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Well, my story does not really begin with the light at the end of a tunnel, though I feel as if I had lived a past life. My story begins in fifth grade, where I had gone through social and emotional hell. Hell would best describe fifth, seventh to eighth grade, with sixth being a short repose.
Hell began in fifth grade. I had had a teacher named Mrs. Mary who neglected to teach me. When I would have a question, she would ignore me, making a big show of helping the other kids. When I would grow tired of holding my hand up for almost hours on end, I would call out her name. She would send me out to the hallway. In that grade, I had a small problem with farting. When I would fart, I would say 'Excuse me.' She would look at me and say, "Control your bodily functions." But everyone knows that you can't control most things. I would fart and eventually be sent to the principal's office for disrupting class. It became such that I learned how to effectively silence my farts and pass it off as someone else's. But I never stopped saying 'excuse me', even if I grunted it. Mrs. Mary humiliated me constantly. There was one time that a friend of my Dad's had given the whole family a ride in her plane, but when I told my classmates about it, she told me to stop lying and sent me out to the hall. She encouraged the kids to insult me, to demean me. I had no friends.
My only escape were books. Because I was not taught properly, my grades suffered. I didn't do my homework, didn't even attempt to do it. I went a whole year without recess. So when I could read, I did. Until Mrs. Mary banned me from the reading corner until I did my homework. Hell resumed for many long months. One day, my mother and I went to conferences. I hadn't had the conference sheet signed and when we came, Mrs. Mary took one look at me and said, "Oh, it's you." My mom, God bless her heart, she caught the tone and immediately knew something was up. She and the teacher talked. Mrs. Mary suggested Special Education for me, which pissed my mother off because my eldest brother had his own personal hell when he was put in special ed. When me and Mom left, she was in a less than good mood, but she kept a calm demeanor. She told Dad about what had happened and he immediately got me a tutor. It was expensive, but I finally had a teacher who would actually try to teach me. It was a temporary repose from Hell, but I soon latched onto the lessons. I managed to achieve the base level of grades to move on. But old wounds heal slowly. Every one of my classmates hated me and bullied me. But I had a strong resolve. I ignored them, let their comments roll off my back. My sixth grade teacher, a Mr. Doug Cline, he was like an angel sent from God himself. He worked with me, helping me with my homework. In that time, I had taken up reading as much as I possibly could, and it got to the point to where he had to keep me from reading, even though he openly encouraged me to read. This, of course, was to get me to pay attention in class. There had been a 'I hate Kris club' that he quickly managed to disband. When he told me about it, I was surprised.
One day, I was reading 'Where the Red Fern Grows'. It was a class assigned book and it was near the end of the day. I reached the part where the dogs had died, and in my mind's eye I still imagined them as puppies. That year I had bottled up my frustrations, kept adding to them until it was close to bursting. Rather than exploding in rage at a person, which I had done once before in the year, all of those feelings came out in the form of tears for the character's loss. Everyone looked at me, confused and somewhat afraid. Mr. Cline came to my side and asked me what was wrong, just as the bell rang proclaiming the end of the school day. I had told him how I was sad at the loss of the boy in the book, how I had had puppies die before. God, having such a good teacher was the best thing for me at that crucial point in my life. Middle school went on, I slowly learned to control my rage, to channel it. Especially one time when I had accidentally hurt someone who had tried to help me, a girl in my grade. People had slowly learned that their words had no effect on me anymore, some even started to respect me. Middle school slowly turned into high school, where the upperclassmen were more kind to the freshmen. With the transition, I brought with me a friend I had made in Middle School. At this point in time, I had awakened and shared with him my therianthropy. He too turned out to be a Wolf with a little Demon in him. Things finally began to go up as I gained a few more friends.
Then I moved to Oregon due to my dad being laid off and getting the same job with the same company here.
That is my story, with a majority of my Therian experiences cut out due to some people complaining about me mentioning it 'all of the time'.
Hell began in fifth grade. I had had a teacher named Mrs. Mary who neglected to teach me. When I would have a question, she would ignore me, making a big show of helping the other kids. When I would grow tired of holding my hand up for almost hours on end, I would call out her name. She would send me out to the hallway. In that grade, I had a small problem with farting. When I would fart, I would say 'Excuse me.' She would look at me and say, "Control your bodily functions." But everyone knows that you can't control most things. I would fart and eventually be sent to the principal's office for disrupting class. It became such that I learned how to effectively silence my farts and pass it off as someone else's. But I never stopped saying 'excuse me', even if I grunted it. Mrs. Mary humiliated me constantly. There was one time that a friend of my Dad's had given the whole family a ride in her plane, but when I told my classmates about it, she told me to stop lying and sent me out to the hall. She encouraged the kids to insult me, to demean me. I had no friends.
My only escape were books. Because I was not taught properly, my grades suffered. I didn't do my homework, didn't even attempt to do it. I went a whole year without recess. So when I could read, I did. Until Mrs. Mary banned me from the reading corner until I did my homework. Hell resumed for many long months. One day, my mother and I went to conferences. I hadn't had the conference sheet signed and when we came, Mrs. Mary took one look at me and said, "Oh, it's you." My mom, God bless her heart, she caught the tone and immediately knew something was up. She and the teacher talked. Mrs. Mary suggested Special Education for me, which pissed my mother off because my eldest brother had his own personal hell when he was put in special ed. When me and Mom left, she was in a less than good mood, but she kept a calm demeanor. She told Dad about what had happened and he immediately got me a tutor. It was expensive, but I finally had a teacher who would actually try to teach me. It was a temporary repose from Hell, but I soon latched onto the lessons. I managed to achieve the base level of grades to move on. But old wounds heal slowly. Every one of my classmates hated me and bullied me. But I had a strong resolve. I ignored them, let their comments roll off my back. My sixth grade teacher, a Mr. Doug Cline, he was like an angel sent from God himself. He worked with me, helping me with my homework. In that time, I had taken up reading as much as I possibly could, and it got to the point to where he had to keep me from reading, even though he openly encouraged me to read. This, of course, was to get me to pay attention in class. There had been a 'I hate Kris club' that he quickly managed to disband. When he told me about it, I was surprised.
One day, I was reading 'Where the Red Fern Grows'. It was a class assigned book and it was near the end of the day. I reached the part where the dogs had died, and in my mind's eye I still imagined them as puppies. That year I had bottled up my frustrations, kept adding to them until it was close to bursting. Rather than exploding in rage at a person, which I had done once before in the year, all of those feelings came out in the form of tears for the character's loss. Everyone looked at me, confused and somewhat afraid. Mr. Cline came to my side and asked me what was wrong, just as the bell rang proclaiming the end of the school day. I had told him how I was sad at the loss of the boy in the book, how I had had puppies die before. God, having such a good teacher was the best thing for me at that crucial point in my life. Middle school went on, I slowly learned to control my rage, to channel it. Especially one time when I had accidentally hurt someone who had tried to help me, a girl in my grade. People had slowly learned that their words had no effect on me anymore, some even started to respect me. Middle school slowly turned into high school, where the upperclassmen were more kind to the freshmen. With the transition, I brought with me a friend I had made in Middle School. At this point in time, I had awakened and shared with him my therianthropy. He too turned out to be a Wolf with a little Demon in him. Things finally began to go up as I gained a few more friends.
Then I moved to Oregon due to my dad being laid off and getting the same job with the same company here.
That is my story, with a majority of my Therian experiences cut out due to some people complaining about me mentioning it 'all of the time'.
