Diaries of a Lonely Pessimist: Part III

  Last night, I completely lost it. 

  I hope I never get in a state like yesterday again. Thinking about it now, it seems like a dream. But in the moment, it wasn't like that at all. It was a complete and utter nightmare.

Collage by Dylan

  Yesterday started off as any typical Wednesday did. We had Monday off from school for Memorial Day, so this particular Wednesday felt like a Tuesday. Not that it made a difference, but it's still important to note. 

  All was going somewhat well until third period, physics. I've never been good at math, and because physics is full of memorizing equations and doing complex math out on a calculator, I'm completely lost. Memorizing facts is also a troubled area for me, and so memorizing all these rules of physics has not been easy. I seem to be the only person who doesn't get it.

  I guess I should have gotten a tutor or something, but the school year is less than a month away from its close so there isn't really a point right now. If I had to go back I probably would have asked for a tutor, but my family isn't doing all that well financially right now and wasting all that money on a tutor for Freshman year is a little silly. But the point is, physics is not my strongest area.

  This particular physics class, my teacher called on me to answer a question for the class warm-up. Because the year is so close to ending, we have finals coming up, so everything is a review. Thankfully for physics the final is an MCAS (Massachusetts Comprehensive Assessment System) test rather than one that my teacher grades. However, if we fail the physics MCAS we have to take the chemistry MCAS next year, so I'm a little worried as it is. Of course I didn't know the answer to the question my teacher asked, and I felt humiliated for it. As children, we are taught there are no stupid questions. The teachers at my school do not think this way, apparently, as they always laugh and get the class to join in on your laughter if you mess up. It's a sick, sad, world, but my physics teacher is particularly cruel about this. Because I didn't know the answer the entire class stared at me while he tried to walk me through the problem. I didn't know what was going on, so I simply nodded and pretended to. When he asked me another question involving the information we'd just reviewed, I naturally got it wrong, resulting in more laughter.

  I sank into my seat, feeling my face growing bright red. My eyes were so watery that I couldn't see, and I prayed no one, especially my teacher, saw me. If he called me out for crying during class I'd surely never hear the end of it from my peers. I had several hot flashes during the whole wrong-answer experience, and I'll never forget how completely embarrassed I was.

  The same thing happens in my French class nearly every day I have it. I am absolutely terrified of public speaking, which seems to piss teachers off because they think I just want to get out of presenting for class. Of course it isn't really this way, as I have terrible anxiety that sometimes makes it hard to even breathe when publicly speaking. In French my teacher is absolutely dreadful; she is a thousand times worse than my physics teacher. Although my physics teacher has downright told me as well as several students that we're not getting into college (although I can never tell if he's serious or not), my French teacher is the epitome of evil. She has these cards with every class member's name on them, which she shuffles and picks out student's names to conjugate and write sentences on the board. Last class she called on me and, because I was so terrified, I spoke very quietly. She then proceeded to make me speak into a microphone for the class, resulting in me shaking and holding back tears. But she simply thought I was doing this to get out of work, which was definitely not the case. Anyways, I had a panic attack in French class as well as a panic attack in physics. Neither were fun experiences.

  Later that day at lunch I had another panic attack; this one was caused simply by thinking of the previous two panic attacks. I was swarmed in a flood of tears, and I quickly escaped the lunchroom and hid in the bathroom until last period.

  I couldn't wait to go home, and when I finally did, my world came crumbling down. An ex-friend from online and I had finally reconnected as friends, and I was happily chatting with her when she thought I was flirting. I was simply trying to be nice, and her friend came in and practically attacked me. The two of them harassed me to the point of further tears (something which occurs almost every single time I talk to the two of them) and made me fall into one of the most depressed states I've been in for a long while. Then the ex-friend proceeded to tell me, in much more complex words, that she wouldn't care if I killed myself. I then told her that if I ever did decide to go all the way and do myself in, it would be entirely her fault. She denied that, which made it seem like she was trying to be nice, but then she called me "kiddy" (and she knows how much I despise being referred to by age) and set me over the age. 

  Like the pathetic internet-obsessed teen I am, I began frantically googling the fastest suicide methods possible. Of course this was at around 10:30 at night, so doing a majority of them were not possible. Eventually I snapped out of it and just vented in my diary instead, but the impact was still great. I woke up practically stuck to my pillow due to the amount of tears I cried the previous evening, and I desperately longed to stay in a mental institution. However, I feared my parents would laugh at me so I decided to go to school instead, where I am now.

  I know this entire story has no relevancy with any of you reading it, but it just felt good to finally get the entire thing out on paper. I just want to stay in a mental hospital of some sort so badly, but I'm afraid of missing finals... what do I do?

Eating Myself Alive

The always-lovely Sylvia Plath.

