Things even I can't understand: 1st and 2nd grade

Some days I feel it is an insult to women who were violated and raped that I would claim that word for myself. There are times I cannot find words to express the powerlessness that still haunts me.
When I was 7 and 8 I was in a multi age classroom. I had the same teacher for two years. This teacher did not believe that I was trying hard enough, that I was honest, sweet, and sincere. She believed I was lazy, useless, and manipulative: in turn she convinced me that I was those things. There was introduced, a simple white kitchen timer that would ding when the time was up to make me finish my work on time. She would set it for whatever amount of time was allotted for me to finish my task, and I would race to beat the timer. For two years I raced to beat the timer, and each time I didn’t she would stand me up in front of the class and tell me what a failure I was, that I wasn’t trying hard enough, and that I was just lazy, and then she would tell me to stop crying because she was doing it for my own good.
She convinced me that I did something wrong, that it was my fault, and day in and day out this happened for two years until it was so engrained in me that I believed her, and no one has been able to convince me otherwise.
Other times when I didn’t finish my work she would keep me from going out to play at recess, or I wouldn’t get to eat lunch, instead I would sit at the desks near the front office and work, she ate lunch in the lounge and I worked and then went back to class, no food for me. Every Friday was cupcake day, I missed those: I wouldn’t be allowed to go to lunch or recess so I never got to buy a cupcake. I loved the ones that had spots of color in them and the vanilla frosting with the rainbow chips.
Once when my mom bought me some “Gemstone Crayons” and I took them to class she brought me up in front of the class and accused me of stealing them from another girl who had them, and then wouldn’t believe me until the girl could produce her box of crayons. She never apologized.
Half of the abuse was her memory, her convincing me that she was right and it was my fault. Once she had achieved that her torture of me continued every time something went wrong and I blamed myself.
I’ve spent all of my life since then trying to prove that I can do something right, that I’m not a failure, I’ve spent my life trying to beat a timer that doesn’t exist. Inside of me there are little 7 and 8 year old me’s that are terrified of falling short and being told how bad they are. The powerlessness of the situation has terrified me my whole life.

That phone call was about me flashing back to being told how bad I am, and what’s wrong with me and being able to do nothing but stand there and take it. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t escape from all of the memories of times it was ‘my fault.’

This abuse by my teacher has been a thread that has run throughout my entire life, it is the underlying theme of everything I’ve ever done or worked to achieve. I finally saw my life for the first time; saw the weight I’ve carried and the pain I’ve put myself through. I can’t explain why it matters, or how much it matters. I cannot explain what happened enough to make you understand what it did to me. All I know is I’m mad. For the first time in my entire life I’m mad, and I’m mad at someone who isn’t me. I’m scared of what’s going to happen now, because all of a sudden I don’t care about much of anything the memories of what has happened came in a flood and I feel as though it happened in the past, it is happening right now, and it will continue to happen. I am devastated that no one protected me, no one bothered to try to understand what this did to me. I am tired of so many things in my life going wrong.
I want a fair chance; I want to run the race without the ball and chain.