Unpacking My Load (Part One) · 8:20pm Jan 15th, 2014
Have you ever had something hit you hard and leave you feeling no emotion? Like you were empty and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't fill the void? You keep on trying to smile, to cry, to not feel broken, and you can't. You don't want to burden anyone with your troubles, but you know cliches well enough to know that's the only way you'll feel better.
You see, I've been going through a couple of rough patches for a while. I can't take it anymore. I can't remember the last time a genuine smile graced my face. I can't remember the last time my tears weren't made for crocodiles. I can only feel the emptiness that has lingered in me. I don't know what to do anymore but I do know getting stuff of my chest will help. I'm unpacking my load.
It all started two and a half years ago when I was in the eighth grade. I had always stood out among my peers due to my brains, my ADHD and my... "uniqueness". I was one of the few kids to have a 504 and make it in to PI. I was one of even fewer who had been in assisted reading during their elementary school careers to do so. Up till that year, it had been a great fit. Then I had her.
She was no ordinary "mean" teacher. She assigned a lot of homework, yes, but that the expectation. No, she was worse.
She didn't like that a silly, hyperactive, crossed-eyes kid was in PI. She didn't like that someone like me could be intelligent. She didn't like that she had to deal with the "different" one. She didn't like me. Now, I'm not saying I need everyone to be my best friend, but she was less than subtle about showing her disgust.
As you know, I find great joy in writing. It was early September, the first paper of the year. I had spent the whole week and a half prior writing, editing and revising my favorite memory from that summer. Imagine my surprise when I got in back in bloody red! Now, I know what you're thinking, "Emerald, I thought you appreciated Splicer3!" I do. I know My Unexpected Gift would be a mess without him. No, it's not that she stabbed it repeatedly with a pen. It's the things she edited.
I had written a paper on writing my first fan fiction. Understandable why she would disapprove. I only gave a short two sentence on the story as to focus on the fun I had writing it. Fine. "Wow, you used a staple to connect paper! No wonder they put you in PI!" At the time I was just confused. I wasn't sure if she was a little looney like my seventh grade instructor or trying to insult me. It later became very obvious it was the latter.
Starting my second paper, she started adding fallacious edits as to give me lower scores. She would break up my compound sentences and take away points for it. Me, being the naive fool I was, saw the Ds and Fs I was now receiving as though it had been my fault, and it began to wear on my self-esteem.
It wasn't just papers, though. My form of amblyopia gave way to, at best, mediocre to poor hand-eye coordination, so my parents drew the lines of my diagrams based on my verbal specifications as to keep me from staying up all night trying to make straight lines. I did all the writing and part identification. She would mark me down for the help I received.
This cruelty however was not limited to grading. She humiliated me in front of the entire class. She would always give me negative attention, not usually a day going by without her sending me away to the hall while everyone else got to learn. Why? Because I wouldn't understand the story or whatever the hell we were doing that day. The real reason? To break my spirit. She isolated me and talked about me when I was out of sight.
Finally, mid-February, I snapped. I was scared, alone and broken.
Can Pinkie Pie make you feel better?
The Vision Shall Rise
Two and a half years ago? Fuckit. These days there's a lot more students proving that their teachers are bullies, and those teachers are finding themselves fired, disciplined, brought up on charges, and a number of other consequences for their actions.