Self-Inflection Program - History of juvenile violence in Tangshan.01

I'm Scottine, a fool. I am now on the brink of life and death, which reminds me of what I have to do. Because I don't want to lose my life so far.

I decided to talk to this simple binary coding system and type it in the computer. But my swollen brain doesn't allow me to write any good words, so I'm going to write anything I think about.

I'm 24 years old, no job. I've been worried about my age so much that I think I'm 25 now. I was born in a working family, and my greatest feeling of childhood was poverty. This is not due to the financial constraints of my family, but rather to my mother.

My mother, the one I want to destroy but I love, the one I want to protect but I want to destroy. From the beginning of my memory, my mother has taught me how unfortunate my family is. In her mouth, all my relatives except her are evil men who do not stop thinking about violating my family's interests and are not limited to money. She said my father did not love her and was selfish and unconscionable. She told me that ordinary people like us are hard to earn and hard to spend, so money is very important and we have to save every penny of our money. In her eyes, life was a canoe on the water that was raging, and all that had to be done was to float on the water and not die.

I don't want to write about my parents. I'll write anything I want.

My mother has very much affected me, and I have now become a man who struggles not to die, but I have also lost my right to a carefree childhood. If it wasn't for my mother who loved me, I wouldn't know if I was still alive.

When I was little, I always felt that the children around me were loud and retarded, and they were just so noisy and so happy about something very stupid that adults said and had no logical power. It makes me very tired. I'm tired of spending time with children when I have memories. In kindergarten, I just wanted to escape. Moreover, seriously, at that time I felt that kindergarten teachers were not taking their work seriously, just trying to finish it and get us kids to go home.

I later became an image of naivety in other people's minds, but I was tired of having memories and, of course, could not fit into "collectiveness".

Then my irresistible self-love may have planted seeds in my heart.

Parents often argue. For the reasons why they argued, I had vague memories only of the relatives of their father, and I couldn't remember them. When I think about it, I don't remember what it sounds like to be helpless, and I probably felt irritated, sad, incomprehensible. It may have been that I chose not to be alone in any of the parental quarrels, but rather to take my place in a false complacency. So that I can barely remember what my parents were arguing about, just remembering the high score.

I can't remember much, I can't remember much.

I remember in kindergarten, I drew very well, and the teacher gave me other children's paintings with a patch to show them to parents. But I've painted the effects that teachers don't want and they're not satisfied.

In my mother's memory, when I was a bad child, I would attack other children simply because I was unhappy with them.

I often abuse lives, insects, chicks bought from the market, and I like to abuse them to death.

I used to hate and overburden myself, and now I slowly accept it.

When I was a kid, I felt a lot of teachers and classmates didn't like me and looked down on me, and it was only when I was very old that I realized that wealth and poverty were so important that it was easy to tell which of the children were poorer and which were richer. So are adults. When I was a child, I was not dressed properly, I was not healthy enough to have a "family education", and I was born out of a group, and I became, of course, the unwelcome one of my children. In fact, I know in my unconscious that I am despised because of poverty, but I have chosen to avoid the problem altogether and have even deceived myself to feel that I do not know.

It's so classic to be born out of line.

But another complex aspect is that my family is not very poor. And my mother never taught me how to become decent, how to hide my poverty, or even how to protect my image. She also said that there was no need to care whether people saw themselves as poor. This may be an excellent idea, but it is also a demanding one. I am not stronger than others, but smaller than others, and I have never accepted her words, but I am humbled by my image.

My high school was focused on organizing daily free speaking shifts and training for students. I was standing at the table talking about my parents, and I said they were very good, but they weren't very lucky. And I became on stage a role for my parents, and I was unsatisfied and vexing at the version of God, as if a poor man who was in distress was boasting to others about his past. After my speech, my class hated me even more. Moreover, in high schools, most of the students in the classes are businessmen, high-performing, intellectual children.

Why don't my classmates take pity on me and help me? I don't want to think about it myself, sometimes.

Then one day I suddenly confronted myself with the low self-esteem caused by poverty and finally became a poor man from being a miserable man to being a poor man. I don't know why, maybe just age.

Excessive sensitivity and vulnerability and the risk of overthinking can plunge people into a vicious circle in which the brain consumes a great deal of physical energy to make it impossible to act, and the inability to act leads to spending all its time on empty thoughts and meaningless inversions. It's normal, but I'm trying to write down at least some memories, maybe for me. I'm narcissistic. I care too much about myself. It's disgusting. But that's why I don't want to die.

My primary school teacher happens to be in menopause. She used to punch me, grab me and rip me out, grab me in the head and pull me all over, crush my pencil box and so on. I recall many of these things without the pain they deserve, and it seems that my memory has long been in question.

