I wrote this in my fifth period, to make it look like I was busy working. I don’t like that teacher.

     Their are many problems people have in their lives. Depression and anxiety the most common, some cases worse than others. I myself have the kind that is worse. Much worse.

     I can start from the beginning, but that’s a long way back. I’ll make it short. I was a generally sad kid when I was little; my parents were divorced, my mother got into a near-fatal car accident (leaving her with a back and memory that will never be the same), and it all happened before the third grade. I moved cities in the third grade, because my mother couldn’t afford to pay rent on our home, because all the money was put into her surgeries and medicines for her back. When I moved, the only friend I had was a sadistic asshole. He beat his pets, his family, even his friends. Most of the time spent at the daycare centre I went to was alone, in a corner, thinking of all the mean things kids said to me that day.

     Enter middle school. Bring in shitty teachers, poor friends, and a fuckload more bullying. I got into my first (and hopefully only) fistfight in seventh grade. It was with a kid who picked on me since I first move to San Jose. I didn’t win. I didn’t even throw a punch. I was beat, chocked, and dragged along the grass, with a whole crowd to watch. Words like loser, pussy, faggot, and quitter don’t even scratch the surface of the things they said to me. There was no escape.

     I had my first panic attack in seventh grade. It lasted a full week. I thought I was going to die. After about half a year of off and on anxiety/panic attacks, I finally went to a doctor for help. I was prescribed Ativan. I took it whenever I felt a panic attack coming on. It made me feel numb. By the eight grade, I didn’t need to take my Ativan anymore. But that doesn’t mean the depression never stopped.

     High school. Not as bad as I had once expected. I made friends. I learned the hard way that people do genuinely suck. I learned that no one cares about anyone but themselves. Freshman year was alright, nothing bad about it. People actually think I’m a cool guy. Summer was alright too, just not a whole lot was done. Camping was fun as hell. But now, it’s my sophomore year. I’m taking two honors classes. They do expect a lot, absolutely. But one teacher pisses me the fuck off. Have you ever made a dot drawing? You take a pen, and start putting dots in whatever shape you want. It takes a stupid amount of time. I started working on one in my advisory class, just a circle, with the dots getting sparse towards the center. That alone took a full half an hour, maybe longer. Lunch happens, then I go to my fifth.

     We’re supposed to be writing some history essay (it’s an honors history class) but the words couldn’t fully come to me. So I take my drawing out, and start putting dots on it, to get me to think. Repetition, it helps the mind. I made some eyes, and started working on a claw-type thing. The teacher walks by, rips it from my desk, crumples it, and throws it in the trash. Almost a full hour of work, out the fucking trash. He came over and gave me a speech about how “you’re an HONORS HISTORY student, people in regular classes who hate school do ‘this stuff’” (as he points to some fucking SCRIBBLES to the side margin of my notes. The kind of scribbles of “I’m done taking notes, just waiting for everyone else to finish” type scribbles) and how “this is pointless, do you want me to go back to giving people homework every night, and say it’s all because you decided to doodle during class time?”. That right there set me the fuck off.

     What If I said something similar? How about this: School is pointless. Do you want me to go back to the way I was? The way I’m still recovering from? To go home every night, think of all the different ways I could kill myself, and cry myself to sleep? To think of all the people that have insulted me? Beaten me? Harassed me? Do you want me to end it all, and say it’s because you decided to throw away my only method of coping?

     Moral of the story: don’t fucking be a close-minded asshole. People have bigger problems than you think. Don’t judge. It makes you a douchebag. Food for thought, dickweed.

I might include the photos in a later post.