I don't know if I messed myself up or if my old school did.
I was taught that doing something a different way was bad. I was taught that having a different opinion than someone was bad. I was told that if I cried too much, then I would be the weak crybaby in the back of the classroom. Having emotions was the biggest mistake anyone could make.
Being yourself was what you lost as soon as you walked through those big yellow doors.
Your tucked in collared, white shirt and navy blue pants and brown belt defined who you were. All that mattered to the teachers was if they were getting paid. They didn't care what your passion was or what medical issues you had.
Your mental health was just an excuse to get out of class.
Your passion was nothing to anyone. You were just another person in the school.
You blended in with everyone. You were nothing to no one.
You weren't special.
They all treated me like I was "special." Special, special, special. Being from a military family and having a whole medical history of issues, I was treated differently. They expected me to show more respect, do the job right, and not get into trouble. The one time I got into trouble, I was put into suspension. I had to sign something I didn't understand, but I was too scared and confused to ask anything.
I gave up on even trying at that point. I failed some of my classes, mostly math, and gave up. My mind started to kill me. Yet, after three years of this, I'm still alive.
Still alive
-I.M.C 2018
YOU ARE READING
Exception
General FictionA girl writes day and night and doesn't stop. What world is there when she isn't holding the pen with her nose in a book?
