High School Sucked: An Occasional Series

10th grade English. We were supposed to be quietly reading Shakespeare. I felt sick, claustrophobic, and like I may burst into tears at any moment despite the medication that was intended to do otherwise. I made my way to the front of the classroom and asked Mrs. B in a whisper if I could have the bathroom pass. Up until then, we had a decent student/teacher relationship I thought. Unlike most of the jocks in my class I actually gave a shit about what we were reading or writing. But that was mostly thrown out the window in my case due to the fact that I had started accruing a substantial number of absences which I never really explained, so most teachers had me lumped into the "slacker" category. Unlike those who had initially made themselves known as slackers, I was treated with more disdain because no one likes to see someone who started out with potential head downhill so fast. Mrs. B looked up at me with a frown and shook her head "I'd rather not have you leaving class" she said sternly "I've spoken with Mr. S (my guidance counselor) and I know about your... problems." I cringed. While no teacher wants a student who's a possible mental case on their hands, she said it in a way that made me feel if I'd just asked permission to deface school property. Or as if I belonged in a straight jacket. Tears welled up in my eyes. "Well I had thought that was confidential" my voice shaking "but I'm really feeling sick and need to go to the bathroom." She handed me the hall pass, expressionless. "Quickly." I went to the bathroom in tears and dry heaved in one of the stalls. Now I wished that I was the type to deface school property. Fuck them. I wondered who else knew about my "problems" and regretted confiding in the guidance counselor. After all, we both knew he wasn't the kind of "counselor" I needed but he was the person I was assigned to speak with if I was having trouble. And talking to him meant more time away from classes that I hated, which I was sure they would also catch on to if they hadn't already. I didn't expect their sympathy, but I also didn't understand why my hurting myself made other people so angry. If this was some inspirational movie, there would've been some special teacher that reached out to me but also commanded respect and put me in my place with some tough love/heavy dose of reality kind of stuff. And I would struggle and cry and threaten, but after an uplifting music montage of getting my life back on track, would be a better stronger person for it. But of course I'm not saying that happened.