Seyruun High Jinx –NEXT!

Chapter Six

Xelloss' Journal, Part 1

"I lived in constant systematized chaos on both the inside and the outside of my mind." -- Xelloss

Zelgadiss turned to the first page of Xelloss' typed journal, and began to read…

Xelloss here! So… Zelgadiss agreed with the shrink: Write my thoughts down. Keep a little journal. I guess I should back up a bit so this makes sense, huh?

Man, I sound like an idiot not some genius geek when I go back and re-read this junk. Maybe I should stop the analysis and just write more, I mean let's face it, this is for 'my own good' not for publication! Anyway my little brother was starting to worry about me and my 'moments' where I lose track of what's happening and my brain kinda goes dead. I tried to tell him I've always been that way, but who knows…so I'm doing this journal thing.

So's Val! Probably it will mean more writing for him than in his whole life before! Ah…that's not fair. He's been working hard in school this year and is actually a smart guy with…lots of po-ten-shul, as he would say.

If I'm honest here-- and I am supposed to be because no one but me has any business reading this and what do I have to hide from myself, right? —I'd begin by saying that it feels good to have someone who cares about me, really cares what's going on in my head and my life. Zelgadiss is more than just another guy, he's my link to reality. But I wouldn't tell him that. It might scare him. Maybe not, though. He seems to understand me pretty well, all things considered, like not knowing all my secrets. Maybe I'll have him read this and discover what makes be click? Enough writing for now, don't you think?

…

Val was the only other guy I'd told about the bad stuff, and that was because he'd opened up to me with similar problems. Zelgadiss…well, I'll let him read this rather than tell him. That way he won't have to face me when he finds out about stuff he doesn't like. I'm just hoping he won't hate me or anything when he's done…or that he doesn't look at me funny or act differently, Maybe he's already guessed that I've been raped. He has probably guessed about the ADD stuff on his own. He'll make such a good doctor someday!

But I don't want to get to that just yet. I'm supposed to start back a lot further in time. Gods…it's hard. I'll start later, when I'm in the mood…

New mood! Here goes…

From the start, nothing about me seemed to be normal. How about that for starters? At least, what was ever 'normal' for me seemed to be quite a stretch for everyone else, not that I noticed much as a little kid, at first. Well, I'd have to have been blind, deaf and dumb not to notice that other people seem to do most things a little differently than I did. I could not put it into words, but often I felt like a puzzle piece that did not fit. I'll give you lots of examples as I think this through. Okay, so there were tasks I could walk through without thinking and other activities that paralyzed me.

How about that for starters? At least, what was ever 'normal' for me seemed to be quite a stretch for everyone else, not that I noticed much as a little kid, . Well, I'd have to have been blind, deaf and dumb not to notice that other people seem to do most things a little differently than I did. I could not put it into words, but often I felt like a puzzle piece that did not fit. I'll give you lots of examples as I think this through. Okay, so there were tasks I could walk through without thinking and other activities that paralyzed me.

My 'parents' certainly noticed and took me to a doctor I was in 2nd grade, I think…or later, they decided that I had Attention Deficit Disorder with mild hyperactivity. Thank the gods for the mild part or I would have been climbing the walls too! At the same time, they also said my IQ tested out something nearly 80 points higher than Einstein, for what that's worth. What all this really meant is that sometimes I looked like a genius, and other times I looked like an idiot. Take your pick, because the chances were just about even for both at any given moment.

Oh, yeah you noticed the 'parents' thing, well they're what messed me up more along the line. And the 'father figures' count currently stands at four—neat huh? I mean I already had a few strikes against me from the start then…well… I'll get to them along the way in this journal.

So what did this ADD verdict mean to me? Basically, in school I got (and still do!) totally bored with anything that didn't interest me (or with stuff that any idiot should already know, in my opinion), and my brain would get so impatient with the painfully tedious, boring, everyday bullshit that sometimes it felt like I might explode if I didn't do something. In most of my classes, everything the teachers talked about was usually stuff I already knew, and I mean starting from kindergarten all the way up to the present at any and all of the wastelands…er schools I attended or 'showed up at'. I mean, all I had to do was read the textbook one stupid time, because everything they wanted me to regurgitate back at them was all in there. What's so hard about that?

