amother
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 Sat, Sep 13 2014, 9:25 pm
From the moment I started talking, at the tender age of nine months, it became apparent to most who met me, that I was gifted.
So when the sheltered, low-level-acedemics school I had attended for nine years, notified my parents that they had nothing left to teach me, no one was surprised.
My parents started scrounging around, for a higher-level school that would be willing to take me in. The established schools were full ofcourse. They had no other option but to put me in a fledgling school, with a rigorous acedemic curriculum, which also happened to be a far cry from the sheltered environment I was raised in.
The school, and my parents, worried that I would have a hard time catching up with the new subjects, taught in Hebrew, which I had never been exposed to. They all breathed a sigh of wonder and relief, when I lived up to my giftedness, and miraculously aced my tests in no time at all. All was well.
Only all was not well. What they didn't take into consideration, was that I had been thrust into a whole new culture, without any prior experience. I didn't know that davening was sung, that books belonged in lockers, that cliques ruled the social scene.
Most of all, though I so longed to fit in, I had no idea how to do that. Not a single parent, teacher, or principal had told me what to expect, the do's and donts of this new society. So, predictably, I messed up. Clueless and I eager as I was, I said some things, drew some things, that aroused the suspicions of the authorities, and caused them to jump to false conclusions.
I will not describe the days and months that followed. The pain is too immense, and much of it is a merciful blank. What I do remember is, the overwhelming desire to disappear off the face of this earth, the tremendous guilt, and the intense hatred towards myself. I had messed up the one chance I had for a fresh start, to prove that I can be good. I was hopelessly bad.
I wish I can go back and hold my 13 year old self in my arms, and tell her that it wasn't her fault. I wish I can open her eyes and show her how all the adults around her cared about was themselves, their reputations, and careers. I wish I can validate her niggling feeling that a huge injustice was done to her. I wish I can take her side and yell at all those in authority to see her pain.
There were some who tried to help, but they were just strangers who I now know were never told the full story. They were no doubt, shocked at the intensity of my self-hatred, and tried to explain to me logically why I shouldn't hate myself. It just increased my pain and confusion. It's like you're trying to motion to someone that you're drowning and they wave back with a smile.
I ask the question that all abused and neglected children ask. WHERE WERE YOU?? How could you have been so blind. How could you have watched my childhood being stolen from me and stood idly by? How could you have seen me drowning and waved back with a smile, instead of jumping in to save me? How could you have let the cold hearted powers at play rule, without giving heed to the innocent souls being stepped on in the process?
At the wise old age of thirteen I came to the conclusion that the world was cold and harsh place. It wasn't that far from the truth.
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