I made a great difference to my primary school teacher, who wrote in my graduation evaluation manual that Scottine was working hard one day, as if he felt that he was trying to get approval. I told him to keep his head down and watch the road. I can't remember one thing when I see it, but I'm touched. But when I grew up, I saw the same thing in my mother's diary: "I said to Scottine, you have to hold your head down and watch the road." Of course, I don't remember how it happened, and then I saw it, and I couldn't help but laugh, and I felt a lot of nonsense.

It's about the people I remember in primary school. Many of my classmates have become a bunch of people floating in my head.

A is my good friend. I missed him very much after I stopped contacting him. When I grew up, my thoughts became very complex, and I became ashamed of him because of his stupidity, and I stopped contacting him. But I have feelings for him, and it breaks my heart.

When I was little, elementary school was a jungle society. In my childhood memory, the naiveness of the memory of children and adults is not compatible. Maybe it has something to do with my place. My house is in Hebei Tangshan, South Fort Development. This place was originally rural, and as the State enterprise developed there, a number of buildings were built and turned into development areas, which did not look rural, but were not sufficient to qualify as a county town. It is possible that the children of my hometown are also the victims of the poor and the poor. In my primary school, everyone is a fierce beast, with some methods to capture respect, attention and love. I'm the fool in the class or the weak guy, like the leanest, toughest animal.

A's is not poor, he's tall and handsome and he's popular when he's small. He was stupid, far from having any other child in mind and therefore not in the top class of the school. He likes to play with a lot of the weak in school and treats them like little brothers, like me. But I actually belong to a different class in school, much smarter than him and his other siblings, so I'm tired of it too. But he saved me from being beaten up by a lot of kids.

He beats me sometimes. There was a time when card games were prevalent in schools. Five cents a bag, five cards. One person puts his card on the ground, the other person uses his card, and if he flips it, he wins the card. It's kind of gambling. Most of the young boys are happy to save their cards. A asked me to buy a package of cards every day after school and then to lose them all to him, and then we went back home. Otherwise he'll be upset.

@is A's other brother, I hate him very much because he's stupid. It's not because I'm jealous. I want A to play with only me. It's just because I hate his stupidity. I used to beat him up, and it was all the more annoying that it was difficult to settle him for a while. The rest of his brothers, whose names I can't remember, I often beat them up because I was mean.

I don't have any allowance. I'm paying for snacks or anything. He's happy to be on a computer game. That's an ancient Internet age. We've been playing with the Gentleman Road, the wildweed tribe, the Sal, the qq-car. qq has been playing very long. Then I went to college and got out of qfeiq. I was very sad, and I sent a circle of friends saying that I miss my friends I don't know anymore. He can afford the game, and I can't, and he spends more time on the game than I do every day when my mother forces me to learn, so he is much better than I am on the game, and that makes him happy. I had his account code, I stole his sarcophagus account, sold all his belongings cheaply and transferred all his money to myself. When he found out, he questioned me, and I didn't admit it. He didn't believe it. He thought it was me.

I fought A and A a couple of heavy fights. The most important thing I remember was junior high, and I was upset that his attitude towards me for some time had become so grumpy and indifferent that one night I fought with him. Because I was very angry, so I kept hitting him. He couldn't hit me a bit, talk to me. As I grew up, I became very good at making girls happy, and he said that it was the same quality as the top class that used to fight in junior high school, and he was afraid that I would mix with them, so he changed his attitude towards me. Now I know that there is no logic in hanging out with who, and not because he found out where I was better than him. He only found out that I was very different from him, so he feared losing my friend. A is fragile.

My mother beat me most severely when I was in second grade, and A was beaten up, and I called my machine and cried and told me who beat him up. When he was a kid, he used to bully people because A was not smart, and he became the cabbage of the gang after he got older. That time he got beat up. I'm going to go out and fight. But A. called me on my landline, and my mother heard the phone, and she beat me and finally stopped me from fighting.

Play with me brought some pain to A. I have excellent hourly grades. A is standard. A lot of people think I'm much better than A because of his academic performance. "A" is the standard of the children who are squeezed by the voice of the public today, and who are kind, simple, stupid, rejected by all adults, are in great pain. He was very pleased that the history teacher had told him that he had made progress, that he had torn a volume of his history work in English classes, that he had to point at the English teacher's nose, that he had to hear the whole floor, that his parents had to mediate for a long time.

I'm not smart enough to draw an initial teacher. I did not make any progress in painting outside school, and A took me to his studio. The teacher is a great teacher in places like my hometown. I've never had a picture, I've had a lot of stills, and that makes me more than most of today's so-called art students. But A is very bad, and that's what the art teacher said. One day there were few art students. Immediately after the class, the teacher put together a few students to blow his life story, saying that A's mother was crying on the phone with her teacher in junior high school. After A had said it, he had to get up and go. A almost broke free and was finally subdued by a teacher. He cried when he found out he couldn't get out. I went home with him after being properly educated by art teachers.

