet. However, that same day, a few of the people in my class that called me the "teacher's pet" ganged up on me in the hallway and beat the crap out of me. Now, remember, these kids are 12 or 13 while I'm only 10. Their punches and kicks hurt me a lot. I was bruised and scraped all over, after which my father brought me in by car the next day and took me straight to the principle's office and was yelling at him, but I was too afraid to say anything when they asked me who did it.
For the first time in my life, I feared someone other than my dad. These kids at school were all bigger, stronger, faster, and meaner than me. So I had to be stronger, faster, and meaner to come out on top. I started preemptively attacking the people who teased me or attacked me before, and I'd run to the teacher as soon as any more than one kid came up to me. This started making all of my classmates hate me, and slowly I made a room full of enemies rather than friends. One day, three of the boys in class came into the boys' bathroom after me and beat me up, and then peed all over me. This was the last straw for my father, who'd had enough of seeing me bullied at school.
However, before he could resolve things, the next day, I came to school with a kitchen knife I stole from the silverware drawer at home and stabbed one of the bullies who beat me up in the bathroom the other day. I kept stabbing him in his legs, as he'd kept kicking me, and I was going to make sure he never kicked me again. The teachers heard the screaming and quickly came over and separated us. I was taken to the principal's office, and then the cops showed up and took me to juvie. I spent one night in there, sobbing alone in a room on a cold, shiny steel bed. I thought my life was over. But, apparently, somehow, my father managed to convince them that this wasn't all my fault, and things ended up being postponed and going to court. The kid I stabbed was permanently crippled and could never walk again, and I was being put up for attempted murder at first.
But, after many postponed hearings and other stuff, I eventually was charged with misdemeanor menacing and disorderly conduct. Charges that certainly didn't fit the crime. How my father and lawyer managed to get me out of it, I am still not sure, as their entire pitch was to make me not guilty by reason of insanity, but in the state I lived in, there was no insanity defense for children and adolescents. Somehow, we must have secured some kind of plea deal. In the end, I didn't even spend time in JDH, and even got off with measly community service at a thrift store.
I have been lucky in life, from the time I was born and even until now. Somehow, if I could change what I did in the past instead of wasting my luck, I'd do it. I had hurt so many people and wasted my vast potential instead of helping others and continuing to get smarter.
Thus, the following chapter starts the story of what my life would be like if I'd changed my options. Before now, this was a retelling of the true story of my own life, and I'd done my best to get every detail as correct as I can with what memories I havem, but after now, this will be a reshaping of my past, in order to fix the things I did wrong to both myself and others.
Chapter Three: The Mind That Leapt Through Time
To be continued!
If you could go back and change everything... as in, take your current consciousness and memories and transfer it to a younger version of yourself, how far back would you go, and what would you change?
In my case, I'd go back to the earliest memories I've retained, and make myself magnificent and kind rather than a shitty excuse for a terrible human being. Screw blending in, all that did was screw me over anyway.
Here is a summary of how I'd change things, starting from age three-four (I can't remember how young I was):
At the age of three, which is my earliest surviving memory, yet quite vivid among early memories, I was taught by my father how to read out of a newspaper. He did this because my first words were delayed, and I never spoke a word until I was about 3. My first words, however, shocked him. I pointed at a sign while they strapped me in the car seat and said "Fred Meyer", apparently. I don't actually recall this incident, but that is what my parents said happened, so all I can do is take their words for it.
Later on is my earliest surviving memory. My father showed me a newspaper with a picture of a man skiing down a mountain. The headline was "SNOW WARNING". I never did learn to read the word "warning" that day, but I did learn "No", "Now", and "Snow". Words I never learned before. At that age, I'm sure I only understood what simple words meant, not meaning wise, but how to use them. I had only a basic comprehension at best, but give me a break, I was only 3 or 4 years old and prior to that had never spoken before. Not even the word "No", apparently.
