I've been trying to get up the courage to write my story for a while now, and I've decided I'll do it in parts. It starts off not so bad.
I always had a dysfunctional family. Although both my parents loved me, they were violent with me, and somehow this made me attractive to creepy abuser types.
The first time I realized that something seriously f-ed up was going on was in my 7th grade science class. The teacher of that class was a clown-type and every other kid loved him. He always made me sit right in front, and would teach basically with his junk touching my desk. Then he started doing things like knocking my pencil off my desk, and when I bent down to pick it up, he would make sure I had to rub against his leg, then he would say something like, "I know I'm sexy, but can't you wait until after class?" All the other kids laughed, like he was just being silly. I couldn't understand how they were so clueless.
I went to my principal to complain, and she acted like I was crazy, saying, "Well, all the other kids love him." When things escalated to him telling the class that I should just come out as gay because I was clearly in love with him, I told my mother. She used her parental right to sit in on class and gave him the stink-eye the whole time (this is what I mean when I say I know my parents loved me.) She repeatedly asked him if I wouldn't be able to hear him better if he stood farther away from my desk. After that, he left me alone pretty much.
If only that was the end of it...
“We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.”