Prelude of Light

Throughout elementary school, I got bullied immensely for the way I looked. I was perceived differently for my looks and personality, but it hurt a lot worse in the first stages of Elementary.

Because of getting bullied constantly (and for no reason at that fact. I wore a dress to school and got bullied the whole day by one boy for looking ''ugly'' in it), I tried to take out my frustration and sadness with an activity that can make me forget the horrors I endured during school. I tried coloring, watching TV when I got home, or watching my brothers play video games. But, nothing worked. The back of my mind constantly held the insults and it was tearing me apart. One day, my brother noticed how gloomy I looked when I came home from school one day. He told me to go to the living room, where he had a Nintendo 64 set up, with a game title on the screen and the controller in his hand. He said, ''Here, play this. It will make you feel better.'' It was The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, and I was incredibly happy to be able to play video games, because my brother wouldn't let me near any of his games in case I would break them. But, he allowed me this one time to play to see how I would enjoy it. 

(Game play from Sonic The Hedgehog on the Sega Genesis)

I had finally found something to make me forget everything that was happening during the day, and go to my own little world when I got home. Every day after school, I would go home and play whatever my brother decided was appropriate for me to enjoy. It was mostly Zelda (if you are unfamiliar with Zelda and have free time, here is what it's about: http://www.zelda.com/universe/?ref=) or Sonic, but either of those were perfectly fine, because it helped me forget things for just a little bit. I was still bullied in school for idiotic reasons, but it didn't matter at this point. I finally found a way to escape reality, to crawl into my own little world filled with pixels and graphics. Playing video games (specifically Zelda) got carried through Junior High, where, you guessed it, I got bullied there, too. Obviously, kids were older, smarter, and had harsher insults to think of, so the insults were a lot worse than how they were in Elementary school, and sometimes video games didn't work. But, I always managed to feel better when I picked up a controller rather than wallowing in self-pity over myself for looking the way I did, or acting the way I did around people. The insults didn't matter as I got through Junior High, because at the end of the day, I had something to turn to that would make me incredibly happy. 

(Game play from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time on the N64)

The bullied continued up until High School, but I was awfully pessimistic about basically everything (mainly because of all the bullying I endured), and insults didn't bother me as they should have. They went through one ear and out the other, and at this point, I was still playing video games. Not just to escape, but it kind of became an addiction. Or a luxury, should I add. Most days it was an escape from reality because it was too much to handle sometimes, but it was mostly to channel my creative energies. I ended up meeting people with the same interests as me, and it was such a exciting experience, since I could find people that liked the same things that I did. For the most part, a lot of games I got into made my creative juices flow while I was in class and a topic related to a few video games that I have played (so weird, but it got me an awesome grade!). Zelda, and video games in general, are very active in my life today. Not as much, because college likes to take a big part of my free time away along with other activities, but I can happily admit that video games got me through the dark times of my childhood. David had his escape through Alice, I had mine through pixels and graphics. 

Earliest Childhood Memory

When I was about 5 years old (estimate), I was playing basketball outside late at night with my father and one of my brother's friends. I was acting obnoxious, trying to show off to someone I've never fully met, before. That was my nature when I was little, and knowing me, I couldn't stop myself. Half way through the game, the friend (it's tedious to repeat ''friend'', but I would rather not name him) we had over was getting irritated with me constantly, since I kept jumping through the game, and having my father stop because, from his observance, ''I was being super adorable'', thus making the game stop periodically. Close to the end of the game, the friend told me to go underneath the basketball hoop, so I can catch the ball in my hands. My dad wasn't paying attention to what the guest had said, so I ran underneath the hoop to catch it to impress him. He made a perfect shot, which landed right on top of my head (the impact was a lot worse than it should have been, because I had the tendency to bang my head against things when I didn't get my way. Sad, but true. The constant hitting of my head made my skull/head more vulnerable to attacks). I was too little to remember what I had felt, but my dad tells me from time to time that he could have sworn he heard my skull crack. (From my dad's point of view) I fell  on the concrete, and passed out. He had called my mom, and disregarded the guest we had over. I was immediately rushed to the emergency room.

For some odd reason, I remember waking up on a bed that had a white sheet on it in a dark room. Directly above me was a yellow, dim light. I was looking around, not even sure where I was, until I heard voices. I sat up, and saw my mom talking to the doctor. They didn't hear me get up, so I walked into the hallway, and looked both ways. One way was all white, with a white door at the end of it. Above it was an obnoxiously red 'EXIT' sign. The other side of the hallway was an endless strip of white tiles and a perfectly waxed floor. It seemed like you could walk for an eternity and never find the exit. This all seems like a dream to me, at least the end of it. I can't fully remember if I dreamed of this when I was older, or if this really happened. If it was a dream, it was very descriptive and it seemed realistic. Each time I tell the story, more gets added, or I leave out a big chunk of it. 

I don't have any pictures of the event (thank goodness. I would question what my parents/who took the picture and ask why they were taking a picture of me passed out on the concrete rather than helping me? But, whatever). So, this is what I looked like when it happened!