So, my parents initially thought I was going to be a vegetable, but they soon realized I was soaking in everything they threw at me like a dry sponge dying of thirst. I learned how to read and write at a 2nd-grade level by the time I was 5, and ended up eventually skipping the 3rd grade because I was ahead. I also skipped the 5th grade for the same reasons. I was placed in middle school at 10 years old. However, this is where the main problems in my life (most of which I caused without even knowing it) began... But we'll save those for later.
The point of this is to tell a story. A story of what I would do if I had my intellect, memories, and consciousness from now, starting from when... I was five. That's a good time to start. Because, at that time, I also met my new stepbrother, and my life would change forever, for better in many ways, and worse in many others...
Chapter One: A Girl Named India
At the age of five, my father remarried and I got a little brother. He was my stepbrother. We competed in everything, yet I was better at everything. Stronger, faster, smarter(well, at least when it came to academics), and crueler than you could possibly imagine. I used to beat my brother to tears on a daily basis because everything that came out of his mouth was provocation... or at least my five-year-old mind interpreted it that way. He had a speech impediment, but I didn't understand that at the time.
Whenever he'd get scolded and told to apologize, he'd say "apologize" instead of "I'm sorry". This only angered my five-year-old self more, though, as if he was telling me what to do. No one tells me what to do. Except for Dad. 'Dad is scary'. My five-year-old mind knew this much. He'd often say this while crying, and I'd interpret it as him insulting me and telling me to apologize when usually he provoked me in the first place. I'd beat him more until mom or dad came.
A few weeks (or months, not entirely sure) into living there, we had a new neighbor, and they had a daughter named India. My brother and I played with her outside in the shitty apartment complex, collecting daisies and making daisy chains together. One time, though, my brother picked some roses from someone's yard beyond the fence, which we were absolutely not supposed to cross. We competed for her affection, and the fact that this rose impressed India made me really angry.
I chased my brother down and beat him mercilessly until he was slobbering and crying all over himself, and bleeding and bruised. This time I was in deep trouble with mom and dad--my dad grounded me for a week (light punishment considering I essentially brutalized my own brother). After some time and many apologies, all was well again.
Chapter Two: Brutality in Academia
Soon, my brother and I would end up in the same school, in the same homeroom class. This was 1st grade. I despised him for getting the attention of all the girls--they thought he was cute, and they didn't like me. I would get in fights with him at school, beating him some more until teachers separated us. Many times did I go to the principal's office.
Eventually, they decided to transfer me to a different school, since most of my fights were with my brother and not other children. It appeared to my parents that, rather than a severe anger problem and a crippling lack of social skills, as well as anxiety and personal insecurities (which are the things I actually had), they came to the conclusion that I just had some childish, deep-seated hatred of my brother, and that it would pass. This was, of course, the wrong conclusion.
Later, after I lost a race in 4th grade, it would become apparent that my temper was rooted in how easily frustrated I was, and that beating others up was my only way to vent it. I resorted to violence readily and almost constantly, getting in fights with people younger and older than me, boys or girls. It didn't matter if it was wrong to hit a girl, it never even crossed my mind when I stabbed Alicia with a pencil.
I was then expelled from Chatman Elementary. I was being expelled left and right from every public school they put me in, and it was becoming clearer and clearer that I had deep seated emotional instability and anger problems as well as potential psychological issues, rather than simply hating my brother. I was sent to a locked residential facility (surprisingly not Juvenile Detention Hall) for stabbing that girl with a pencil. I spent about two years there, from age 8 to age 10.
I ended up skipping the 5th grade as well, because my academics were superb as before, and I always aced all of the tests and my homework was always 100% correct. I never made mistakes on assignments back then, and my ability to solve basic mathematical equations of addition, subtraction, and multiplication in my head quickly without the use of pencil and paper or a calculator astounded my peers and teachers alike. My behavior was also very mild for the most part, here. I had many friends, and got along with everyone swimmingly. Everyone had problems, but few people provoked one another.