Anyway, mostly in class I just sat in the back and read. That lasted about a month until whichever teacher it was that was new to me that year figured out that I wasn't PAYING ATTENTION. Then it would be no reading. So sometimes I would just go nuts and act out. I had to do something, didn't I! That's when I became a real irritating little shit, I think, at about five. Why that was after my real father died, or thereabouts. Coincidence? Not likely but my shrink will tell me otherwise, of course because it's gotta have a 'chemical imbalance' issue for them to 'treat'. Ooh do I detect an attitude problem towards the medical profession here? To quote my friend Filia, "NO DUH!"

Like Val once said, and Zelgadiss has repeatedly told me, my brain's wiring is just different than most people. For example, I can do long division in my head to five or six places in a matter of a few seconds (no, I don't really consciously go through all the steps that fast...I just kinda relax my mind and the answer just sorta pops in there...) But, I almost failed algebra because I could never remember to turn in the homework. It's totally unfair. They should give monsters like me a break! Some kids, like me, but not my little brother thank the gods again, have trouble with organization. They don't remember which assignments they're supposed to do, or just forget to take their homework and supplies home with them.

I really have trouble remembering the simplest little everyday things at times. Like, did I remember to eat breakfast this morning? Did I remember to bring my homework? Did I remember to tie my shoes? Or more recently…did I remember to BRING ALONG MY HOTEL KEY WHEN LEAVING THE ROOM!

My teachers all learned that if a paper was turned in with no name on it, with virtually unreadable handwriting, and was 100 correct, then it was probably mine. Of course, once I went into high school they didn't care or grade it anymore.

Sometimes, directions and street names totally elude me as well. For some strange reason, Zelgadiss didn't notice for the longest time. Then when I'd get lost or something, he'd seem to get really annoyed with me (at least I think that was the reason, there were soooo many possibilities…) But after a while, he did the math (and Zelgadiss IS the math genius of all time, really!) and figured it out, especially when I'd ask him for the twentieth time, "hey...uhhh...where do I turn now to get…um…wherever we're going?"

He does most of the driving now. Funny though, he trusts me enough to let me borrow his shiny new car—naturally after he's gone over all his rules and after he's traced out my path onto a map which he keeps in the car just for me. But I think that that's a sign of trust and friendship.

This ADD thing isn't ALL bad. I am also blessed with a nearly photographic memory. I can basically recite at will just about anything I've ever read in a book or the computer, seen on TV, or heard on the radio, or was just basically interested enough in to pay attention to. I can describe in great detail anything I can picture in my mind from a past event. Ask me any fact about Star Trek (Zelgadiss and I watched lots of this while re-cooping in the hospital), some anime, any musical...and you'll get an immediate answer--the correct one, naturally.

Back to my younger years… I sure do digress a lot! Another one of my 'problems' was my mouth, which just seemed to have a mind of it's own. Things just kinda came out without any warning. Hey, I was just as surprised as everyone else when that happened! Sometimes I just sounded stupid...at other times, rude or insensitive. It really killed me inside when that stuff happened, because I felt like the picture of me that people end up getting wasn't really me. It was so frustrating!

Oh and especially with kids, once people get the wrong impression in their head about you, you can just forget it. You can never change it. You're just basically screwed forever. To that person, you're an idiot, or an asshole, or a faggot…whatever…for life. Like they say, you can only make one first impression...I just wish I could act like my normal self around new people. The problem is, I can't do that until I get comfortable enough around them to relax. But, I always manage to piss-off or offend everyone before I can get to that point. Like I said, hardly anybody actually knows the real me. Except Zelgadiss, maybe Val and sometimes Lina and Amelia… and rarely Filia or Sylphiel and never…ever Gourry.

Oh, maybe a day-in-my-life story would be fun to recall here. It kind of explains my early years. Here goes a story:

I can remember a time in second grade when Mrs. Jolly had heard enough from me one day.

Me: Why can't I go on the field trip to the art museum?

