And then I figured it out...............I figured out another piece.........
I hate fifth grade because I hated my own year in fifth grade. I am scared of fifth grade because of what my experiences were. I look at them and they are big, they are not little kids. They know what is going on , they understand the things around them. And it has hit me; hit me like a ton of bricks. I hate the me that I was in fifth grade, that I couldn't stop what was happening to me, that I wasn't the little girl that didn't understand what was happening to her anymore. I hate that I wasn't a little kid, a little girl that could make excuses for what Bob was doing . I knew exactly what he was doing to me and there was no way to make it stop. I hate that I was older, I can excuse the little girl that was being raped, I can take the blame off of her, I understand that there was no way that I could have done things different, that I didn't totally understand what was even happening. But I was big I was a big fifth grader and I knew what he was doing I knew way to much and that hurts my heart, it hurts my head. I can not even sitting here get my head around all that happened. I hate that I was older and that I knew things. That I knew what he wanted, that I knew what he was going to do ....In very simple terms I don't feel like I was that innocent little kid anymore and I hate fifth grade me for that. So really its is not fifth grade that I hate. Its not the kids, I love working one on one with the kids in my class I hate that I was a kid that was hurt so much and had to deal with so many things in fifth grade. I look at them and they are so naïve , so innocent still and I get upset that I couldn't be those things. Most fifth graders worry who likes them, and who their friends are and boy bands and hair . Me I was thinking none of those things.
I had a teacher that year that thought she was just fabulous. I still remember that her favorite kid in the class was Cory Freede. She could have cared less if I was in her class or not. I really remember her puffy hair and her big smile, there was something with her teeth that bothered me , though I am not sure what it was. I had started gaining a little more weight. I was constantly made fun of. I was a loner , my heart hurt and no one seemed to care. I had these orange terry cloth shorts that I loved, they were comfy and I loved the color, but I can remember lyndee Turner making fun of me outside by the portables and I was crushed. These were my favorite shorts, I really liked them. And I remember no one sticking up for me. Her words still ring in my ears, the laughing and the pointing, CRAZY !
Homework was an issue there was not much sleep happening at night and I was exhausted all the time. My body hurt, my head hurt, my heart hurt. And I wasn't turning in my homework. So on a rainy , stormy day my father came to school to find out what was happening why I wasn't turning in my assignments. When if anyone would have asked I would have said he was the problem. Everyone was already in class I was sitting at my desk and he basically went a little crazy dumping out my desk , belittling me and screaming .......I can see how the chairs were in a rectangle around the room, I can see the writing wall that was behind me with my story about the vet and the dinosaur, I can remember hearing the thunder and thinking couldn't he just be hit by lightning please ? Please? It was exceptionally dark because of the storm and everything around us was damp and cold. Everyone was getting ready for the day, until he came in and the world stopped. I remember feeling very small and no one stood up for me. The teacher stood by her desk and watched him berate me, the students stood in shock, and I sat in my chair quietly crying. It was honestly an out of body, I can see it all in my head I can hear the storm but from him I remember nothing. I don't remember his words but I remember his beety eyes and how I knew that he hated me. He was tearing my desk apart, throwing things and not one person did a thing. I don't know how he left but I was on my own and I cleaned up the mess behind him, just as I always did. Yep I am pretty sure that the storm that was raging outside was a sign of the storm that was happening in my heart as well. This was my life.
And of coarse there was the abuse, it was pretty constant. I feel my chest getting heavy and I want to throw things I want to run and never stop and I think OH MY GOD I was older. Like when I was little I can give you every detail like I never forgot a thing, as I got older all I wanted to do was forget because I knew it all I knew what he was doing what he wanted and what was expected and I hate that so very much. I hate that I was a big kid. I hate that I was older. I remember so few details from when I was older, because I think I had gotten so good at just pretending I was fine that I wasn't even there anymore. I got great at shutting myself off, it's something that comes natural and I am really grateful. Somewhere in my head I would just leave, just go away. Like somehow in my head I can accept that he did those things when I was little, like 5 and 6 somehow I can understand that and I can know that there was nothing I could do that it was not my fault. BUT....I see those big kids and I just shake my head, they are big not so little anymore and I think maybe all this time I have believed that somehow he just thought I was my mother and that excuse doesn't work when I see those fifth graders. NO excuse I could ever come up covers what he was doing when I was in fifth grade. He knew exactly what he was doing. I see those big kids and I think he knew what he was doing, he knew he was hurting me and he just didn't care. Its the realization that I was just like those fifth graders and that was happening to me and its a realization that I don't want to see or acknowledge.
You know the big "talk " that everyone gets in fifth grade about body parts and how babies are made. And how our bodies are changing. I can remember sitting in the classroom with all the other girls and a few moms and everyone being totally grossed out. Like they could not believe what they were hearing or seeing and I sat there looking out the window that had been my life since I was five. There was no new information and I sank inside, how disgusting am I. That innocence those girls had was something I wanted but knew it was long gone. I was different.
I had already gotten my period in fifth grade and I was scared. I got it before the big "talk" movie, and honestly I didn't know if it was because of what was happening to me or what it was. I remember my father being furious. I can remember his eyes when he found out. He stared at me like I did something terrible. You would have thought I murdered somebody he was that angry. Most of the rapes stopped after that I say most I think he was scared I would get pregnant, but honestly I don't have a clue because it didn't stop all of them I guess there were times he couldn't control himself and got what he wanted anyway when ever he wanted to. I will skip the details that run in my head but there was still plenty of abuse going on and I was slowly falling apart. Piece by Piece by Piece.
So no I guess that I don't totally hate fifth grade I hate what it means to me. I know that I can be a help, I know that I can teach them many things including math. I know that in fifth grade I can make a difference. I know that I will notice and care for their little hearts. After all this being said there is still some work to do. My heart does get sad in fifth grade and I have to learn that my life experiences are different. I have to learn that what happened to me was more than devastating and it makes me see things different. I get frustrated, I do see these fifth graders different, I see them through my eyes and all I experienced and they are hard to love. Only they are not hard to love , its me. Its me at that age that is hard to accept. So I guess you can't make something better if you don't acknowledge it, So there it is; why I struggle with fifth grade and someday this will not hurt my heart anymore. I just want to make it better. I just want to fix it. I just want to fix fifth grade me.
If you have gotten this far, thank you for reading my story, As I try to figure it all out. Someday I will.
~ I heart your heart~
