Tormented

Growing up, I was small.  A skinny little kid with bad asthma.  A weakling that the bigger and tougher kids viewed as easy prey.  I can remember being picked on and teased on the school bus, many times by those who would turn around and be my best mate once we were off the bus.  Growing up is a confusing time, to say the least.

My school, at the time, only went up to Grade Six.  Grades Six and Seven were to take place at another school a few blocks away where I, again, was bullied by the bigger and now older kids.  One kid, Jimmy, was fourteen or fifteen years old, still in the seventh grade.  I remember Jimmy having it in for me, then he "moved" away for a few months.  When Jimmy returned, he was all smiles and nice to me..., for the first day, then the terrorizing commenced.  Later we'd come to learn that Jimmy hadn't moved away so much as he was incarcerated for the duration of his absence.  I guess this was my first glimpse into the darker side of life.

High school was no different.  I entered high school, again, as this skinny little weakling which drew the attention of another bully.  This time it was a seventeen or eighteen year old kid with a shitty little hint of a mustache growing on his upper lip, who took an interest in, not only bullying me, but tormenting me to the point where I was fearful to attend school.  Of course, this was during a time when 'if you were too afraid, too fucking bad, you're going to school'.  So I would often be late for my classes because I had to take the long way around the school to get to my class.  It was quite hellacious for me, as I recall.

This memory, the memory of being tormented in high school only recently returned to my conscious, triggered by an event that took place on Monday morning, as I rode the 86 bus to the Circle Park Mall where I like to spend time before taking over my afternoon work piece.

I sat near the front, in a side facing seat, quietly playing a game on my phone, a pastime I do to pass time on the otherwise boring trip eastbound down Eighth Street.  At the Midtown Plaza stop we picked up more passengers, one being a greasy dirty looking individual who sat in the side facing seat across from me.  I avoided eye contact, focusing on my game instead.  A few minutes pass and the figure across from me, says "Hey!"  I looked up, meeting his gaze, "I do not condone you taking my picture."

"Okay." I replied, "I'm not taking your picture.  I'm playing a game."  Then I resumed my gameplay and never followed up.  I could feel him looking at me, though, which made things uncomfortable.  Especially, a few minutes later, when he spoke up, getting my attention once again.  "Hey!  I don't want my picture taken!"  To which I informed him that I was still playing my game, even flipping my phone around to show him the screen, which was nothing more than multiple shelves with products on them, the purpose being I have to sort them in multiples of three.  It's quite challenging. 

Believing that should quell the situation, I resumed gameplay again.  However, the situation was not resolved, even with the visual evidence to prove it.  "HEY!!" he yelled again, now even more agitated, "I said DON'T TAKE MY PICTURE!!!"  That's when I kinda lost it, speaking louder to match his volume, "I told you, I'm NOT taking your picture!!  I don't know you!!  Why would I take your picture?  I'm playing a game and minding my own business!"  "F*CK YOU!!!" he yelled, "You're moving your phone to take my picture."

"The sun is behind me!!" I called, "I'm moving the phone to see it!!"  He wasn't buying what I was selling and that's when the bus driver called back to calm the situation.  I apologized as my reaction was not that of professionalism.  I was wearing my bus driver uniform at the time and should represent the City of Saskatoon accordingly.  I explained to her what was going on.  She asked if I wanted the authorities to be notified, to which I denied that it'd be necessary, figuring that the crazy guy seated across from me would accept that I'm a good dude for not having the police engage, but no.  His fury was now elevated.  I returned my attention to my game, but I could hear him seething across from me.  Then he began to utter threats.  "I swear if you take one more picture, I'm going to fucking kill you."

"Is everything alright back there?" Donna, the driver asked, to which I replied, "Sorry for the disruption.  I'm fine, but this gentleman is shooting darts at me with his eyes.  I think he wants to hurt me."  All the while, he's muttering his vile threats of murder.  Suffice it to say, despite my ability to hide my fear at the time, I was terrified.  I knew that the moment I stepped off the bus that my safety was now in question.  