Mrs. J: You know why, Xel. Your name appears far too many times on the board.

Me: No it doesn't! I'm not even behind. I got an "A" on that last assignment, too! I'm just trying to do my work, but adults keep trampling on my individual rights. You know, the ones you told us about, in the Constitution.

Mrs. J: The Constitution doesn't say anything about singing in class, or running around the room, or ignoring the teacher's instructions.

Me: I already told you, I don't follow stupid rules.

Mrs. J: That's exactly why you're not going on the field trip. Moreover, you have no right to call my rules stupid. Now it's time for you to head for home. Have a nice afternoon. Go find some nice friends and play.

Me: I don't have any stupid friends! You're going to call my Mom again aren't you?

Mrs. J: I have to, Xel. You were out of control today. Let's make tomorrow a better day. Goodbye.

Oh and that was just the start. You know, I have always hated it when teachers would call home. No good ever came from that.

So back to that day…The school was a few blocks from my house, and I walked it alone, angry at the whole world. I opened the back door of the empty house. My mother was a student, then a teacher and rarely home, and about that time my 'father' was probably already or about to become stepfather Gaav …another story all together… and he mighta been at work or sleeping off a drunk. So I'd just prepare something sweet, like sugar-tea, only to discover a note from my mother on the kitchen table, reminding me that I had art class in half an hour. That stupid art class with that stupid lady who wouldn't stop telling me what to do until I try to draw, and then she'd just tell me to try. It crossed my mind not to go, but my mother had emphasized repeatedly that she had paid money for the class and would be very upset if I didn't go. By the time I finished my tea and disconnected all the phones (this was before cellphones existed, you know) so that Mrs. Jolly's phone call wouldn't get through, I was late for my art class. So I ran out the door. Did I think of a coat if it was cold or to lock up the house? Maybe, maybe not. Details, details…I wasn't very old at the time anyway.

I wouldn't stop running until I'd get to the busy intersection of nearby Middle Something Lane and North Somethingelse Street. The sign might have said 'don't walk', but if I checked I wouldn't see any, so I'd just go. A van turning the corner slammed on its brakes 15 feet in front of me. 'Wow, I could have died. I'll never to that again', I thought. I remember thinking that then, but I'd do something just as remarkably stupid another day.

I continued on to my class at the Arts Place, where the other kids were already drawing. The teacher Mrs. Williams, greeted me, pointed to a picture of an octopus on the wall, and explained that we were trying to draw it.

Me: I can't draw that.

Mrs. W: I bet you can.

Me: No, I can't! You have to show me how!

Mrs. W: Just give it a shot.

I would start to draw and in 30 seconds, I would have created a series of curves resembling absolutely nothing. I'd crumple up my paper in frustration and ask for another one. Mrs. Williams would usually just hand me over another and avoid a 'don't waste paper' lecture, until the process repeated a few times. As she would give me that piece of paper, she would tell me that it would be my last one. Okay so now I would decide to draw the one thing I could draw to my own satisfaction: smiley faces. And, since this would make me feel happy, I would begin to sing some song off my real father's old 'Hits of the 40's' albums…loudly. The kid next to me would immediately complain, and when I would respond 'What's the matter you don't like music?' the kid would go to Mrs. Williams who'd inform me that 'singing out loud is inconsiderate'. Whatever that meant! I'd stop, but two minutes later I forget and start singing 'Singing In the Rain!'

Mrs. W: Xel, if you don't conduct yourself better here, I'll have to talk to your Mom.

To which I would respond: Who cares? This isn't even school.

By now I had filled my page with smiley faces and a few that weren't so happy, and I'd be feeling tired. When I showed my paper to Mrs. Williams, she'd nearly always express approval, which would mollify me for the time being, enough that I might go and lay down on a nearby bench.

Mrs. W: Xel, get up. Do you see anyone else sleeping in art class?

Me: No, but I'm weird, and proud of it... I'm tired, could you just leave me alone?

Mrs. W: Don't talk to me like that. Now get up, or else.

Me: Or else what?

