So, its been a while. I thought I would write. It helps me think. And thinking is what I want to do because it helps me deal with the family pain I am going through. More on that later.
Call me Rygen. I am a 21 year old not so typical college student. I am a psychology major working on getting my master's degree so I can become a children's councilor. I live in Texas, where things like that are pretty much seen largely as witchcraft. I come from a family bellow the poverty line, the only way I am currently in higher education is through through academic scholarships. Which is ironic because I have dyslexia, dysgraphia, and dyscalculus (yes those two are things). Basically, I should be illiterate. Ironic, right?
I remember fighting to survive. Literally. Bullying started early for me in life, and I don't mean "oh he called me names" bullying I mean I got my first beating in the second grade. And it wasn't my last. Being the only son of a teen mom, I had a pretty big stigma then. With my learning disabilities, my teachers literally hated me. Until I was diagnosed they called me a trouble maker and did everything they could to get me to not show up. Afterwards, acted like I didn't even exist.
But take heart, things got better in the fifth grade. My mom got married and my soon-to-be adoptive dad taught me what I needed to stop getting beatings; he taught me how to defend myself. And use it I did. A month after my lessons began a trio of kids ambushed me in the bathroom. I gave one stitches over his forehead, broke another's arm, and the third's knee. Fifth grade. Wait, wait, wait, you say, Rygen, you should have called the teachers or something. I did. For three years. They turned a blind eye because I was in a small town and my last name was stigmatized. Soon the small kids began to flock around me and I beat the living crap out of anyone who hurt my friends.
This was the time I actually began to learn. My friends returned my physical protection with tutoring. I was virtually illiterate at this point so any and all lessons were appreciated. I learned how to read actually from star wars novels. Hey, they were nerds, what did you expect? Now star wars is sacred to me. I sent every jock in my school to the hospital at least once for hurting my friends. That's nothing Rygen, you say as you puff your chest out. Try beating four star football players off you, each armed and you are all by yourself in the dark walking home from building houses.
Yes I built houses. I told you we were bellow the poverty line. To feed all the mouths in the house at the age of 13 I began working after school building houses. I would easily weigh 200 lbs today if I hadn't been undernourished as a child and during this time. It was so bad at one point "the government repo'ed my kid brother" as I like to say. Along the way in Junior High and High school I began committing a series of misdemeanors and felonies. Why? Because I could and I had already learned that the authorities don't care. If you looked on the outside of that leather wearing long haired teen you would have seen a rebel for rebel's sake. Inside you would have found something so different.
I found release through writing. Writing gave me a chance to explore and release all my emotions. Eventually my writing became so emotional it brought tears to some people's eyes. And it was how I won my girl friend over. But that is another story. It became my safe haven.
So, how did the criminally bent teen become a college student earning a masters degree and posting on Star Wars RP forums? Easy, their adoptive father one day sat down with them and showed them the path they were on. My dad showed me where I was going and with my mom, helped me become a man--not just a teen in leather trying to make the world burn. I wanted to keep others from that path... and the rest is history.
My uncle who had brain cancer died in his sleep. It wouldnt hurt quite so much if my family wouldn't keep blaming me for not getting to say goodbye. I recommended he get the morphine pump to ease the pain when this was all starting. And now he is dead. They didn't get to say goodbye and somehow its my fault. I cut them some slack though. Its part of the grieving process to feel anger. I am just the lightening rod for it.
Anyway, that is me. Rygen. Its my story, be it ever so bizarre and uneventful. Now back to the hell I just left of family drama......
Call me Rygen. I am a 21 year old not so typical college student. I am a psychology major working on getting my master's degree so I can become a children's councilor. I live in Texas, where things like that are pretty much seen largely as witchcraft. I come from a family bellow the poverty line, the only way I am currently in higher education is through through academic scholarships. Which is ironic because I have dyslexia, dysgraphia, and dyscalculus (yes those two are things). Basically, I should be illiterate. Ironic, right?
I remember fighting to survive. Literally. Bullying started early for me in life, and I don't mean "oh he called me names" bullying I mean I got my first beating in the second grade. And it wasn't my last. Being the only son of a teen mom, I had a pretty big stigma then. With my learning disabilities, my teachers literally hated me. Until I was diagnosed they called me a trouble maker and did everything they could to get me to not show up. Afterwards, acted like I didn't even exist.
But take heart, things got better in the fifth grade. My mom got married and my soon-to-be adoptive dad taught me what I needed to stop getting beatings; he taught me how to defend myself. And use it I did. A month after my lessons began a trio of kids ambushed me in the bathroom. I gave one stitches over his forehead, broke another's arm, and the third's knee. Fifth grade. Wait, wait, wait, you say, Rygen, you should have called the teachers or something. I did. For three years. They turned a blind eye because I was in a small town and my last name was stigmatized. Soon the small kids began to flock around me and I beat the living crap out of anyone who hurt my friends.
This was the time I actually began to learn. My friends returned my physical protection with tutoring. I was virtually illiterate at this point so any and all lessons were appreciated. I learned how to read actually from star wars novels. Hey, they were nerds, what did you expect? Now star wars is sacred to me. I sent every jock in my school to the hospital at least once for hurting my friends. That's nothing Rygen, you say as you puff your chest out. Try beating four star football players off you, each armed and you are all by yourself in the dark walking home from building houses.
Yes I built houses. I told you we were bellow the poverty line. To feed all the mouths in the house at the age of 13 I began working after school building houses. I would easily weigh 200 lbs today if I hadn't been undernourished as a child and during this time. It was so bad at one point "the government repo'ed my kid brother" as I like to say. Along the way in Junior High and High school I began committing a series of misdemeanors and felonies. Why? Because I could and I had already learned that the authorities don't care. If you looked on the outside of that leather wearing long haired teen you would have seen a rebel for rebel's sake. Inside you would have found something so different.
I found release through writing. Writing gave me a chance to explore and release all my emotions. Eventually my writing became so emotional it brought tears to some people's eyes. And it was how I won my girl friend over. But that is another story. It became my safe haven.
So, how did the criminally bent teen become a college student earning a masters degree and posting on Star Wars RP forums? Easy, their adoptive father one day sat down with them and showed them the path they were on. My dad showed me where I was going and with my mom, helped me become a man--not just a teen in leather trying to make the world burn. I wanted to keep others from that path... and the rest is history.
My uncle who had brain cancer died in his sleep. It wouldnt hurt quite so much if my family wouldn't keep blaming me for not getting to say goodbye. I recommended he get the morphine pump to ease the pain when this was all starting. And now he is dead. They didn't get to say goodbye and somehow its my fault. I cut them some slack though. Its part of the grieving process to feel anger. I am just the lightening rod for it.
Anyway, that is me. Rygen. Its my story, be it ever so bizarre and uneventful. Now back to the hell I just left of family drama......
