I've always been a little different

I've always been a little different. I'm not sure if I would say that it's been in a good way...just in a way.  Somewhat sequestered from other children, I was a little confused about my place. Looking back, I guess I just assumed I was a very short adult. I had very little exposure to other children and the exposure that I had was not what I would consider positive.  I found other children to be a little dirty and the nose picking and sticking out of their tongues was "beneath" me.  I would rather soak up an encyclopedia or listen to the adults than play with other children.  Since I don't recall my life before I could read, I'm going to assume that I was around 3 when I understood how to put words together and read.  I recall reading Chitty Chitty Bang Bang repeatedly prior to my 4th birthday.  My mother changed my birth certificate so that I would turn 4 in kindergarten.   Ah, kindergarten, what a horrible experience.  Almost daily, I would ask my teacher to move me to another desk.  I would complain that whomever was sitting next to me, either kept asking me questions, touching my long hair or just plain smelled bad.  Kindergarten was when I had my first experiences with boys that had crushes. I had my proposal in kindergarten he made an engagment ring out of a ding dong wrapper....ugh... I never wanted to go to school again.  Gerald was his name.  He asked for my phone number, I gave him the number of the fire department.   I was the most outgoing, anti social person you would ever meet. I never thought I was better than other children, I just was operating on another level.  I had an incredible imagination. I had very interesting imaginary friends and later as I became a little older and I was able to express what my friends told me and who they were. I captured the interest of the adults.  I would make comments that made them stop in their tracks. I understood how molecules and atoms worked. I could move things with my mind and eventually my mother realized that my imaginary friends were not imaginary... they were souls that were on another plane of existence.  I liked the attention at first. Then it became taxing to go to haunted houses in the middle of the night in dark corners of Phoenix Az or having my mother gather a group of people together so I could channel souls who had moved to another plane of existence, and go to school the next day and act like a normal first or second grader.  Even though I was way ahead of the other kids in the class, I was tired and sometimes I was having flashbacks from the events of the night before.  It was hard for me to let go of what someone had experienced as they died or the risidual emotions derived from a life unfinished or a person that had felt that they had been wronged.  Many of my teachers thought I was day dreaming all the time, when in actuality, I was still being inundated by scenes from the life of the spirit that had used my body as a vehicle the night before.  Sometimes, I was feeling the angst, pain or sorrow of that spirit, but since I would remove myself from my body when they came through, I had no understanding of the incredible feelings that were stirring my psyche.  I remember one time in first grade, it was my turn to hand out graham crackers and milk cartons during snack time. I was looking forward to the responsibility and I was anticipating my chore, but I was being inundated by pictures in my mind of someone's last moments on earth.  It was a cascade of memories that included feelings of incredible sadness.  I was caught up in the moment and my teacher looked at the clock and said that since I had failed to recognize that it was snack time, that someone else would be given the task.  That was the beginning feeling unworth.  Even though I could not choose when a spirit would grab my attention and try to communicate with me, it appeared to other's as if I was lazy or a daydreamer.  Many times I would be in a world of what I thought of "spyrograph" images, that later I understood to be atoms, or I would be experiencing a stranger's last moments or their unfinished business and I was perceived as stupid. I had so much going through my mind that was so far beyond what the hell Dick and Jane were doing, yet no one had a clue. I wonder who I would be right now, if anyone would have understood what was going on in my head and nurtured it instead of exploiting my gifts.  How cool it would have been to have known someone like me...