He got off at the Indigo Book Store stop on 8th Street, right next to the Circle Park Mall, my destination.  I was SO overwhelmed with fear that I remained on the bus for the duration of the Route 86 through Rosewood.  I eventually did get off the bus, obviously, then went to the food court, reasoning that there'd be lots of witnesses if this nut job were to track me down and shove a knife in my back.  Yes, this was my reasoning at the time.

I remember looking up at this guy, when he sat across from me in tattered black clothing, with a ratty torn up hood draped over his head.  His complexion was dark, but his soul was way darker.  There was something not right about this particular fellow.  Not just regarding his lack of civility, but his soul seemed absent or tarnished.  He was afflicted with something that was altering his psyche.  Whether it's through substance abuse or devil worship, this man was not human, anymore.

I looked up as he's foaming at the mouth, relentlessly repeating that he's going to kill me.  In retrospect, maybe I should have had the authorities notified, but over the course of my short tenure with City Transit, I've been tackled, attacked and threatened quite a few times, already, as has many of my fellow drivers, so it's beginning to become 'old hat' at this point.  

In the past, I'd take a few minutes to gather my nerves then press on for the remainder of my day.  I tried doing the same with this situation, except the experience unlocked that fear in me that I had as a freshman in high school when that Twelfth Grader took it upon himself to dedicate his bullying to just me.  That overwhelming fear that I might be attacked or maimed or worse at some point, took over my thoughts.  So much so, that yesterday, when I was driving my Route 17, I came to a corner in Stonebridge and recognized this crazed individual crossing the street in front of me.  I was nowhere near the man, when he turned his attention to the bus and began flailing his arms about and cursing at the bus.  I immediately recognized the tattered black clothing, the dark complexion and the crazed ranting.  What stood out most was the glowing eyes.  I realize this sounds absurd, but I swear this is what I saw and for the remainder of my seventeen loop, I was distracted.  Distracted by how I was going to avoid this individual if he was going to be at the bus stop around the corner.

Do I drive right past him, as if I don't see him?  Tough to do, as there's a traffic light right there.  If I get stopped at the light, he will gravitate to the bus, like a shit-magnet.  Then I thought, maybe he won't even be there.  Alas, when I returned, he was there, indeed.  He immediately recognized me when he got onboard.  I kept my gaze straight ahead, sunglasses covering my eyes, but I could tell he was glaring at me.  My farebox was out of commission, having fallen apart earlier in the day with the prior driver.  All the potholes and uneven streets, shook the hell out of the unit causing pieces to fall about.  The angry fellow seemed perturbed by the missing device and slammed his hand down on the remaining structure.

Prior to his getting on the bus, I moved the Assault Barrier glass all the way to the front of the door.  Fat good the tempered glass would have in protecting me, considering the guy now had what appeared to be dumbbell bars in his possession.  I've been hit with a tire iron, when I was a kid.  That was no picnic, what with the sizeable lump it left on my head, so these bars could do some considerable damage to the human skull, I'm sure.

He eventually got off the bus at 8th Street and Clarence Avenue.  I looked on with a heavy sigh of relief as the psycho and his demons wandered off across the Seven-Eleven parking lot.  I realize now that the experience on Monday may have affected me more than I initially realized.  I actually feel terrorized.  But I also feel that this crazed individual was not all human, either.  Whether that be the fact that he's crazier than hell or that he's pouring something down his throat that's altering his humanity.  

I had a meeting with management yesterday afternoon, following my encounter with the crazed individual.  The terror was still fresh and after the conclusion of our initial meeting, I asked 'how I should handle this experience as it's affecting me on a whole'.  The higher ups which included one of the Supervisors who had worked with me during my probation.  He had some genuine concerns with how this individual was directing his anger and torment towards a Transit Operator IN uniform.  I could see by the look on his face that this was news to him.  I think a lot of the assaults and mistreatment of drivers goes unseen and is often overlooked by some of the supervisors and management.  Everyone views the world through rose coloured glasses which hides all the ugliness.

