Is it normal this kind of stuff happens to people?
When I was still in primary school, we were supposed to write an essay about what we thought our future would look like. Many children wrote about their career aspirations, about family and eternal friendship, about achievements. My essay, 800 words long at the time, consisted of a bunch of uncertainty. All doors were open to me and I knew that I would only be able to decide once. And I wanted to do the right thing. At that time, I didn't know how I was going to shit in my life.
I was different from the others. Yes, sure there were some like me, but I was the only one at my primary school back then who always tried to maintain a certain etiquette. I made an effort with everyone, but no one wanted anything to do with me. To this day I don't know why.
At some point they started making stupid jokes about me, teasing me, taking my property, stalking me. In the end, I was beaten up at least once a day during the breaks. I became more and more withdrawn, lost interest in human contact. Over time, and it didn't get better, I became depressed. I was nine years old at the time.
But there was a point in my life when something broke inside me. Hate and anger flooded me as I lay on the floor being kicked in the stomach over and over again. Hatred and anger towards those people who were doing wrong to me and others.
I secretly started to train with my body weight. Since I was overweight and always neatly dressed at that time, the changes in my contours could hardly be seen. My inner self was seeking revenge. The months passed as usual. I lay on the floor, pain inflicted on my body. But I did not cry. I just wanted it to pass. I waited for the day when I had steeled my will enough. Then as I was knocked to the ground again by several, I grinned gleefully to myself. They would try to kick me again, but I grabbed them by the foot and rolled to the side.
One fell to the ground, I quickly got up and kicked him in the face. The next one I rammed my fist into his larynx, another I kicked in the liver. I could only do that because they were too perplexed by the fact that I fought back. That day, no one wanted to mess with me again. The story spread and soon these idiots kept meeting up to surprise me, but I felt like I always knew when they were going to wait me out.
Within the next few years I lost a huge amount of weight and joined the school ball club. But even when I finally had my peace, the anger inside me remained. I played the aggressive middle man every time. At some point it happened. We had an important game. The crowd would chant our names, they cheered us on. Then we played. A player from the opposing team made a tiny mistake, right in front of me. I was to be sent off the field. My rage was unbridled. I beat up my coach who did nothing about this misunderstanding and was banned from the league for life.
I didn't care. I spent my time doing the one thing I obviously did best. Freaking out. I got drunk from time to time and caused trouble wherever I went. I didn't care about any of my hobbies. I didn't want any normal contact with people. People were dirt to me. My father too. He would beat my mother again and again, that pig.
Today I am a drinking bully. I have no job, few friends and quite a few enemies. But I think my life is okay. I wouldn't want to change places with my enemies. Rest in pieces mfs.
Is this the meaning of life? Why does shit like this happen?