The aftereffects were not pleasant, either. At night, there were throbbing headaches, neck pain, upper back and shoulder aches. The discomfort could sometimes be so extreme that sleep was nearly impossible, and I would silently weep in bed.
I remember coming home from school on the day my dog was hit, after a day of devastation, after having been shaken several times for not being able to control my crying, believing that my parents had already been told of my “disruptive behavior”. Mrs. Townsend had guaranteed me, on several occasions, that she kept close contact with my folks and that they were informed of everything I did. So many times, I had been threatened with, “Do you want me to have to call your parents, again?” Mom and Dad would surely take the word of a teacher over the word of a child.
That day, before stepping off the bus, my emotions shut down. My immature psyche was no longer able to handle the chronic overload of frustration, anguish, injustice and wrath. I detested my parents for allowing that witch to batter me, especially after the loss of Raunchy. I condemned my classmates for failing to make my abuse known, for failing to help me in some way. The only one, who loved me unconditionally, was not human and was now dead. People were the enemy.
My mother was waiting for me, nervously, in the yard. “Honey, I have some bad news.” She hesitated, “ Your puppy was hit by a car today.”
With total indifference, my reply came. “I know.”
I remember coming home from school on the day my dog was hit, after a day of devastation, after having been shaken several times for not being able to control my crying, believing that my parents had already been told of my “disruptive behavior”. Mrs. Townsend had guaranteed me, on several occasions, that she kept close contact with my folks and that they were informed of everything I did. So many times, I had been threatened with, “Do you want me to have to call your parents, again?” Mom and Dad would surely take the word of a teacher over the word of a child.
That day, before stepping off the bus, my emotions shut down. My immature psyche was no longer able to handle the chronic overload of frustration, anguish, injustice and wrath. I detested my parents for allowing that witch to batter me, especially after the loss of Raunchy. I condemned my classmates for failing to make my abuse known, for failing to help me in some way. The only one, who loved me unconditionally, was not human and was now dead. People were the enemy.
My mother was waiting for me, nervously, in the yard. “Honey, I have some bad news.” She hesitated, “ Your puppy was hit by a car today.”
With total indifference, my reply came. “I know.”
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