The emptiness of hating school

I will never forget the day it was May 2011 I was sat in French, the class I hated the most. Ironically even though it was the only one I ever spoke in. I will never forget the train home from my dads house when I was weeping all day because I had to leave London and to face the idea of school on Monday was unbearable. By this point school meant nothing to me and I didn’t know why I didn’t have the guts to leave. It had been about eight months of misery. Complete silence which of course leads to complete social withdrawal and isolation. Why was I so afraid to talk to anyone? I wasn’t four years old! It was supposed to be my last year of school, ironically I always (falsely) assumed it would be great and would make me. But no, it destroyed me. Why didn’t I tell anyone I couldn’t speak. How unhappy it was? How afraid I was to walk in an RE or science lesson? A year; before the idea I would be so depressed when I would spend all day crying at home wishing I was dead or being in lessons and falling asleep most time, living in a fantasy world where things got better, which just didn’t happen, as well as the fact that I would end up barely attend school to me would have been appalling. From not being a bad student to a year later being predicted to fail all my GCSEs, and there I was not caring anymore. I was a crumbling mess at the thought of walking through the school gates. How did it get to the point where even the idea of seeing my friends wasn’t enough? I couldn’t understand my own behaviour. In my emotional immaturity it was everyone problem but mine. It’s my friends fault I can’t pick myself up, it’s my family’s problem that things are going wrong. I’m not seeing that it’s my own social anxiety has got to such an unhealthy level that I’m not functioning in a normal way. I’m not getting that most fifteen year old girls don’t spend all day crying at home wishing they didn’t believe in God so they could take those 60 tablets, to make the pain go away. It’s had become my horrible reality. The fact that I got 115 on my grade five piano and I didn’t even care, showed how far I had gone.

I’m looking around and seeing my friends be just fine, and I’m realising I used to be just like them. I’m thinking what the hell has happened here?  I’m sat here in this French lesson and I’m hearing my behaviour is odd and abnormal. I’m next to my two best friends and I’m finally getting after eight months that this year has been the worst, it’s been a disaster, and yet even the thought of spending time with those (two) is not enough to get me out of this never ending hell I have locked myself into.


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