The only time I got into a fight there, was when someone called a Pokemon card I owned (a foil Chansey) a fake, and if it wasn't fake it'd be shiny if I ripped it in half. So, I ripped it in half to prove I wasn't a liar, and they all laughed and called me stupid. I was fuming and yelling at the other kids, but the teachers stepped in before a fight could break out, and explained to me that these kids had issues at home and that is why they tease others in these ways. I didn't feel sympathy or anything noble like that, I felt superior, that I was better than them, they were just immature little boys (then again, as much as I'd thought otherwise, the same was true of myself).
However, on account of me not beating the other kids up, despite this being the first 'real' provocation I received here, the teachers and my parents came to the conclusion that it was time for me to go home finally. I'd improved, I'd matured, and was ready to go back into the world... right? Wrong. After transferring out of there, I was transferred to a middle school in the town I lived. I was two grades ahead, which was pretty unusual, and already learning algebra. At first, the other kids just teased me for being the teacher's pet, but the homeroom teacher at my middle school was pretty, and like I had a crush on her, so I didn't take it to heart much and didn't even realize they were teasing me.
I kept going on and even gave the teacher a paper bag filled with apples one time after class, which the teacher thought was sweet. However, that same day, a few of the people in my class that called me the "teacher's pet" ganged up on me in the hallway and beat the crap out of me. Now, remember, these kids are 12 or 13 while I'm only 10. Their punches and kicks hurt me a lot. I was bruised and scraped all over, after which my father brought me in by car the next day and took me straight to the principle's office and was yelling at him, but I was too afraid to say anything when they asked me who did it.
For the first time in my life, I feared someone other than my dad. These kids at school were all bigger, stronger, faster, and meaner than me. So I had to be stronger, faster, and meaner to come out on top. I started preemptively attacking the people who teased me or attacked me before, and I'd run to the teacher as soon as any more than one kid came up to me. This started making all of my classmates hate me, and slowly I made a room full of enemies rather than friends. One day, three of the boys in class came into the boys' bathroom after me and beat me up, and then peed all over me. This was the last straw for my father, who'd had enough of seeing me bullied at school.
However, before he could resolve things, the next day, I came to school with a kitchen knife I stole from the silverware drawer at home and stabbed one of the bullies who beat me up in the bathroom the other day. I kept stabbing him in his legs, as he'd kept kicking me, and I was going to make sure he never kicked me again. The teachers heard the screaming and quickly came over and separated us. I was taken to the principal's office, and then the cops showed up and took me to juvie. I spent one night in there, sobbing alone in a room on a cold, shiny steel bed. I thought my life was over. But, apparently, somehow, my father managed to convince them that this wasn't all my fault, and things ended up being postponed and going to court. The kid I stabbed was permanently crippled and could never walk again, and I was being put up for attempted murder at first.
But, after many postponed hearings and other stuff, I eventually was charged with misdemeanor menacing and disorderly conduct. Charges that certainly didn't fit the crime. How my father and lawyer managed to get me out of it, I am still not sure, as their entire pitch was to make me not guilty by reason of insanity, but in the state I lived in, there was no insanity defense for children and adolescents. Somehow, we must have secured some kind of plea deal. In the end, I didn't even spend time in JDH, and even got off with measly community service at a thrift store.
I have been lucky in life, from the time I was born and even until now. Somehow, if I could change what I did in the past instead of wasting my luck, I'd do it. I had hurt so many people and wasted my vast potential instead of helping others and continuing to get smarter.
Thus, the following chapter starts the story of what my life would be like if I'd changed my options. Before now, this was a retelling of the true story of my own life, and I'd done my best to get every detail as correct as I can with what memories I havem, but after now, this will be a reshaping of my past, in order to fix the things I did wrong to both myself and others.
Chapter Three: The Mind That Leapt Through Time
To be continued!