  Lately I've just been lacking motivation in general. This applies to not only making blog posts but also trying hard in school, making things at work, and controlling my emotions. While this is quite terrible for obvious reasons, I just... don't care. At first I thought it was procrastination, but now I'm coming to realize that it's pure laziness and loss of interest.
  I've always been a negative person, but it was around three or four years ago in particular that my positivity went completely downhill. Up until around sixth grade, I tried very hard in school and maintained wonderful grades. Something happened then.. I think it was the "scary phase," the phase that most 'tween' girls go through between ages 12 and 14 where they think they know everything and want to rebel against their parents, that brought me this change in attitude. Thankfully I now respect my parents and am out of that phase, but at the time I was young(er) and naive, and very, very stubborn.
  When I was 10 I saw my first therapist. I can't remember exactly why, but I do know that it was because fifth grade (a 'middle schooler' in my town) was bringing me anxiety and stressing me out. Before middle school I'd never taken a test before and had never had to study. I had never received grades before or even got critiqued on my work. Everything was for the fun of it. But when fifth grade rolled around, the whole idea of a new school with a different education system and way of grading freaked me out. I had never received criticism before (probably why I'm so bad at taking it now), and I broke down every night because of the vast amount of homework I had. So my parents decided to send me to a friendly therapist a few blocks away, and I despised it. What was the woman, asking me such personal questions and making me talk for an hour straight? That was crazy talk! I had never felt more intellectually violated before, and so I only kept my therapy up for a few months, then quit, feeling happy and refreshed. You know its a problem when going to therapy, the place that's supposed to make you better, stresses you out.
  All seemed well until sixth grade, when my so-called scary phase occurred. I started hanging out with a group of girls and guys who in turn hung out with older kids who smoked and drank. Of course I didn't do those things, but hanging out with people who did really messed me up. I thought I was much more mature than I really was, and therefore, I could talk back to my parents and constantly be out with friends. Looking back now, I realize how flawed this idea was, and I'd do almost anything to change it. I think most kids have rebellious stages though, so I'm glad I got mine over with at a time where no other peers judged me (at least to my face).
  Summer going into seventh grade I tried my first cigarette. I thought I was so tough, so cool, almost like a James Dean-type figure. But that's when the depression really hit. I got suicidal and started to do regrettable things, mostly making out with every guy I laid my hand on. Now that I look back at that I realize it was disgusting and plain stupid, but I guess that's just how my rebellious state went. Seventh grade was a pretty good year, though, as I stopped hanging out with that group of friends for the most part and returned to my state of being a good student and overall person.
  Eighth grade was when my depression worsened. I was no longer influenced by friends, but I rather stayed in most of the time and listened to music. That year was when my classic rock obsession began, and I'm thankful it started then, otherwise I may have been slightly more messed up physically than I am now. My dad and I began to argue a lot, and every insult he hurled at me, a new gash was added to my wrist. Thankfully most of the scars are faded now and only four and a half are visible. I returned to therapy on and off through sixth, seventh, and eighth grade, too, but in eighth grade, I was the most depressed I'd ever been. Not only was I depressed, but angry, too- I was constantly screaming and crying in my bedroom and throwing silent tantrums in my brain. Thankfully I was able to stop self-harming and gradually become happier and happier.
  I call this year the year of tears. I began talking to more people online, and in turn, I lost a few friends in real life. Besides work, I rarely leave my house for anything other than school. My constant thoughts have been "be happy, be positive, love everyone!" while my attitude is polar opposite, reflecting "I hate you, I hate me, fuck everyone." I've been suicidal once or twice this year, but like I said, my lack of effort and motivation has prevented me from doing anything harmful. Thankfully I'm out of said suicidal state for the time being. I've also struggled with self image, mainly because I've done a lot of things to make my peers judge me. Starting Freshman year I began dying my own hair (even though in eighth grade it'd been dyed multiple times, but by professionals), wearing whatever clothes I wanted, wearing lipstick, and showing off my love of all things rock and roll. Towards the beginning of the school year up until March I struggled with anorexia, dropping to a stunning 89 lbs. Although my eating disorder has gotten better, I still cringe when I have a full stomach, and I avoid the scale at all costs. Working at an ice cream place really ruined my eating patterns, and I guess that's a good thing. But now I can't stop eating junk food and it's destroying me.
  So there's my story; I know none of you asked for it, but I thought it was a nice touch for you all to know that yes, I'm currently very depressed, and yes, I'm struggling. But I'm alive, and I'm thankful for that. I'd appreciate if no one left "but you're so -blah blah- why did you -blah-? You're so nice and funny and blah blah" comments because it honestly seems beyond fake and just ruins me more. My self esteem is my personal issue, and although I can tell you care enough to comment, I don't need comments rubbing it in my face. So, comment if you will, but make sure it's not something I could interpret wrongly. Thank you for listening.

Illustration by Cynthia