1 Childhood traumas; memory#1

We all have our ups and downs in our lives, things can suddenly get complicated and later turn into something you look back at and think to yourself, damn, I did. I used to study in a fancy school where all kids were covered in brands from head to toe. My parents did not have an opportunity to buy me fancy shit so I walked around the school in old adidas shoes. Luckily, we had school uniforms, otherwise I am pretty sure the kids would make me feel even more miserable. Funny thing was that those same spoiled brats were stupid as fuck. I remember our fifth grade math teacher walking around the classroom asking multiplication questions and the class was filled with silence. I was a decent student, completing all my assignments in time and doing my best in class. My hard work paid off by allowing me to win multiple school competitions and a few awards. This made my classmates bug me even more. You see, when you study at a private school you have to follow 3 rules. First, you have to be rich and wear brandy shit, second, your parents have to be influential people and third, you cannot study.  Well I was breaking all 3 rules which made me a centar of "cool kids" attention. As you might have already guessed, middle school was a horrible experience which left me with lots of insecurities and lack of confidence. 

At home breathing was easier, well not around my math tutor who came over to our house in order to help me with any topics I did not understand at school. She has a horrible method of teaching as she would drag me by my ear everytime I thought too much about the equation. It wasn't only that, she would assault me physically and everytime I would start to cry, she would hit my finger with a ruler till they turned red. I kept it to myself for a really long time as I did not know how to act but the worst thing happened when I decided to open up to my parents about the abuse I was receiving from my tutor and they did not believe me. It continued for several years until I didn't need teachers' assistance anymore. A few years passed and I finally decided to talk to my parents about it again. This time they believed me, they were blaming themselves for it and apologizing. I told them I forgave them, but a child who was beaten by a teacher did not. Now when I think about my insecurities and a fear to talk, I realise that it all comes from a bitch who thought her method of teaching would make me smarter. I wish my parents would listen to me earlier, I wish they saw the red flags, I wish they paid attention, maybe i wouldn't have to face all the difficulties in my life I went through.