[Aaroneet]

I had a recent outburst on this web site when I saw a gang of people belittling another. Perhaps I should explain myself:

When I reached the tender age of seven, I was diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis. My body was at the mercy of the prednesone I had to take to keep it in check; my emotions ran as rampant as those of an impulsive animal. I couldn't control what I said, what time I woke up, what I ate, or when I went to sleep. For months at a time, I was living but I wasn't truly living my life. I was criticized harshly in school because I had an inability to follow directions. To further my problems, I lashed out at anyone who tried to "help" me; any form of aid was mistaken for more criticism. My classmates belittled me daily, not only for my class conduct, but for my restricted diet. I couldn't do what others my age could; I couldn't even so much as eat a package of M&M's, or raw fruit, for that matter! As the teasing reached a point when others told me that I was better off dead, I felt my childhood slipping away from me, slowly but surely. At the age of seven, I knew what it meant to live. I knew what it meant to die inside a drawn-out, painful death. As silly as it seems, I'm still waiting for my childhood to return, for me to be able to put death aside, and trust someone the way I innocently trusted others. My Ulcerative Colitis was put into submission, but living with the disease took a greater price than I could ever have imagined.

When I see another have to suffer through being "belittled" or otherwise picked on, I grow disappointed. Not just in the bullies, but in myself. I see my childhood replaying before my very eyes, one step at a time...

You see, anger doesn't stem from nothing. It has a rational face, and a living, breathing soul. It has, in its arms, me- the seven-year-old living with U.C.