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Every day, I look back on a better past, when I was young, innocent, and happy. But my childhood is what built up to who I am today. Because, back then is when everyone told me that making friends was easy, oh how untrue that was.
In my elementary school playground they had a “friendship” bench, to emphasize how easy it was to make friends, that all you had to do was sit down and people would come and say hello, but no-one used it. You know why? It was painted a rainbow.
I was very energetic when I was young, if I was running, nobody could catch me. I was the kindest, sweetest little boy ever. But, because of my autism that no-one knew about then made me think differently, whenever I tried to help someone, just because I was doing it differently from how they would’ve preferred, all the older people(pretty much all of the teachers), couldn’t stand me. Yes I was demoted to homeschooling because the elementary school teachers couldn’t handle my fun loving attitude.
I tried talking to people, tried asking if I could join their group, no-one ever said yes. Over time I learned not to even try to talk to someone, anyone, they’d just ignore me. If I tried talking, I’d just be interrupted, nobody cared about me. So the friends I made in kindergarten, they became my only friends.
Six years into homeschool I made another friend, she was somewhat two or three years younger than me, but I felt that I was the same age, (little to no human interaction with people outside my family throughout homeschool, so I didn’t learn how to grow up, and just stayed mentally young). She was a great friend, we played games at the elementary playground throughout summer, traded Pokémon cards on her porch with other friends, I was finally letting down some of my walls, letting her be my friend.
But, sometime in the summer, when I was with a different friend more my age, we went to the park to see what we could do(at the elementary school), she was there with some tall basket-balling high-schoolers who happened to bring donuts. The teens were giving donuts to the people there, so I asked if I could have one. The conversation went something like this:
“Are you black?” The most definitely a drug junkie teen who was not black but more of an Indian brown skinned guy asked me.
“No.” I said, I am very much an albino whiter than white person.
“We’re only giving food to the black kids.” He said, which was kinda weird because he gave one to my very much also white, childhood bully(one of my childhood bullies at least).
———///———
Later on, I was sitting nearby on the play-set, the teens started asking me questions and I eventually relented and answered a few, at one point I said something about Hawaiians, don’t know what exactly but they called over all the kids around the place and said I was hitting down on the black kids somehow...
The teens egged the black girls on, that included my friend, the one I thought was my friend. The first thing that happened was a little girl probably age ten walked up to be and punched me hard in the forehead, that was one thing I didn’t expect to happen, I was always so nice to everyone, but I guess they all just wanted to hurt me. After the punch the little girl got heavy cheers from the older teens telling the other kids to do more of the same. The teens made threats to me started filming me on their phones knowing the show would get better. I was at the verge of crying, but I held in my tears. This was a fight I couldn’t win by fighting, the teens were using the kids to beat me up so they wouldn’t get in too much trouble when they were caught, peer pressuring the kids into doing their bidding. Besides, my parents had always taught me that only cowards chose to fight girls.
After the punch I insisted on finishing my bag of captain crunch cereal, which I did before I stood up, walked to my bike on the bike rack, undid the chain.
All the other kids were watching me, the teens at the center of a wide line their phones held out to film the next occurrence.
Lola, the one I thought I could trust stood close to me. I tugged my bike from the rack because I just wanted to get away from there quickly, but se may have interpreted it differently and punched me hard in my shoulder, and kicked me twice above my left ankle, and it hurt, even as a large bruise began to form on my forehead.
I rode to Lola’s house because I wanted to eat her out to her parents but that tree would bear little fruit, no-one was home. So then I went home my friend close behind me, Ryan stayed by my side through the whole ordeal, saw everything happen, saw me beaten up, came with me when I went home and backed up my side of the story, while I cried to my pillow.
If it weren’t for Ryan, the Lola incident would’ve kept me from ever making any friends for the rest of my life, and what a short life that would be.
This was only one of the many countless bullyings that was just easier to remember, or that just wasn’t suppressed, they all told me one thing, that I can trust no-one.
I’ve been in countless fights throughout my life, all of them in self-defense, and all of them were lost, miserably. I always got the blame, I always got the punishment, no-one understood me.
It took most of my freshman year in high-school to learn that no-one cared that curse words were bad, that no-one cared that I felt directly insulted to the deepest level when I even heard something even remotely similar to a swear-word. Only at the end of the year did I make my first good, trustworthy friend, all because we liked the same book author.
The sophomore year I met people playing Minecraft through the school computers, I always did like Minecraft. I bought an account that Christmas, joined the group, it was slow but now I have twelve or so friends, no more, no less. But when they’re gone, I’ll have no-one.
I always tell myself that I’m alone, that nobody loves me, that nobody will ever care, I even came real close to committing suicide half way through my junior year. But I guess I’m still here. All because I wrote down how I felt, shared it with my family, and got better.
I’m still frequently depressed, I can go from happiest ever to hating life the next. But I’m no longer suicidal. That’s good right, I hope so.
This is no tall tale, neither is it fiction. This is all my truth. This is the story of my lonely, lonely, life.
