There's a famous childish chant that never fails to circulate around the playground. Whether it's a public school or otherwise. It even managed to sneak it's way into home tutoring. I believe it's just one of those childish rumours adults like to use to scare you or teach you to respect your family, although I was never one to believe in nonsense and tomfoolery when I was younger. Nor am I now. I am a firm believer that one should detach oneself from irrelevancies. This one, however, seemed to stick with me as a child. I don't know what it was, maybe some idiotic fantasy I used to hold onto. Some dream that I should have realised would go unfulfilled. Yet I hoped. I even prayed. Ironic really, considering what I was asking and the fact I never believed.
And so I never stopped following the childish words. Step on a crack and it is said to break your mother's back. So that was exactly what I did. Walking down the street I would step on every crack I could find. I realised I could not step on every single one, but still I tried in hope that one day it would happen. There was the silly incident when I went out of my way to step on some nails. That was before I realised my Father would never actually be imprisoned due to his station and connections, and my Mother's back would never actually break.
That was a dark day. The day I realised I was trapped, that they would still be there to hurt me, and nobody could or would do a single thing. Even my brother would not help me until it was over. Of course he was left alone. He always was. I was the one who needed punishing, I was the screw up, the embarrassment. Mother wouldn't enforce it as much, not that she never tried to stop it. She never showed an inch of compassion. It's no wonder I turned out the way I did. People place it as a result of the nature of my family but I know better. My brother knows better.
The somewhat best day of my life was the day my Father died. I was eleven at the time. I never shed a single tear and I never will. He didn't deserve my tears then, and he doesn't now. Nor my sympathy. He always did call me pathetic. He told me to be more like him. Like my brother. So I did. I divorced all form of emotion just the way he would. At his funeral the only one I hid was joy. I managed to rid myself of the pain and hurt I felt because of him years before, when I realised nobody cared about a child like me. The freak. So when he died, I hid my happiness. I shut it off. I conveyed nothing. His death was a relief. My Mother ended up retiring to her room a lot. My brother, I ignored. No matter how hard he tired to explain. When he left for university I was almost upset to see him leave. Almost. There would be nobody to pick up the pieces.
If I had to pick one thing to thank my Father for it would be the backbone he helped me develop. He hardened me. Strengthened me. Call it character building if you please. When I finally did go to school, it helped. I was treated no different there than I was at home; already formed into the monster people know today. It's safe to say I care not to remember those times either.
There will always be people who disliked me. I laugh at them. They think they can get to me but that is just not the case. I stopped caring years ago. So, at school, no matter how much they teased me and no matter how hard they beat me, they received no reaction. Which really only made them continue. They thought they could get me to fear them but they were wrong: just like my Mother and Father. They took my hope away - someone with no hope has nothing to fear.
You would have thought the juvenile behaviour would cease to exist at the cessation of my academic career, or the childhood years if you're naive, however it did not. Many adults like to feel superior in some way, shape or form. Even if it is by outing somebody who is obviously different, as a freak. I, myself, am victim to this and yet I do not mind. I get on with my work. I occupy my mind. I know I am different - I accept this. My mind functions abnormally to the rest of the human race. I believe it is a familial trait because my brother is exactly the same. We have learnt to accommodate our skills. Use them in order to entertain, if not soothe, our minds.
In my case I believe the condition is worse than that which my brother possesses, which would be entirely like him. He is more afflicted by humanistic qualities. He cares too much. I believe it is his way of dealing with the guilt he acquired as a child... as if he is trying to make up for some form of grievance he inflicted upon me whilst we were growing up. Probably feeling responsible for the way I turned out, for the things which happened to me. I, myself, have managed to look past them. For a while.
I think it took the right person to come along and show me that I am capable of human interaction to a reasonable and respectful level. By my own standards, anyway. My old self still remains, and they are unaware of what I have experienced. I am positive that if they did have access to that particular knowledge, then they would be rather infuriated. I suppose any other human with a similar heart would feel the same. I believe it would be sympathy for me. That, or anger at those who inflicted the 'pain' upon me in my past.
That is all that really needs to be said about me. I believe you could call this an insight into the real Sherlock Holmes. The part of me that proves I am, in fact, actually human. A notion which many would relish the chance to dispute. Even I would, at times. However I was a mere child. A child which adapted like the birds of the Galápagos Islands, adapted to survive in a world which treated me as the lowest link in the food chain. Striving to be better, to be the predator, I devoured the old me. It still remains. Of course it does. It would never truly be extinct. But perhaps it is time I change. Nothing drastic. That would be a preposterous idea. My characteristics form my personality so to say. One cannot just cease to be Sherlock Holmes. However, I was once told that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one. Even though the many is practically one person, it would still have an effect on those within the periphery. Therefore, in its own way, having an impact upon the many. Outweighing the needs of my 'one'.
My differences were a coping strategy developed as a child but now, as an adult, I find that one does not need such things to thrive in the modern world. Although my mannerisms will remain, my attitude to others will have to be altered to be more gratifying. I did not ever imagine such a situation occurring, yet somebody was forced into my life that started this chain reaction. For that I am thankful. As I find I do not care for the events of my childhood emotionally, it has still affected me mentally. Healing is a peculiar experience and I suppose I will never fully do so. Emotions shall still be extinguished and I refuse to fear any human. However, I can hope and I can and will learn to let somebody get close to me. A friend. My only friend.
I've had this saved for ages and I only just realised that I had it. Thank you for my wonderful friend Tina for proof reading this for me. Trust me, guys, there was an awful lot to do. Luckily I'm the only lucky son of a bitch she proof reads for.
Oh and what do you think?