Mrs. W: I'm talking to your Mom. Unless you promise to make some serious changes in your attitude, you won't come to this class any more.

Well, we wouldn't want that, would we? Gods, nothing would have made me happier than to drop that crappy class and just stay at home or…learn to dance! But I really did want to conform back when I was small, a little anyway. So I'd finally I get up and start a watercolor picture. Ten minutes later I'd turn around and Mrs. Williams would be talking to my mother, who would have a horrible expression on her face. Mrs. Williams would tell me to take my time finishing, so she could have plenty of time telling my 'Mom' all the things I did wrong that day. I'd go over to them, and try to give my mother a hug and Mrs. Williams an angry look, but mother would take my hand and march me to the car. She was always mad, I knew, because she's not saying anything.

After a painful discussion about my behavior in art class and why I disconnected all the phones, after dinner, after Mrs. Jolly's phone call and another painful conversation about that, oh yes…and after doing my math homework... it would be 8:00. We'd all be emotionally exhausted and I have some kind of workbook to finish, which I hadn't yet started. Sitting on top of the heirloom cedar chest in the upstairs hallway, filled with what I'd eventually learn was syndicate stuff, I wouldn't be able to focus enough to understand the questions, let alone write responses, so I'd wrap my pencil constantly on the paper as thoughts of the day's endless frustrations flash through my head—tapping out the rhythms in my head to the music in my mind going on and on… I just couldn't stop moving sometimes when I'd had a day like that, plus the only thing I'd had to eat for hours was sugar-tea. See the little drummer in me was there from the start!

Mother-dearest: How's the reading coming?

Me: I can't do it. There's questions to answer too!

Mother-dearest: Let's sit on the bed and I'll help you.

Me: This is impossible!

I'd whine.

Gods, I'm bad about that still, but back then I was always frustrated. Then things would go any of various different ways. If Gaav wasn't home, she'd be better and take her time working with me. She'd tell me what to write for the first question and I'd start to write it word for word, not having read the workbook pages to know what the hell to write anyway. She'd tell me she couldn't read my writing and would tell me to write it again. Always trying to please the bitch…er…my mother, I'd crumple up my paper and throw it, tears welling up in my eyes.

"I know we've had a tough day, but we need to finish this assignment," she'd say feigning interest, sympathy and love but oozing insincerity, kissing my head. She'd get up, retrieve the paper and attempt to flatten it out again. I couldn't face it. I'd get up and start pacing the hallway, my blood boiling. Relentlessly she'd follow me and read the next question.

"I don't know! The question doesn't make any sense!" I'd scream.

After that, she usually would have had enough. "Xelly, you're out of control. I can't work with you until you calm down. Why is this so hard for you—you're so smart? Maybe you just can't do 2nd grade work. Maybe you should be back in 1st grade."

With that she'd go into her room and close the door. I'd start to wail and pound on the door, furious and helpless at the same time. "My life is hooooorrible! There's nothing I can do to stop it! I want to just go in a coma!"

I remember that one precise moment-- I felt like my brain might explode. All of the frustrations of that horrible day, and many before it, had built up in me, and then my own mother, in a moment of accidental candidness and certain cruelty, confessed her true suspicion that I had somehow 'faked' the IQ tests or they'd gotten them 'mixed up with someone else's'—and concluded that I was in fact just simply stupid.

In a blind, anguished rage, I slammed my forehead into the railing at the top of the staircase. Again. Intense pain rushed through my head and neck. Then the pain stopped and instead it fed something horrible inside me, strengthening my resolve to end it all, so I did it again. Again. My mother heard the sound and rushed into the hallway. She grabbed me and pulled me to the floor. She smothered me in her 'loving' arms and saw the huge bump forming on my head. I don't know which of us was more shocked and horrified at that moment. She sobbed, "You hurt yourself. Why did you do that? I didn't mean what I said, I was just frustrated."

SHE was frustrated! She was the adult! I was just a little kid and it was all happening to me! I went into the bathroom and I sobbed all the frustration, tension and anger out of me with my tears and then vomited.

