I use to interpret things exclusively my way. From situations to emotions to reactions to interactions, my twelve-year-old understanding of things was steadfast and undisputable. In the moment that I decided what was right or wrong, worth it or not worth it, favorable or unpleasant, there wasn’t a thing in the world that could waive my resolve. Thing’s are only fully clear in hindsight, and I can only now see with crystal clear clarity that makes my current character wince the reality that my egotism projected unto others. Through my blinding self-regard, I would see my mothers contempt from my actions and behavior as that of a totalitarian authority, oblivious to her own interpretations and only concerned about my own. When I first got suspended from school, I was eleven, it was the sixth grade, and I followed the escort of my mother in both obstinate and aggrieved fashion, struggling to ignore the Knot ballooning from my forehead as my means of letting those telling me that I was wrong, that I was irrefutably right.