My Krazy Kandies

Wordsmith

February 10, 2011 on 1:55 pm | In Awesome, Boring Shit, Shit Happening | 2 Comments

I learned something recently. About life. About me. About school. I learned all of this through words, though not through talking to myself, as my mother would, and not through talking to a friend, like some might. I spoke to someone I hardly know. He lives in Kentucky. We’ve only spoken face-to-face on a webcam of my friends, and she was there to talk as well. This boy, Derik, is 19, in college. He’s pretty cool for a guy, and I like him a lot. As a friend, maybe a little more.

I spoke with Derik last night. It was a good, fruitful conversation. I learned of several songs that I had never heard of, and I fell in love with a majority of them. It wasn’t until much later in the conversation that we started talking about more interesting topics, though I supposed that the change in language was partially my fault. He asked me why I was upset, because I had posted a status, perhaps, or maybe Devv had told him that I seemed “off”. Not sure, but he asked me what was wrong, and I told him in basic terms. My horrible living situation, my difficulty with school, and my nearly-clinical depression.

Of all the things he could’ve asked, the first thing he wanted to know about was school. He asked me why I was having trouble with it, and I told him that I thought it was the depression. I was having a hard time getting out of bed to go to school, and I had been having that trouble since I returned to my home school.

We talked about it for a little while, and I explained to him that it wasn’t like I didn’t like the people; no, I loved the people (except Mr. Hertzog, he’s an asshole). I had never liked the subjects of math and Social Studies, but I liked the teachers for the most part. So he asked me why it was so hard for me to go somewhere that I enjoyed being.

That was when it hit me, rather like a car into a brick wall. No, it wasn’t the people, or the subjects, or the lunch food.

It was more like the trauma.

You may or may not already know this, but when I was in elementary school, I was a problem child. I was rather dysfunctional in school, whether I was cranky or hyper. I was throwing hissy fits and swearing and screaming at teachers and students alike. I remembered suddenly that, when I had been in the 3rd grade, I had been sat next to a boy I hated; Cody. He picked on me. He didn’t ignore me or try to get me in trouble, so to speak, but he bullied me. He teased me. He made fun of me, and I would tell him to “shut his fucking mouth”, and I would get in trouble, no questions asked. That was when I threw my fits.

Other than that, I was more or less traumatized by those experiences. And I have gone and throw myself back into the place I’ve been cursing and hating my entire life. It’s no wonder I’m having so much trouble functioning in my classrooms. I suppose I still haven’t come to terms with my childhood. It’s probably the same with my father. Until I come to terms with what’s happened between us as a family, I won’t be able to let him go like my mom has.

See? I’m learning.