Mother went to get me an aspirin and ice pack for my head, and when she came back I was sitting at my desk in my room reading my workbook with almost spiritual calm, even though she told me not to worry about it. Fifteen minutes later I finished it and the questions and went to bed.

And that was fairly typical, unless Gaav was there. You'd think after my real father had drunk himself to death-- well not death as I discovered this summer, but nearly so—that my mother wouldn't drink, especially around me. Well, she did. Both of them, her and Gaav-dear. Then she'd rail on about how insignificant my problems were in light of her own and why didn't I just behave and make the world better for everyone and then he'd slap me around for upsetting her.

Ah, well, what's the use reliving all that again?

I lived in constant systematized chaos on both the inside and the outside of my mind. I was impulsive, crossed personal boundaries, was able to hyper-focus and see things other people missed but also found myself completely separate from the external world around me. I could not imagine having more than 30 second conversations with people. I did lots of great activities, but was on such a rev, that I was unable to think before acting. It was as if my body had a mind of its own. I was dropped from all the music programs at school, until some sympathetic teacher stuck me behind a snare drum.

Playing the drums was great for me, as was dancing later and later still Karate. My saving grace was using my creativity to get through life situations, but I was mad with all these repressed feelings and needs, and at not being able to do the little tasks like putting a stamp on a letter or cleaning my room. Oh yes, there was a time when I was a natural slob, room and appearance both, but that was to change in a few years with a different 'fatherly' influence.

Of course, I have some other problems I haven't gotten to all of them yet. See my mother wanted a girl. She really wanted me to have been a sweet baby girl. Instead, she got this nutty little boy. Well, she did what she could about that. I found early photos of me before kindergarten with hair to my waist in a braid…with a damned bow, which I'd have ripped out before stepping outside my house. What was she thinking? I mean most little kids all look alike, but I really stood out.

Standing out. Sometimes I liked the attention. You'd have figured most parents would have picked up on that and put me into acting classes! Other times I wished that I could just disappear; like at open house time or other events when my 'parents' would both show up with me. On those occasions, I pretended that I had been adopted, and since I looked nothing like my 'parents', people believed me! I was small and skinny, pale with this really long purple hair; that is, until I whacked it off with a pair of scissors at school one day and then Gaav took me to the barber's to make me look like a male (I think before that he may have been confused). I in fact looked much like my birth father, except that he was Japanese and that I had some of my mother's features overlaid on top of the Asian to give me an odd, but I think, appealing aspect. My mother bought my clothes, dressing me, thankfully, at school like a boy. Yes, shirts and slacks perfect for a boy that attended a prep school for the rich and famous.

Zelas, my mother, was about as tall as I am now...or an inch or so shorter, which made her tall compared to me, was oh so much younger than the other mothers—she was only fifteen years older than me—and was a drop-dead gorgeous blond. One who dressed like a tramp when she wasn't teaching. No man could keep his eyes off her, unless Gaav was there to terrify them.

And Gaav! Gods, he was a giant of a man, a hoodlum with long blazing orange hair and poor taste in clothes, leaning toward outlandish suits and an oversized, greasy trench coat. I knew him by another name at the time which translated to 'Demon Dragon King' or some such syndicate nonsense, but Gaav is who he was.

Also, he was kinda one of those really hairy guys...and it just totally creeped me out. It was (and still is!) just so gross to me. I shudder every time I think about having a body totally covered with orange curly fur like that...eeeewwwwww! Not that like more facial hair wouldn't be a welcome sight! I'm now closing in on twenty and my upper lip is just barely sporting a faint fringe of darker hair! I haven't told Zelgadiss, who's more backwards than I am, but he has that scarred thing which really messed up his hair and skin layers. I think he'd be happy to have his eyebrows grow back on that one side, though I know he wishes for normal teenage changes to just happen and get over with soon.

So when the inevitable school gatherings came up, it was always soooo painfully obvious, which kids belong to which parents. Except mine. Nobody ever managed to hide successfully that little momentary look of surprise or confusion on their face when they'd meet my 'parents'. (See Zelgadiss? I do know that look you always complained about getting from other people when they would first set eyes on you!) It actually was like a little kick in the stomach to me when that happened, no matter how much I told myself to be ready for it and pretend. But, it always happened, anyway. I hated that.