He runs like an ostrich, and I've always called him an ostrich.

I spent all my time in the South Fort Development. I went to Tangshan. A very big feeling running through my junior high school is that many of my poor friends, some of them top class in school, are popular. But without exception, they were tortured by adults' denials. I'm also the victim of adults. When I was a kid, I was satisfied with a little bit of smart learning.

B is my so-called top class. He's very strong. He knows things better than any other kid. Among a bunch of kids who stink, he already knows how to show himself. He likes Bruce Lee. After Michael Jackson died, he likes Michael Jackson. He thinks they're cool, and he likes them to make him cool. He's always around little girls. He was also in a good relationship with A, and later in junior high he was already one of the hoodlum leaders who had on several occasions protected A from beating. Of course, it's just a bunch of punks in school, not some literally hooligan.

I remember playing with him when I was little, and then he used to bully me. In my barely reminiscent memory, he began without knowing that he was better than anyone else, and became aware that it was beginning to spread. One time he fought over the ping-pong table I used, and I didn't give it to him to fight with him. And then he stepped on my head and put me on the floor and asked me to call him Dad. I didn't scream, and then he stepped on it, and he went on and on and on and on. He was tired of leaving after several times.

He once robbed me of my water gun and threw it at me. I hit him hard on the wall next to his head. When I was standing in my seat, he was sitting in his seat, very far away, and he stood up with his fingers on the ground and called me over. I was about to go and fight, and almost all the boys in the class grabbed me and took off one of my shoes. This happened to make everyone laugh.

My junior high school is about 300 people, with only 200 coming up. More than 100 students went to technical schools or did not go to school. One of the students who had a good relationship with B died and his mother took him to Qin. B did not drop out of school and participated in the examination.

C's a three-generation rich and owns a commercial city. If he can't move, he'll put out $5 and $10 for snacks. He takes his classmates to his villa from time to time. He had three heads in his house and had long hair blocking his eyes. He played well with B. I used to fight with him. One time I broke C's forehead with a rock and lost a lot of blood. I was moved by C's mother when she called her parents.

One of the students in the class, D., was very happy to beat him up. On one occasion, in class, C. insulted D. in the classroom, and he cried and cried. After class, I wrote "I'm the boss" in my homework and put it in front of the C table. When C saw it, he came up to the podium and raised it out loud, asking who wrote it, and I said it was me, he punched me a few times, I didn't speak or fight back.

I am now less and less using the words of good and evil. The so-called good is the illusion of human evolution to become a complex animal with the ability to imagine.

D is the weak in the class. As a child, there were a few idiots in the school who spoke dumbly, had weak eyes, had dust on their clothes and had black stains that could never be washed off their necks. But D's not a mind-impaired fool. He's good at talking to others. Nor is he weaker than the rest of his class. The Samaye would have a group of Samaye dogs to protect the reindeer, and sometimes there would suddenly be a dog in the group who would somehow be isolated from the other dogs and eventually bite to death. D succeeded became that role. Because his grades are always the last in the class, and my primary school teacher will always take him in class. If he were the silent shadow of the class, it would be much better. However, he was as imprudent as every child of his age and had normal contact with others, and was rightly attacked by all his classmates. I was one of the guys who beat him up, and I'm under the hands of my classmates.

My class teacher is a language teacher, and in the fourth grade of primary school, he often asks questions about the interpretation of the text in class, where no one raised his hand and I was the only one who answered. So she always complimented me. In retrospect, the students should have had enough of her indecisive temperament and not wanted to attend school. I may have turned into the teacher's ass in my class without realizing it.

But I'm shocked that I've been beaten so often by her, but I think it's normal for me to go to her class and not to do it.

In my memory, it is difficult to remember warm, happy and painful things, but only sporadic. And I usually have difficulty determining whether my memory is real. I do not blame myself for the pain of what I have experienced, which I have forgotten selectively to protect myself. My memory should be distorted over time, deformed, like a broken tree, growing, deforming sharply, and becoming a subjective illusion.

According to the blue pink theory, E is a standard pink girl who likes Barbie dolls and does handwork. She liked me in fourth grade because I used to answer questions in classes, and asked other girls to confess to me. I only thought of her as my friend, but after hearing that she liked me, I accepted her and fell in love with her. I went to her house to play. She was very open, and then I wrote a little piece, and I played with her when there was an event. I didn't feel the same about opposite sex, but after a relationship, I used to fantasize about E eating me. I'm more naughty than any other little boy, and I've often had too much fun with her after thinking E's my girlfriend, more than I do with others. So she broke up with me. It's not a sex joke. I don't understand.

In junior high, E mixed up with a group of students and fell in love with many of them. Every time someone asks if E's in love with me, E gets very angry and prohibits the subject. She went to a technical school specializing in stewardess.

