Growing up weird and poor in a very conservative and arrogant part of the prairies, I was bullied relentlessly. The teachers never did anything unless it was me fighting back, to which it was suspension and I was a bad kid.

As high school came along, I grew more and more violent to the point I wasn’t a loser or a tough guy, but a snap case. The other kids thought I was edgy, the parents thought I was bound for prison, and the teachers probably had a beer when I dropped out.

My mom didn’t know what to do. And this was in a time where if your kid was in therapy, it’s was your failure as a parent. Combined with my disgust at the idea that I was what was broken, it was off the table. It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that I went for psychological help.

By then, I was so suicidal and gone that I wouldn’t be near ok until my late thirties. In my mid forties now, I look back and see myself as the potential shooter. I’m holding back my emotions right now, thinking of it. Fortunately, there were no guns at my disposal back, back then is how I feel looking back. I don’t know if I’d be able to hurt anyone like that, but I’d fuck myself up.

I lay a lot of blame on a system that allowed it to happen. In a community where open racism and homophobic views were the norm at the time, teachers were as judgmental as the students in some situations. Now maybe if I were white, it’d be easier, but even the broke white kids didn’t get any breaks. Especially from the teachers.

Look at me go, a meme has me fucked up thinking back and dumping online. But yeah, there it is.

I’d like to close by saying the town I grew up in is a far different place now. I’ve moved back and feel good here. I see teachers and bullies who don’t make eye contact, will not recognize me at all (which is my favorite) and the occasional happy to see you moments. I don’t communicate well in public these days, so it makes it ultra awkward, much like being in high school, talking to students you barely know.