When I was a boy, I had a number of things come into play that defined my situation. One, I was very intelligent, often able to correct the teacher, and I was interested in bizarre things. While the other little boys were playing with toy cars, I was figuring out my own potential energy with E=MC2. I also hit puberty really young.
I was maybe eleven at the time? I was made fun of because my voice cracked, or because I had hair that wasn’t on my head (I didn’t wear shorts from 12 until I was 18.) Puberty brought on its share of inconveniences, including the rather spontaneous behavior of mini-me. There is little as awkward or embarrassing to a boy than being caught with a pitched tent. I carried around a notebook, (nothing in it,) right in front of my crotch, to hide the inevitable unwanted and uncontrolled ‘uprising.’
That however, was the light side of things. With this absolute flood of hormones came something that changed my entire self-view. Acne. I got it worse than most; it was a constant plague that seemed like it would never go away. I went from “that cute little boy,” to “pizza face.” My self-esteem dropped from a tentative 6, to somewhere in the negatives. I saw myself unworthy of anything at all…least of all the attention of any attractive girl.
My interaction with these girls then became the userous and abusive kind. I was (am?) a ‘genius’…who could be better to ask for help with homework? I, being the kind, gentle, helpful, and hopelessly naïve young boy that I was, would consent and help them out. They got an A+ on their assignment…and I got teased, abused, and verbally tortured-and by the very same girls I endeavored to help. My trust in any attractive girl plummeted to zero, and I learned to avoid them as much as I could. The sound of their taunts crashing down upon my ears, the utter exclusion, even in the class ‘group’ projects. I was alone. I chose to be. It was better than ‘grouping’ with them, or in other words, doing all the work myself, for people that did their best to make me believe they hated me, that I should hate myself. And I did.
I slipped into severe depression, and it lasted a lot of years. I did not believe in myself, I hated who I was. I wanted to become someone else, or just die. In fact, I once tried to make the latter happen. Fortunately, my genius didn’t apply to hanging. Old shoestrings just didn’t cut it…though it did hurt like hell. After that, I decided that I wanted to die, but I was much more comfortable wishing than trying.
At school, when lunch rolled around, I was just as relieved as everyone else to have the break, but for different reasons. It wasn’t so that I could go hang out with friends and socialize, It was so that I could get away from the constant scrutiny, the eyes boring into me, the snickers as friends whispered into each others ears, and pointed or looked in my direction. It was my time to get away, to escape into a world of elves and dragons, where heroes (remarkably similar to myself,) could defeat the bad guys (people behaving surprisingly similar to those that hated me for little or no reason.) I could imagine myself being the unlikely hero, going from dejected to revered. I could see myself changing the world, the way people thought, showing them a better way.
Sadly, as soon as the bell rang, that fantasy world melted away, and I would resume my struggle to stay afloat amidst a sea of tears.

-Josiah

Thanks for posting and welcome Josiah. Kids can be cruel as many of us have experienced.

Rejoice in the fact that you have a great mind and imagination.

Bravo,,,,

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Thank you, I just came across this not too long ago, and felt like sharing it with someone. But since I don't know too many people who might appreciate this, I thought this forum might be the place to try, and it looks like I was right :)