I was told to put in a Worker's Compensation Report, just in case my condition worsens.  I hope it doesn't as I do enjoy my job.  My future, though, is foggy.  I used to think that if I were to die under unnatural causes, it'd be from a vending machine falling on me.  Now I believe I may be stabbed or killed while working.  That's a helluva thought, huh?  But I saw it in a dream and it was vivid as all hell.

It's All About Perception

A few weeks ago, I made a comment on Facebook, stating my beliefs in the (then) hottest court trial in the world, the Amber Heard / Johnny Depp Defamation Court Case.  I never blatantly chose a side.  I only stated that I believed Amber Heard.  Well, you'd think that I had murdered a puppy on a live stream, given all the f*cking hate that was directed my way.  Seems the world only sees things in black and white, not shades of grey.

People claimed that Heard was "acting" on the witness stand and that her facts were getting jumbled, but given the fact that she's trying to recount occasions where she felt threatened or abused, all the while, the man who (allegedly) victimized her, is shooting dirty hateful looks her way, is going to rattle even the strongest of wills.

I'm familiar with abuse.  Both physical and mental and though I'm not a psychologist or anything alike, I think I can recognize it.  Many people are lucky enough to never have experienced an abusive partner or parent and good for them.  They're among the lucky ones, but I grew up in an alcoholic family, my dad, more specifically and life as a kid was not all rainbows and sunshine.  I can recall on many occasions when I stepped off the school bus and saw that he was home.  Then it was a crap shoot.  Either he'd be sober or drunk and if he were the latter, f*cking watch out!!

The abuse wasn't always physical, though I do have some scars to prove otherwise.  Sometimes, I think the physical abuse would have been preferred. Scars heal, but mental wounds seldom do.  I'm not claiming that Johnny Depp was a monster, beating his spouse about, but sometimes, the mental anguished thrust upon a partner is overwhelming.  Leaves scars that people and loved ones never get to see.  And again, I'm not claiming Depp to be a monster, but maybe he could be mean sometimes.

I've always called it, "The Jekyll & Hyde Syndrome".  My dad, when sober, was the greatest man on Earth.  He was happy, jovial, always ready for a laugh and generous, like no other.  Sometimes people would take advantage of his kindness, but when he got the drink in him.  Sucked back a few brewski's or a 26oz bottle of whisky, ho-ly f*ck, the monster would come out and you'd not wanna be around the man.  I feel terrible revealing this factoid about the man, considering in his final few years, he was sober and attending a few A.A. Meetings and he was the sweetest man you'd ever be lucky enough to cross paths with.

All those years of tip-toeing around and being on the receiving end of threats, beatings and just plain mental hockey, I doubt anyone around me would have ever suspected.  It's all about perception.  If people haven't the experience with something, chances are, they're not going to recognize it.

I don't think Johnny Depp is a bad guy.  I like him.  He's a fantastic actor and seems pretty cool in interviews, but when laced with alcohol and drugs, who the f*ck knows what he's like?  It may be the Jekyll & Hyde Syndrome, all over again.

I only watched one episode of some show on CNN that recounted the days events.  It showed video of Depp, speaking calmly, but I sensed some ominous tone to his voice, all the while, he's slamming cupboard doors and swearing and throwing shit about.  Never laid a hand on Amber in that video, but the overtones of his actions were obvious.  I outweigh Depp by about 40lbs and tower a couple of inches over the guy, but I'd be intimidated if the guy was behaving this way around me.

There's a guy in my class, right now.  He's from what he claims is 'The Eastern Bloc', but the Russian accent is a dead give away.  He's always rude to me and snaps at me constantly.  I've confronted him once on it, addressing it respectively, but it fell on deaf ears.  He continues to be rude and I take great offense to his attitude toward me.  I mentioned it to my instructor, who laughed it off and claims to not notice it.  His perception doesn't matter, only mine, in this situation.  Maybe the fella doesn't even realize that he's being a dick to me.  Maybe in his culture, this is the way they treat others.  I used to work with a fellow from the Ukraine and he'd treat me like complete dogshit, until he needed a favour or a ride home.  Same thing.

Maybe there's that guy in your office or workplace who tells off colour jokes.  He does it to be funny, never thinking that he's making others uncomfortable, but all it takes is one person to perceive the humour as aggressive or offensive, to make in inappropriate.

