|This is noddy differentiation, I know, but still it's the best|
image I could find that was mathematical-ish.
|Yeah, I know it's not what I meant. However, it was the|
best image I could get for illustrating lack of trust.
This also is not the point of this entry. I heard the tale from my mother, confirmed by my father, that I was once accused of sexualising someone's daughter. I was three or four. Their daughter was slightly, by a few months, older. Apparently we lay down in the ginnel near where we lived, between our houses (we were next door neighbours) and the local supermarket, and I proceeded to name all the sexual areas of the body. I apparently urged this girl to remove her clothes, and I mine, so that we could see what we were discussing. Now, there was no action alleged beyond this but perhaps that wasn't really necessary, I think I can see why this was such an accusation. I, of course, remember not a jot or scintilla of this episode or its fall out so I must assume that my parents dealt with it and nothing was said afterward. It does, however, raise a few questions in my mind:
|Like this. Modern sexualisation is rife and something people|
really are on the watch for. This is not what was being alleged
in my case. I'm not even sure that there would be an image of
what I was accuswed of.
2. How the Hell did I know, at age three or four, what all the sexual organs were called in the first place? How could I have known what lay beneath the clothes of my next door neighbour at an age when most boys are amazed that women don't have wee-wees? If I did know about the difference then that would surely make me a tad abnormal, right?
3. How did next door's parents find out about the incident? From both my parents I can be reasonably certain that it wasn't like we were discovered naked in the ginnel. Indeed, as far as I understand my childhood at this point I wasn't even allowed out of the garden or house without an adult present so how would any of this have been possible. Unless, of course, this is the reason why that stricture was applied for most of my childhood that I do remember.
I've already written in this record about wanting to be caught in a game of kiss-chase that I wasn't even playing in primary school and having a minor obsession with one girl in my class that lasted long after the move to another city when I was five - so I was a young stalker. I also know that I obsessed ever-so-slightly over a girl at school (I sent her postcards from holiday anonymously for example) that turned out to have been abused by her music teacher around the same time and mistook my naive attempts to woo as serious sexual stalking. Okay, my postcard gambit was not cool, I know that, but a simple statement of that was effective in making me stop. However, who am I to judge: maybe this is what sexual stalking actually is.
All of this suggests, to me at any rate, that I was something of a highly sexualised young person - in the more creepy and odd way rather than the overt and baseless manner in which most teenagers talk in bald terms about sexual contact with no clear understanding of what it is they are playing with. No, I have always been an intense little shit and this would simply add to that image of someone who is, well, dangerous and a little bit odd. The kind of child that has the distinct potential to grow up to be Fred West. Given my proclivities toward bondage and deviant sexual practices this does have me wondering though. But for the grace of God would I have been the mad axe-murderer who buried his victims under the patio?
In Sixth Form, between 16 and 18 years old, I ended up being quite violent. But it wasn't the first time that I reacted wholly out of proportion with initial stimulus. There were two incidents in Sixth Form that stick out to illustrate the point. One was a friend of mine that was lightly winding me up in Physics, he kept prodding me with his pen and I warned him that I didn't want my new shirt marked. He kept on doing it, so I stabbed him in the hand with my stainless steel ball point. Then I left the room and waited for the end of the lesson to report myself to the teacher, who had not seen the incident or me leaving, to take my lumps. Nothing happened. The other was a young Year 7 (first year of Secondary, between 11 and 12 years old) mock-stabbing me with a compass while lining up for a lesson. I warned him clearly three times to stop doing it and he ignored me. I don't know exactly what happened next but I do remember seeing the hapless boiy bouncing off a doorpost about two metres from where I stood and then leaving me alone. I reported myself to the Head of Sixth Form. Nothing happened.
Throughout our childhood my brother and I fought a lot. When it got really bad I would throttle him, or drag him hanging onto my leg down the stairs, or hit him really hard on his spine when he was bent double. He would cling and bite now and again, but I believe now mainly through terror about what might happen if he let me at him unhindered rather than any desire to wound. Neither of us would ever use weapons, but we fought dirty. He went for the eyes, I went for the neck. I can recall often plotting revenge and injury against those that would tease me at school and always plumbing for the personal approach, eschewing weapons or gaining any other advantage in favour of throttling. On one occasion I did pick up another child, we'd both have been about 10, by the neck so that his feet left the floor. In all of these minor incidents that I don't really remember but for the haze of the years I can also say with certainty that the gender of my target was irrelevant - I was as prepared to throttle, punch, kick or bite a girl as I was a boy, we were equal, right?
All of this means that I am not a terribly nice person to know, possibly quite dangerous. My lack of emotion even as I type this is also of interest. This all stems from the psychoanlytical pyschotherapy questionnaire I was sent to fill in for my next round of therapy. However, I'm out of time to dwell on it for I have work to do.