Zelgadiss heard his computer timer beep twice, signaling that it was time to turn in for the night. He closed the book using a piece of notebook paper to mark where he had left off. And left his room. He made the rounds of the house, checking that the outside doors were locked and the oven was off. Xelloss was straightening the front room, picking up stray newspapers and discarded items.

"Just finished your description of 'Gaav'," Zel said in passing. "ADD, yes…I thought so, but your relative calm is deceptive."

Xelloss simply smiled and said goodnight before turning in himself.

The next evening Zelgadiss brushed his teeth, stripped off his clothes, and slipped on clean boxers and a t-shirt for bed. The day had had its vicissitudes, including a near accident on the way to the high school, followed by a thankfully pleasant lunch conversation with Kagome, who was back with her 'not really a boyfriend', Inu. He really needed to sleep, however, the wanted to get through Xelloss' journal that night. He slid between the sheets, opened Xelloss' journal and started right in. Homework could wait.

Obsessive compulsive disorder.

Man, what a day. I walked in the door after another exhilarating (ya, right...see earlier) day at school, and visiting a severely messed up, depressed friend after that, and then I was hit with this.

I knew something strange was going on when I noticed both of my roommates were home at this time of the afternoon. As I headed to my room, I noticed a medium sized package on the table, and thought nothing of it. But, when Lina showed up at our house a few minutes later, I was totally beginning to get freaked.

So, we had this big family talk' thing, and I could tell everyone was really nervous about how I would react. It turns out that it wasn't really anything all that bad. Well, it was and it wasn't. The whole thing was about this package coming from my dead mother. She died last month, of that I was certain, I was there and saw her and my birth father blow up. And no matter what they say, it really is better the second time around! But then this package came out of the blue, for me…from a dead woman.

Zelgadiss smiled. This had happened only a few days ago in fact. He had been curious about that box, but Xelloss had just come out and told them all that is contained a few worthless notes. No syndicate anything. Nothing to worry about. He had been quite genuine, and so they had taken him at his word. Well, now to find out.

I took my box, went to my room, and locked the door. For some reason, I wasn't quite ready to share any of this with them yet...at least not until I knew what this was really all about...and what was in the box!

I cautiously opened it, sitting on the edge of my bed as I held it in my lap. On the top of the stack of things in there was a large legal looking envelope with my name on it. I opened it and found scraps of papers, notes, and journal writings, things that nobody except me had actually seen since my mother sealed them away. In the box I found some photographs—like the one I wrote about earlier which I'd destroyed of me with waist length hair and a braid!-- and a small lavender teddy bear. I guess she knew I would want to know a little bit more about my own story, so to speak. As I read the papers, I felt a tear forming in my eyes. The way she wrote, it sounded just like she had known me all my life. Sniff! Crap...

The first one: Xelly was different right from birth. He was more active, more vocal, more inquisitive, and not in a safe way. We had to watch him every minute he was awake, and, more often than not, check on him several times during the night to untangle him from the covers, or to cover him up, or to take all the toys out of his bed so he could have room to sleep himself. (Oh, how sweet—Xelloss)

Another: I am totally exhausted! All the time! I love my child, more than anything in the world, but there are times when I wish I had never given birth to him. This causes me much stress and guilt. How could a mother feel this way about her son? Why did my son have to be born with these problems. I wish he'd been a little girl. We'd have so much to share. But this child and I have no mutual interests. How can I keep him safe his whole life? How can I make life "normal" for him? (Funny now, huh?--Xelloss)

Another clipping: His kindergarten teacher loved his sweet personality. He can be a real charmer! She even overlooked his behavior. She thought he was just a little purple-eyed, purple-haired angel and she never complained about him carrying on. Then first grade came and our life fell apart. His father died and then Xelly got a teacher that was not as impressed by his charm. She immediately labeled him a behavior problem and criticized his every move. I got letters almost daily, describing every wrong move that he had made that day. She even went so far as to tell me that Xelly was immature and irresponsible and I was not helping things! I met repeatedly with her, I even had my old friend Rezo come with me once for support, trying to find ways to help Xelly with his 'behavior problems.' And that poor man!