I had an instructor, years ago, in a Parts Management class.  She refused to call a grease nipple, grease nipple.  Apparently, nipple was offensive to her and she preferred the term 'grease zerk'.  I never knew it as a zerk and in the years since, when I call them zerks, nobody knows what the f*ck I'm talking about.  Whatever, I'm off topic.

The fact that Amber Heard was ruled against, that her mental status was not taken into consideration and that all her claims of mental and physical abuse was denied, is offensive.  Yes, she's a celebrity, but so what?  She's a human being, first and foremost.  I believe her.  I sympathize with her.  And I'm ashamed to be a man, in some sense, because she was victimized all over again.  Having to recount moments where she felt she was a victim of abuse, only to be shunned and abused further by the populous.  I just hope she can bounce back from this.

On Facebook, all I said was: As a person who was abused mentally and physically, I believe Amber Heard.  That's all I said and I received about 80 negative comments that were nasty.  Just plain nasty and rude and abusive.  I'd click on some of the profiles of those ripping into me and I couldn't believe some of the quotes on their profile.  "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."  Or "I keep an open mind and listen to all opinions because they matter."   Bullshit, like that.  Ever single person contradicted themselves and wrote some of the most hateful shit I've read on social media in ages. Why do they call it 'social media' when it's the most anti-social concept in history? 🤔

I've never considered myself an overly nice person.  I can act appropriately when I need to, but life has beaten the shit out of me and I'm not always the nicest guy.  There'll be people, friends and acquaintances who'll claim this statement false, but like the make-up of a clown, I've learned to hide the pain and the strife.  Much like growing up, nobody knew what horrors were happening at home, until that one fateful day that I showed up to school with two black eyes and a broken nose.  Should've seen the people kissing my ass that day.

As stated a paragraph ago, I'm not the nicest fella, but I don't believe that I suffer from Jekyll & Hyde Syndrome, either.  I'm nice until I feel pressured to not be so nice.  A character flaw, perhaps, or maybe it's a result of a troubled childhood.  Don't know.  Don't care.  It's just something I work on daily, just like I try to keep my childhood demons at bay.

The Bigger Picture

Yesterday, I wrote a little entry about nudity. Admittedly, it wasn't very good. "They all can't be gold." I professed. Admitted to quietly acknowledging previous nude discoveries of famous people. Even admitted that male nudity, while making me extremely uncomfortable, was still alright in my books, provided the nudist in question actually had the body-type to expose to the world. All these facts were recorded, just as they have been here once more, and yet, the majority of the feedback wasn't focused primarily on the weak-ass writing, but blasting me for posting the photography of Lindsay Lohan, and I'll paraphrase for everyone's convenience. "Get rid of that spoiled wh*re."

"Spoiled wh*re"? What the hell? That's getting a little personal, don't you think? Now, admittedly, I have followed some of the drivel that major news networks have plastered over the airwaves, concerning Lindsay Lohan. Even that battle-axe, Nancy Grace, on CNN's sister network, HLN, had more than her fair share on attacking Lindsay Lohan and her recent graces with law enforcement and her time in and out of prison. I've watched some of it, but questioned most of it, citing with all discombobulation about it being considered as "newsworthy". If Joe Blow had a run-in with the cops and was sentenced to jail, (and I'm more than certain that that has happened a time or two), I doubt he'd be getting any newscoverage on any of the major news networks. But the remarks that I've read over the course of last evening and the first part of this day, I actually feel bad for Lindsay.

I confess that I actually do feel bad for the actress and all the avenues that she has traversed in recent years. I recognize some of the symptoms, as I've battled many of those demons myself. The only real difference between the two of us, is where we were at the time and the choices that we made on how to deal with it.

Lindsay Lohan has had a fairly successful career in the entertainment industry, from a very young age. I've not seen most of her work, but the couple of things I have seen, she has shone prominantly. She was extraordinary in 2004's "Mean Girls". I even caught "Herbie Fully Loaded" a few months back, and as corny as the film was (and all the Herbie movies were corny), Lindsay really captivated the audience in that as well. However, with her early success, came early stressors.

