25th September 2017

Writing Portfolio P2

I was still friends with the boys with me that night but things were different. We joked about it but I struggled with the my experiences. Nobody understood the feeling of you hitting rock bottom, as your face kisses tarmac with a hearty thud.

 

It’s a funny feeling growing up believing you are untouchable, then someone kicks you in the stomach and your not only physically but mentallyI was your average 13 year old, enjoying some of the best years of my life. My quiet street housing some of my favourite memories.

 

Early may of 2014 I made one of my biggest mistakes. Two friends and I provoked several older kids outside, a harmless idea which ultimately ended with my scooter broken. I thought this had concluded our encounter. My friends and I fleeing inside, marked the teens honour being restored.

 

Later that night, as I ran around outside with the my friends once more, the same kids beat the crap out of me.

I spent 2 days in hospital, 3 weeks out of school with a swollen face, and the next few years wanting revenge.

As I think back to it, the thought still musters a paralyzing feeling inside of me. The feeling of adrenaline pumping through your body, as it makes you acutely aware of each impact. Your head telling you to run, survive. My heart beating in my ears and the cuts, the bruised ribs a painful reminder of their shoe print.  

 

wounded. Once your face kisses tarmac with a decent thud you feel like you have just about hit rock bottom.

 

The hardest part was coping with my anger. I grew up angry with myself, that I could only crawl into a ball and protect my head. I ran the situation endlessly through my head for months, what I could have done different, too many regrets. This sucked the life out of me. The thought of meeting them again racking my brain

 

I sought no help afterwards. I confided in myself, pushing any memory to somewhere I didn’t visit, largely to suppress the anger. My headspace wasn’t right for a while after that. I lacked the confidence I once had.

 

But time healed things. I learnt to accept what happens and go with it. I learnt I am better than to seek revenge and doing so will get you nowhere. The experience made me a better person as I accepted I was somewhat to blame.

I never saw those teens again and I still don’t know if i would want to, I wonder if I would even recognise them.

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