A longer one: Things went from bad to worse as the fall went on. I married Mr. Gaav in hopes that a man about the house would help, but Xelly began to hate school more and more. He cried daily and begged me not to send him back. He began to fail and had no friends, because he was missing recess and break, because he was in trouble. Things finally came to a head in December when Xelly came home after a particularly bad day and just fell apart. He cried for hours and finally said "If you make me go back, I'll kill myself. Everyone hates me there." It tore me apart to hear my SIX year old tell me this. (Ah, too bad honey!—Xelloss)

And another: Gaav, has taught him to fight as an outlet for all his pent up aggressions. He also took him for a haircut, the ass. Now my beautiful child looks and acts like a bully. (Well get a clue, lady!—Xelloss)

Next entry: When we found this wonderful teacher, it was like finding an angel in disguise. She had him tested (which we couldn't do without a teachers help) and on medication before the end of the second term. By the end of the year he was reading! Then by the end of the summer he was reading at a grade four level, and by the next school year he was reading the books that I read, and testing at a university entrance level in comprehension as long as the test was given verbally! He still cannot do well on written tests. His understanding of the work he does in class is exceptional, however he cannot get the information from his head, through his pencil and onto his paper. And it's all the pencil's fault! (It often was! I can't write with a dull one and the teachers stopped letting me use the sharpener and I didn't know about mechanical ones…Thanks, Zelgadiss for the ready supply I have of them now…and, um, the erasable purple-ink pens…--Xelloss)

And another: The frustration that he goes through every day is phenomenal. In the morning he needs to be told how to get ready for school one step at a time until his medication kicks in. He is easily distracted by everything around him and loses his work constantly. The need for him to achieve is high. He constantly pressures himself to do better, then forgets what he was doing. He needs to be reminded just to sit and actually do the work that is in front of him.

A short note: Any type of change either in his routine or environment will completely throw him out of control for at least a week until he can become accustomed to the change.

Then one which I must have written: I'm 7yrs. old and sometimes I just have to fight. Not beat people up fight. but fight. Sometimes kids make fun of me I tell them to stop and they keep doing it then I get mad. And I yell at them. And sometimes we get into a fight and get in trouble. Not from Gaav, he thinks I'm stronger. but I'm not happy. I hope no one follows my steps. So take my advice don't get into fights. (How wise my little grasshopper—Xelloss)

I peered into the box, and studied the only thing that remained: the little teddy bear. Actually, there were a few other things: like photos of me as a baby and a group shot of my parents with Rezo and…my sister and old ones… but I'm not ready to write about those now. Anyway, looking down at the toy, I could almost imagine myself as an infant snuggled up to the little bear; but I had no direct memories of it. Still, it felt very special to me somehow. Maybe it had been hers? But wouldn't I have noticed before? Why had she kept it and…oh.

That's when I realized that this stuff must have been stuff my birth father had kept. I examined the mailing label more carefully. Ah yes, that syndicate central clearing house must still be in effect someplace. How sweet. The old man kept a few little momentos of his family that he walked out on while going for his…cure…pretending to be dead! Well, I can …let go of all that anger now. He is dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead. Wow that's a real one-handed, two-finger workout on the keyboard!

Back to the bear. I picked it up, and gave it a little squeeze...rubbing my cheek on its head, as a tear finally leaked out of my eyes and ran down my face. It felt good; kind of a warm feeling inside that told me everything would be okay. I sat there for a while, lost in the feelings of the moment. Eventually I let out a deep sigh, and set the little bear down next to the pillow on my bed and went out to relieve my friends' fears for my sanity.

Beep! Beep! Zel's computer reminder interrupted his reading again. He hated having to stop, but he knew that with school the next day, he'd regret not getting his sleep. This time he had already dressed for bed and if the doors were wide open…then let one of his other roommates deal with it tonight. He shut off his light and fell instantly to sleep.

End Seyruun High Jinx –NEXT! Chapter Six.