Her father, for most intense purposes, is a "real piece of work". And by that, I mean, the guy is a real shit-bag. At every turn, I'm sure that f*cker was riding his daughters coat-tails, pushing and prodding her to do this and to do that, steadily stacking more and more pressure on the young girl. I'm sure for every cheer he gave his talented daughter, there was probably two or three jeers against her. Every child seeks approval from their parent, and everytime that she fell short in his eyes, probably added to her self-loathing.

I commented that I recognized the symptoms. That I was a lot like Lindsay, and I do not dispute this fact. While I wasn't a young performing phenom like Lindsay, I managed to receive other pressures from my father. Growing up, it seemed like nothing I ever did, was good enough. That for everything I felt pride in, was never good enough in the eyes of my father. Where Lindsay obviously received mental anguish at the hands of her dad, mine did the very same thing, even over-stepping those boundaries and laying fists on me. Every kid seeks the approval of their parents, but when you get physically beatdown, something enters your mind, and no matter how you twist and contort the reality of the situation, you can't ever make any sense of it all. Logic seems to elude you at every turn.

It's all in how you choose to deal with this blinding sorrow. I never thought to move to drinking or abusing drugs. Thankfully, I knew that such practices would only mask the problems. They would never solve them. So I sought out movies and television. Temporarily escaping to other realities saved my life. In Lindsay's case, I suspect that because her background was in acting, and that it seemed to be a part of the problem, rather than the solution, she sought out quite different avenues in order to numb the pain and sorrow she was experiencing. She takes that, coupled with some bad influences around her, and soon the girl is getting drunk, doin' god knows what f*cking drugs, and ultimately begins to poison herself. Then just as cockroaches scurry away when the lights come on, so do her "friends" at the first sign of trouble.

In all the news footage I'd seen of poor Lindsay Lohan facing her accusers, not once did I ever see any of her friends standing up with her, shaking their fists, demanding that Lindsay was not the one to be blamed here. The same arguement could be made of the media feeding the fire of bad publicity on Lindsay. Instead of inquiring as to why Lohan feels she needs to go to these unhealthy extremes, they'd rather pour more gasoline on the fire and add an air of controversy.

Lindsay Lohan is only 24 years old. It can be argued that she should know better, but I doubt that she's had much of a childhood as it is. There's something about the entertainment business and it's effects on children. They force them to grow up before they are ready. Sure, Lindsay's 24 years old, chronologically, but inside that 24 year old body, beats the heart of a little girl seeking her father's approval, and not receiving it.

Thousands and thousands of people battle their demons everyday, in a variety of ways. Most of them don't receive media coverage, but I bet there's a good portion of them who have people who care about them. For the most part, I doubt Lindsay has that. So as far as calling her a "spoiled wh*re", that's just cruel. Kicking someone when they're down, instead of offering a hand up.

I feel bad for Lindsay. I wish I were more of an important person in the world, so that I could offer that helping hand, but I'm not. But anyone who gives two shits about the girl, should offer a kind word. Illustrate to her that there's more to life than her old man.

As for my demons with my dad. I came to terms with all that shit long ago. My dad was an alcoholic. An alcoholic with mean anger issues. Fly off the handle at the drop of a hat. "Jeckyll & Hyde", I called it. When he was sober (Dr. Jeckyll), he was awesome. He was generous, understanding, funny, and a pure joy to be around. When he got the liquor in him, he was the exact opposite (Mr. Hyde), and he'd turn into the scariest monster anyone could ever imagine. Thankfully, later on in his life, he gave up the bottle. Sobered up and once more, was a great joy to be around. Sadly, I lost my father to cancer in 1999, and not a day goes by that I don't think about what a great guy he was. I hope for Lindsay's sake, she can get past all of her demons too, and be the sweet loving young woman that millions of fans once fell in love with, again.

Have a nice day, people. And in regards to Lindsay Lohan (or anybody having an off day) remember to just f*cking relax, because chances are, there's something to the bigger picture, you just have to peer through the trees.