In my elementary school playground they had a “friendship” bench, to emphasize how easy it was to make friends, that all you had to do was sit down and people would come and say hello, but no-one used it. You know why? It was painted a rainbow.
I was very energetic when I was young, if I was running, nobody could catch me. I was the kindest, sweetest little boy ever. But, because of my autism that no-one knew about then made me think differently, whenever I tried to help someone, just because I was doing it differently from how they would’ve preferred, all the older people(pretty much all of the teachers), couldn’t stand me. Yes I was demoted to homeschooling because the elementary school teachers couldn’t handle my fun loving attitude.
I tried talking to people, tried asking if I could join their group, no-one ever said yes. Over time I learned not to even try to talk to someone, anyone, they’d just ignore me. If I tried talking, I’d just be interrupted, nobody cared about me. So the friends I made in kindergarten, they became my only friends.
Six years into homeschool I made another friend, she was somewhat two or three years younger than me, but I felt that I was the same age, (little to no human interaction with people outside my family throughout homeschool, so I didn’t learn how to grow up, and just stayed mentally young). She was a great friend, we played games at the elementary playground throughout summer, traded Pokémon cards on her porch with other friends, I was finally letting down some of my walls, letting her be my friend.
But, sometime in the summer, when I was with a different friend more my age, we went to the park to see what we could do(at the elementary school), she was there with some tall basket-balling high-schoolers who happened to bring donuts. The teens were giving donuts to the people there, so I asked if I could have one. The conversation went something like this:
“Are you black?” The most definitely a drug junkie teen who was not black but more of an Indian brown skinned guy asked me.
“No.” I said, I am very much an albino whiter than white person.
“We’re only giving food to the black kids.” He said, which was kinda weird because he gave one to my very much also white, childhood bully(one of my childhood bullies at least).
———///———
Later on, I was sitting nearby on the play-set, the teens started asking me questions and I eventually relented and answered a few, at one point I said something about Hawaiians, don’t know what exactly but they called over all the kids around the place and said I was hitting down on the black kids somehow...
The teens egged the black girls on, that included my friend, the one I thought was my friend. The first thing that happened was a little girl probably age ten walked up to be and punched me hard in the forehead, that was one thing I didn’t expect to happen, I was always so nice to everyone, but I guess they all just wanted to hurt me. After the punch the little girl got heavy cheers from the older teens telling the other kids to do more of the same. The teens made threats to me started filming me on their phones knowing the show would get better. I was at the verge of crying, but I held in my tears. This was a fight I couldn’t win by fighting, the teens were using the kids to beat me up so they wouldn’t get in too much trouble when they were caught, peer pressuring the kids into doing their bidding. Besides, my parents had always taught me that only cowards chose to fight girls.
After the punch I insisted on finishing my bag of captain crunch cereal, which I did before I stood up, walked to my bike on the bike rack, undid the chain.
All the other kids were watching me, the teens at the center of a wide line their phones held out to film the next occurrence.
Lola, the one I thought I could trust stood close to me. I tugged my bike from the rack because I just wanted to get away from there quickly, but se may have interpreted it differently and punched me hard in my shoulder, and kicked me twice above my left ankle, and it hurt, even as a large bruise began to form on my forehead.
I rode to Lola’s house because I wanted to eat her out to her parents but that tree would bear little fruit, no-one was home. So then I went home my friend close behind me, Ryan stayed by my side through the whole ordeal, saw everything happen, saw me beaten up, came with me when I went home and backed up my side of the story, while I cried to my pillow.
If it weren’t for Ryan, the Lola incident would’ve kept me from ever making any friends for the rest of my life, and what a short life that would be.
This was only one of the many countless bullyings that was just easier to remember, or that just wasn’t suppressed, they all told me one thing, that I can trust no-one.
I’ve been in countless fights throughout my life, all of them in self-defense, and all of them were lost, miserably. I always got the blame, I always got the punishment, no-one understood me.
It took most of my freshman year in high-school to learn that no-one cared that curse words were bad, that no-one cared that I felt directly insulted to the deepest level when I even heard something even remotely similar to a swear-word. Only at the end of the year did I make my first good, trustworthy friend, all because we liked the same book author.
The sophomore year I met people playing Minecraft through the school computers, I always did like Minecraft. I bought an account that Christmas, joined the group, it was slow but now I have twelve or so friends, no more, no less. But when they’re gone, I’ll have no-one.
I always tell myself that I’m alone, that nobody loves me, that nobody will ever care, I even came real close to committing suicide half way through my junior year. But I guess I’m still here. All because I wrote down how I felt, shared it with my family, and got better.
I’m still frequently depressed, I can go from happiest ever to hating life the next. But I’m no longer suicidal. That’s good right, I hope so.
This is no tall tale, neither is it fiction. This is all my truth. This is the story of my lonely, lonely, life.
im lonely, so very lonely, can i join you
Can you plz send me an invite to this group cos it won't let me join, not even DA wants me in this group. I'm so forever alone 
I was robbed last night, First people ive had over in months! Does crime, still not wanted. had a sex dream last night, still got rejected.i hope these made you laugh~!
I found my group
lol never mind im so stupid
how do i join???