The kind of weary reserved only for the damned…


This morning i woke up feeling pretty broken.  My head was filled with everything and nothing and the static whirled round and round but never settled on anything concrete…to the point where i entered a state of what i call ‘analysis paralysis’, which found me struck dumb and immobile.  I felt utterly stupid, as though i never had, or would have, anything useful to say ever again, my whole being felt tired; exhausted, and incredibly weary; the kind of weary reserved only for the damned.

On my way to work, i listened to the new Gil Scott-Heron album ‘I’m new here’.  The album is book-ended by a track entitled ‘on coming from a broken home’, which finds Gil pondering the question “is a home broken just because someone says it is?”.

Gil was of the opinion that although his father left home when he was young and he was sent south to live with his grandmother, the amount of love given freely to him by this amazing lady who “had more than the five senses and raised everyone she met just that little bit higher”, the home he lived in was far from ‘broken’.

My home was broken before i was born.

My conception was to mend this, in the eyes of my parents, but didn’t.

Yes, my home was definitely ‘broken’ and i felt this from the moment i came into being.

I felt very frightened.

I also felt at fault because i was stupid.

As a child, my peers and i were tested for our IQ scores.  My parents (my mother and step-father) were called into school to be told that i had scored highly and they might wish to seek special schooling for me.

I was scared by the phrase ‘special schooling’ but the teacher assured me this was a good thing and i felt a little better, as though i’d actually done something good.

On the way back to the car after this meeting i tripped and fell over.  My trousers got dirty and i had torn a hole in the knee.

My mother hit me on the backside, hard and said three words, with force;

“You stupid boy”

and because she was my mother and all of my world then; i believed her.

The teacher must have got it all wrong, and all this talk of being “as bright as a button” and “gifted” was rubbish because my mother was never wrong.

When i won a scholarship to one school but not another, this was also due to my stupidity and lack of foresight due to the extra travel involved.

At this school i immediately wondered how all the kids managed to keep up with the lessons and concentrate for that length of time, because for some reason i couldn’t and quickly became labelled ‘stupid’ and/or ‘lazy’.  This wasn’t quite right though, for i tried to meet expectations and wanted so badly their approval, but i just didn’t seem to fit.

I soon decided that i must have been stupid and/or lazy and began to become what they told me i must be.  I also became mean and beat people up and had others do my work for me.

I soon picked up another tag; ‘Psycho’.

I was a lazy psycho.

I was not expelled due to being ‘gifted’, but i didn’t feel gifted and no longer wanted to be gifted if it meant everyone was angry at me all the time.

I still felt very frightened but would throw a bottle at anyone who suggested as much.

Being raped at knifepoint by three teenagers at the age of ten in an attic room was stupid of me, or so i was told 25 years later when i finally shared this with my mother; i should have fought them off.

At 32 i was diagnosed with Tourette’s Syndrome (which had caused the learning difficulties at school; kind of like ADHD) but stupidly should have spotted this sooner, according to my parents.

So, is a home broken just because someone says it is?

Well…is it?

————————–

I buried my mother on June 19th 2010 and stupidly;

i forgot to cry.

I love you mum and may you forever rest in peace.

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3 Responses to “The kind of weary reserved only for the damned…”

  1. Love your blog, am so glad you’re writing stuff down. You’ve made me laugh and cry in one post. No surprise there!

  2. My Dear Drummerboy, I have known you for years, and you are anything and everything but stupid. As far as the horrible, terrible thing, have you never shared that with anyone??

  3. too choked to comment…. perhaps a little solidarity is all i can tentatively offer along with the repeated affirmation that you are not stupid. from the little girl aka ‘stupid’.

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