For me, it did not start when some Grade 1 school teacher verbally tore down my hand-printing, no it was much later. Nor was it when my grade 3 teacher described my hand-writing attempts a "messy, more practice needed." I would have to wait for high-school to be at war.
I joined cadets the year I went to Junior High-school (grades 8 -9). I got busy between school, homework, chores, Cadet Nights (Wednesdays) and field exercises ( some weekends). The mock warfare and military discipline, in no way prepared me for the onslaught that would start in a few years. Once I turned 16, I joined the militia, too.
It happened in grade 11. Grade 11 was already a challenging year, Physics was beyond me, but I struggled through. Socials 11 was a fact-filled, fast paced and memorization was at a premium. How else do you get 898 out of 1500 and on the bell curve come out with a B +. I think Jenny G got 1283. I had just come off of a French 10 failure in June. Then I walked into my grade 11 English class just 2 months later, in September, with Mr. D Ross. D stood for Dinky to the student body, Mr Ross was well known for picking a few favorites, and it was for every one else to dread coming to his class.
My demon was about to begin to act out.
I have difficulty remembering the details. However there were the odd F's and E's and D's and maybe a C-. The comments were acidic. They attacked my imagination. On papers that were subjective, one's where you voiced your opinion; I often had the word FAIL written across my paper. Mr. Ross, had decided I was not worthy of Fairness. There was an occasional C with the word "passable" but I was still failing.
My concerned parents, took action. My parents even helped me write an assignment, to see what grade I would get. I got back a "D". They called the school office and requested a meeting with myself , Mr. Ross, the principal and my dad.
The principal met with my dad, the principal then met with my dad and me; lastly the principal, Mr. Coffin met with all three of us, in his office, behind closed doors.
The meeting was not long. There were some terse exchanges. The tension was palpable. I don't even remember if I was asked to leave at one point. I know that Mr. Coffin agreed with my dad's opinion; that Mr. Ross had been overly unfair in grading my work. You see, my dad had provided copies for Mr. Coffin, of all the marked papers, to review in advance.
The result of the meeting was positive, there would be changes to my grades reflecting successful completion, and I would be getting a C. Sadly, the damage had been done. To this day I can not escape this Demon. Between high-school and early in my military career I compiled a small body of work; then one day in a fit of self-pity, decided it was unsatisfactory and only worthy of, being thrown out. Epic poetry and all, gone.
Every time I want to write, I stumble. Some times, when I plan to write, I hesitate long enough for the inspiration to dissipate. Each time I drag my pen across the paper, I expect to receive a red "F".
The demon is still there. Following, everything I have written is; The Threat of mockery, negative commentary, and an unfair review.
Much time has passed, much time wasted, with OUT writing. I was married, my wife and I had 3 children. I left the Army to land on multiple different employment experiences, no career found in any of them. I joined the Royal Bank as a trainee and became a manager of customer service, moved my family to Chase, BC; until the branch manager, who had his favorites, decided that I could be laid off with 4,000 others in the Royal family that year. I did not settle on a career again until 1998. My demon was on the move again.
I joined Canada Revenue Agency (CRA), my youngest son was diagnosed with a chronic illness and we moved to the lower mainland, the GVRD, which Surrey is the largest part of. I met my new team leader, who picked a few favorites and it, was for everyone else on the team, to dread coming into work each day. Even now, years later, I have difficulty submitting work for approval, in case it is not good enough except to be rejected.
My demon was back, the attack was more insidious, and more devastating as that path had been walked twice before. My demon does not want to win, and then it would be out of a job, my demon just wants me to know fear, IT waits for me to think about writing words, IT waits for me to pick up a pen or pencil or sit in front of a keyboard
My demon waits as, IT can only stare me in the eye from a blank page or from a form of technology like a computer screen. I am not angry or afraid and I fight. I fight back, weakly. I am dealing with this demon the only way I know how; I write words. If .... no, when I succeed, it will be my demon that will get the "F".
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