I have been ruminating and since misery loves company I choose to make the world suffer alongside me. Also I've had one of my periodic episodes this week and said some stuff that I would have been wiser not to, what follows is as near as you'll get to an explanation for my behaviour.
I have arrived at the conclusion that I possess two brains. This isn't a wild boast about how brainy I am. Quite the contrary, think of it as my version of the variously attributed quote about how having a penis is like being chained to a mad man. As I don't have a penis I'm putting it down to an additional and unruly brain. I wouldn't mind a penis, I find them fairly predictable in a comforting way and I could be self pollinating like an autogamous flower. One only has to survey the ongoing car crash that is my life to know that I have a flair for idiocy and awful decisions. I repeat I am not brainy. Whatever my other faults I am not clever or at least not clever in a way that's serves my own interests.
I should also stress that this isn't a scientific conclusion coming after years of gruelling study. I have no flair for the sciences, I'm afraid. I attribute this to being taught the various branches of science by a very hairy man with a fondness for sleeping with under age girl pupils, an elderly, very fierce woman who whiffed a bit, banned experiments in the lab and wore the same vile dress to work every day and a startlingly overweight man who claimed all my problems in life could be attributed to having a mother who smoked during pregnancy.
Like I say I'm not clever at all but I am clever enough to know that a fact delivered by a total zoomer is still a fact. That said I hope you'll empathise with a distraught teenager regarding her deeply anti-social science teachers and their mutterings about bulls and test tubes with a degree of scepticism. Charlie the Cat who I still revere for his wise advice to children was pretty clear that strangers were to be regarded as wicked liars with a hidden agenda and you couldn't have found more classic strangers than the science department at my school.
This brings me to an early example of my two brain syndrome. During the whole time hairy science teacher was merrily shagging his way through the schoolies, my response to his jailbait a gogo rampage was to wear a lot of black, smoke and glower at folk. Once, in one of my more dramatic moods, I scratched the words "FUCK OFF" into my skin with a pair of scissors because he touched my arm and I was appalled to the point of vomiting. It was years after I left school before all the obvious stuff occurred to me like nicknaming him the "Virgin Surgeon" or carving him up with a pair of scissors instead and years after those thoughts before I realised I should probably have told a grown up we were being taught and molested by a hirsute nonce.
I live in fear of there being a Saville style enquiry at my old school. Imagine me sitting in the dock telling a lawyer that my response to a paedophile in the school was to attack myself with a pair of scissors. The lawyer would probably call me madam in a really sarcastic and condescending way whilst peering over his spectacles and say "Madam, do you honestly ask this court to believe that a rapist was on the loose in your school and in response, you assaulted yourself?". I'd have to concede he had a point. The rapist would cheat the noose and I'd be scorned by the distraught victims who were hoping for a new conservatory off the back of their compo.
Had I come up with a better response to the whole raping of my classmates scandal than wearing black and scissor carving I may have avoided the tragedy that was to befall me as a direct result of his antics. As a teenager I owned the grand total of one Smiths T-shirt. I adored it and treated it as a devout Christian might treat the hem of yon Virgin Mary's robe.
After a long period of negotiation, my parents had kindly consented to temporarily leave the country and go to Gran Canaria for a fortnight leaving me running the show at home in their absence. I was merrily not attending school whilst reclining on a sofa and smoking, high as a kite on mushrooms, only to have the peace shattered by a schoolmate repeatedly ringing my bell. I'd long regarded her as visually interesting enough to overlook her foul personality so I let her in. She was somewhat aggrieved that she'd attracted the attentions of the hairy monster after outrageously flirting with him for four years.
Having spent the last four years listening to her tell me that she was wild for hairy teacher and that the only reason I wasn't was due to be being an "ugly retarded spastic", I was somewhat surprised to learn she was at all distressed by him mounting her in the south gym but she was and as an adult he should have risen above her girlish madness and rebuffed her advances. She went on to tell me that I would never know what it's like to be attractive and a target for sexual assaults.
As I'd attributed every sexual assault I'd been subjected to since the age of 10 to begging for it like a XXX slut by being relatively tall in a built up area and being so ugly, the perp reasoned that no one would care if I was violated, I inwardly disagreed with her assessment but chose to cut her some slack as she was clearly a noob to the whole getting molested scene.
Fat lot of good that did me. After insisting I run her a bath and demanding clothes from my wardrobe. She then demanded I wash the clothes she stood up in, and spent the next few hours telling me that anyone normal who was as ugly as I was would kill themselves and expressed complete bafflement that I only self harmed when she'd told me time and time again how to successfully cut my wrists.
In fairness I was thinking it was a terrible shame such a fine pair of tits were attached to a monster and that the world be a better place if she was just her tits and the rest of her didn't exist. So I'm not much better than her, really. Or Rapey Science, come to that. In my defence I allowed her to eat an entire box of potato waffles and a tin of Safeway beans that I'd been saving for a special tea. I am not all bad. Mostly I'm just bewildered.
She responded to all this by stealing my clothes and to this day I'm still vexed about my Smiths T-shirt. It resurfaces in unexpected ways, two of my work colleagues were gutting themselves laughing at the very notion I'd ever heard of sex, let alone had it at all. I should have felt upset at their total dismissal of me as a whole and valid human being and to be honest, being dismissed as too repulsive and uptight to fuck hurts but my mind drifted back to the the lost Smiths t-shirt. I bring it on myself, really.
If I could tell young women anything about life and have them get it, I'd say that I stupidly never reported any sexual assault because I thought the police wouldn't believe anyone had put their penis in me on purpose. I expected to be laughed at and humiliated. You should understand that that men will stick it any old compliant hole. They will fuck anything compliant and obliging. It's neither a compliment, nor an insult. Report the fuckers. Even if you're ugly, I believe that the police are as far on as the 20th century, there might be justice.
I think what I'm struggling to say is that I'm not calm, I'm fucking frozen with fear. Being a girl is not pleasant. It's mostly like this.
