I frequently found myself alone but I never recall being bored. The simplest things formed the basis for imaginative games or fantastic adventures that took place in my mind. The physical pain would very quickly be blotted out by distractions of my making. So would any thoughts of further sadness or hurt. I could not or would not focus on it. It was quite literally like a light switch. Imprisoned in my room I felt safest.
Therein were no expectations or curious eyes. Interestingly, the condition of my room was sometimes a question mark but this was true of my total existence. My most recent transgression and its magnitude would generate various responses. When would I eat again? Would the bed, furniture and my toys be removed this time? I was cold. Where were my clothes?
My fourth grade teacher saw the scars on my arms and face. I saw her tears come. I don't remember much about her from the first time around but she rescued me for a time. I became her helper. My desk was next to hers facing the class. She was kind and attentive and I responded, as this was a very new experience. I loved her and I thrived and received perfect grades for the first time. A visit to a Psychiatrist, placement in enrichment classes and suddenly the next year, I was back on track with my peers. I don't recall that being of any importance to me at the time. I never attended fifth grade.