Sufyan: I've been lifted off the ground by my throat a couple of times during my high school equivalent years. The first time it happened because I laughed at brute of a yokel as he tumbled down some stairs. He grabbed me by the throat with one hand as he stood up and held me off the ground for about a second. My apologies, good sir, I shouldn't have laughed like moron at your misfortune.

The second time I just lucked out. I was alone at my locker to pick up some books before class when a couple of good-for-nothing seniors picked a fight with me by throwing a backpack next to me (they probably aimed at me but missed the fast throw). I was cornered in a horse shoe arrangement of lockers and thought the only way out was to psych them back and show them I wasn't scared. I looked over my shoulder and hissed "Quit it!" and turned my back to them to search the locker. It didn't work. Instead I heard footsteps running at me from behind. As I turned around I was immediately struck by a clutching hand and a wrist pinning my throat against the lockers with my feet off the ground. I was choking out with a stupid grin all over my face as I tightened my neck to stay awake. He was verbally abusing me though I don't remember a word he said, I was kind of focused on keeping my neck tight and looking for foothold.

Eventually he dropped me and I did my best to look unphased. I collected my books while the friend of the guy who attacked me was trying to psych me out by saying "The dude is a total psycho, I saw him murder someone yesterday. No joke!". I didn't pay him any attention, I just walked out on them as proudly as possible. Strangely enough, I didn't find the ordeal traumatising. I didn't think I was actually going to die, nor did I think they were actually trying to kill me. I understood this even as it was happening. Instead I only felt angry and ANNOYED with their violent stupidity. It would take years for me to get revenge, but it was one of the best kinds: I saw my attacker and he recognised me. The shame in his eyes was telling. I win, you wannabe thug loser! You tried to put me down but I refuse to be bossed around and abused.

I survived those years by doing my own thing, usually by befriending other outsiders and never acknowledging or submitting to the popularity contests and the violence. The blood was flowing almost daily on our floors and on the weekends the alcohol flowed. I didn't participate in either.. I was not cool enough to be one of the cool kids, but not dorky enough not to go by unnoticed and untouched. I was with everyone and no one at the same time. As a precaution I plotted my routes through the school to avoid ambushes and hecklers though, which may have helped when so many others were hurt.