I came here to write more details. I wrote too rough. But I found out I couldn't write. I forgot.

The vast majority of ordinary people have little to write about in their lives, and it's interesting, and so am I. Actually, I wrote this to find something to do.

F is my friend. We've been playing together since kindergarten, and our parents know him. She used to come to my house. I spent a lot of time with her, but I can barely remember what to write about. When I was in junior high, she told me one thing, and the kindergarten girl gave me a lottery pen, and the kid next to me said, "Don't lend her, don't lend her." But I can't remember it when she told me.

She's pretty, smart, she's lively, and she has sharp teeth, and she's always a man. She sings, dances, plays at events like the Children's Day. Like many students, I gave her a copy of her homework and a lot of questions. I might have told her a lot of questions. One day she called me to her house. I went to her house earlier to talk to her, and I was impressed because she was so passionate that she listened to a very exciting song, showed me a magazine with naked women that she had turned over from her parents' room, gave me a barrel of pentacles and gave me a necklace. I'm very happy and touched. But she doesn't like me between the opposite sex. She was obscurant with a very white, light-skinned boy, and she practiced taekwondo with that boy. He's got a nose like a little meat. There are boys in the school who say they're sleeping.

One day I was running around with A and I was chasing him. I saw F and friends on the way. I didn't have time to say hello to her. I saw her and I saw her. Then I was very concerned that I didn't say hello to her, and then I saw her and I didn't say hello. I never talked to her after that, until I saw her when I took the test, and I talked to her.

I'm 24 years old, and I still don't understand why I never spoke to her again because I never said hello. I'm sometimes surprised by what I did when I was 14. What kind of mental disorder caused me to do this harm to others?

I am, indeed, a little isolated, with a tendency to alienate all, but that is certainly not why I am acting so strangely. I have never acted solely to harm anyone. When I was young, I was sick and spent the last few years in hospital. When I was a kid, I was stupid and my neighbors asked my mother if I could go to school. I can live a normal life now, and it may already be different. The lateness of primary school classes is accompanied by "reports", which teachers say are not allowed to enter. About 1st and 2nd grade, when I was late in class and I forgot to shout the report, the teacher of the class was a sweet mother, who told me to walk back to the door and call out the "reports" and then come in, and I went back to the door, standing there, and I didn't say a word, and I didn't move, and the teacher asked me why I didn't move, and the matter was dealt with half the lesson and finally called the parents. But the call for a report can also be interpreted as an implicit resistance to formalism at a time when I'm not very knowledgeable, but suddenly I don't talk to F anymore, and I can't find any logic. My language, my action, my expression, my thoughts, all sorts of moves, all sorts of things, are called different, and they're the subject of everyone. Perhaps I was a puppet who represented a "discretion", and the producers thought I was not different enough, so they added an event to my behavior that represented a difference, so that I could continue to exist as such.

I often remember what pains me and torture myself.

I had a dream one day in junior high that I went to the platform at the corner of the lower secondary stairs and came downstairs to a little girl who asked me if I said where the English teacher was or what she was saying, and she kept repeating that. She said there was something wrong with me, that she was silent, that she had no teeth, that I understood what she said from her mouth. At that point, she also noticed that I had discovered something different, and suddenly she was turned into a big mouth full of teeth, staring at round eyes, salivating a fat devil, who grabbed my arm and shouted at me in the most vicious manner. The sound of many people's neat footsteps came from upstairs, and I was afraid to let the devil out of my sight and saw a purple foot with the light. I'm scared, I'm emotionally broken. The desire to survive at this time has led me to decide immediately to calm down. I did my best to restore myself to reason. I woke up and my body was shaking.

I play with G and H. They both study well. G was the son of the headmaster, who one day fell from the top stage and fell and fell, saying that I pushed him, and that I had been verbally abused by the headmaster. After school, the two of them used to come downstairs and call me out. When I came out to play, the two of them would discuss a plan to take me apart, and then they would run home and disappear before me. I couldn't find them anywhere. I went home. They played that a lot. On one occasion, water pipes were repaired in the district, and a large pit of concrete, filled with mud. G and H let me down, I'll go down. So I went down and they left, and then I climbed up from the pit and came home with mud.

I drew an RPG game for a lot of people. He's an interactive system. By 2010, they had been made under the age of 10, and they were very advanced. I didn't get in touch with him later, but he's probably turned into a creative binary.

The Self-Reflection Programme is a deep-seated self-discovery that encompasses the value and organization of personal memory, dreams and various life-story pieces. Through this plan, we hope to join you in building a shared collective unconscious that will allow us to travel together in an infinite ocean. The plan encourages us to look back at our experiences and to combine the fragmented memories and dreams into a meaningful story in order to better understand ourselves, their past and their future. By sharing and sharing these precious pieces, we can build deeper links and jointly explore the complexity and beauty of human life.

Join the plan.

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