I don’t know what to call this :(


I remember what I forgot on September 11th. It just doesn’t seem so important anymore.

What I did that night, after writing that rather unimportant piece, was roaming from blog to blog, with no particular purpose. One blog post caught my eye, and as I read, I felt the knot in the pit of my stomach clench harder and harder. At the end of the post, I was actually not quite sure if I wanted to cry or roar. Probably both.

It was the story of a man who was tormented by the f***ed up things a grown man did to him when he was a teenager. He was one of those kids who find kids the same age hard to relate to, and therefore sought the company of grown-ups who would care, listen and communicate.

This is highly unscientific, but anyway.

I’m an observer. I like to think I’m good at observing, and that I recognize people for what they are, rather than what they want you to believe they are. Of course, the mask and the masked are both sides of the person, but it’s still easier to deal with the person if you just don’t judge by the mask.

You always see a picture of a person. The picture is a collage of all the bits and pieces that makes one whole person. Sometimes it’s the pieces he or she wants you to see you puzzle together, sometimes you find missing pieces. And sometimes you use your own pallet to colour the missing parts.

When I read frustrated blogs, I usually see people who feel inadequate, who never really feel they fit in. Many have been bullied in one way or another, and really have found a way of coping, their own little lone path. Why is it that a majority of these actually come across as rather intelligent? They express themselves absolutely flawlessly, on the verge of cocky.

Is there no room for intelligent kids in the world? Will they always suffer, along with the lesser-than-average-intelligent? I really don’t know. It’s just an observation. Maybe I’m wrong. I would like to be.

And as an afterthought; what in the world makes people do sick things to children? Even mothers and fathers abusing their own children in the cruelest ways. I’m utterly, utterly shocked and sad. And nothing I do can help.

I read an article on the abuse of Daniel Pelka aloud today, and I’m rather proud that I didn’t start to cry. But it was a close call.

Oh, I shouldn’t think about this. It will ruin my sleep 😦

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