Turning Away from the World
In the course of my life I have been an object pushed and pulled by various forces and natural causes. I am a wave rolling up on shore, a landslide gathering debris, a storm blowing over, an untimely birth given to human beings. It doesn’t matter. I have found that living my life passively is an effective way to deal with the constant horrors that this world brings me.
1st Period.
I arrive at school late. The result of my father’s late start, the long commute to his work and the long drive back over to school. This is further stalled by factors out of my control, school busses and traffic getting in the way, lights that won’t turn green, the illogical road design. I am not responsible for these things.
As I enter my class a half an hour late, a number of my classmates look at me disparagingly, and then proceed to blurt out, “OOooh, late again!” My head is cast down to the floor, pushing my heavy glasses up with my fingers. I have headphones on, trying to block out their noise. I prefer heavy metal for school. It calms me. My hood is up over my head. I can barely see where I’m going.
I take my assigned seat next to my friend. The class is Family Relations. The teacher looks at me disapprovingly but continues teaching off of her powerpoint. My friend Sam says to me, “Oooh, you’re soo late, why are you always late?” I turn to him, shrug, and then turn up my music.
2nd Period.
I’m in the locker bank exchanging textbooks that I don’t use for other textbooks that I also don’t use. Sam has followed me from class, but I’m in a very irritable mood and I don’t feel like talking. Today for some reason the clothes I picked out were the worst ones available in the entirety of my closet. The jeans I’m wearing are too big for me and they’re constantly falling down, my hoodie is too tight and I feel hot and awkward and not myself. “Late again!” Sam exclaims coming up to me, pointing the finger at me. “Yeah,” I agree with him. “That’s me. The late one.”
“Gay.” He insists, pointing at me laughing. “You’re pretty much a truant at this point. You’re probably going to end up in juvie.” “Yeah” I tell him. “So.” He flicks me off ironically and laughs, and we part ways to second period. I can’t understand why I even talk to him. He just tries to make me feel stupid. Why are we even friends?
My 2nd period class is English where we read a bunch of novels that I’m not interested in and have class discussions where everyone voices their opinions very loudly or not at all and no one listens to what anyone else is saying because we are all so absorbed in our own wisdom. We have assigned seating and I sit right next to this girl who looks down on me as though I am particularly pathetic to her while I sit beside her paralyzed with anxious thoughts and embarrassing nervous ticks.
Everyone files in. I tell this girl, “Hi.” But she ignores me and she does this very easily like it’s second nature to her. She’s a natural at it so I think she must have real talent in this area. She is also wealthy, judging by her clothes. She has expensive taste like most of the other kids at this school. But unlike me. I don’t feel comfortable in any of my clothes unless I’m wearing all black with baggy jeans and oversized hoodies. It doesn’t matter. I am still uncommonly plain looking and pretty boring to the eyes. I sit next to this girl, my heart at times beating wildly out of control, not wanting to look her in the face because of the anxiety that I feel. I can barely concentrate on what the teacher is saying. I start having trouble remembering how to breath properly. My thoughts are disorganized and scattered. My hands are trembling trying to write with my pencil. The lead breaks, but I can’t ask her for a spare pencil. I can’t look her in the face. I am afraid that she will find my appearance gross. I can’t ask her. Not like this. My anxiety takes over, there is nothing I can do. I will remain the unfortunate blemish on her perfect imagination. In other words, she sits next to a vacant chair because I cannot face her even if I wanted to.
3rd Period.
This is Band class for me. I play the trumpet, I’m third chair and I spend hours a day practicing. I nervously use the bathroom before class, checking the mirror filled with paranoia about a million things that might have gone wrong with my face.
Walking to class down the hallway, I find myself being violently shoved into the white brick wall by one of my enemies. The impact jars my body and I look up at him with hatred. He is pissed off at me because I made fun of him the other day and he overheard it. It doesn’t matter. He is 3 feet taller than me, a giant football player and I don’t want to fight him. Maybe I’m afraid of getting into a fight. But I was mean to him and I probably deserve his anger. I yell after him, as he walks away, “Hey, what’s your problem!” But he doesn’t answer me. I let him go. I don’t want this controversy in my life right now. I just want to be left alone.
4th Period.
Homecoming is tonight, so I bury my head in my arms. I don’t want to think about or imagine things that I cannot have. Personal Finance class is going on around me and I am disengaged. I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself because of my problems. I feel particularly unattractive to girls and uncommonly foolish and naive not knowing what to do with one even if I had one. It doesn’t matter. I’m controlled by my anxiety and my severely low self esteem which has been reaffirmed in a feedback loop of contempt and scorn that girls have shown towards me year after year in my life. At this school, they have eyes that I can’t measure up to. They want nothing to do with people like me and I’m seen with all of the wrong people too.
Sam is one of them, and he sits next to me while everyone around the table is talking about Homecoming. Sam curses profusely and then makes graphic, degrading comments about a particular girl that he wants to ask out. Another friend of his at a nearby computer joins in the conversation whispering several of his favourite obscenities and degenerate remarks. I feel numb to their talk swirling around me. I don’t join in, but wonder what I’m doing here, sitting next to this group. I don’t have any other friends to sit with. But I know that I’m in the wrong place. It sounds like they have some especially gross plans for tonight while I’m looking forward to getting home and taking a long shower to wash off all of their filth that clings to my thoughts making me feel so perverted.
Lunch period.
This is a break from Sam, a break from him and others like him. A chance to sit at a table with a nicer class of people. But I can’t win, even here. I have withdrawn from this group too, not because I wanted it to be this way, but we drifted apart years ago for complicated reasons. I barely engage in their conversation but keep my head down, eating my usual bag lunch. I drain my water bottle and listen in to their innocent talk. They seem to live life so easily. Almost all of them are socially outgoing, animated people. I hear about all of the opportunities they have. They go on exciting trips and thrilling adventures, they travel to the brightest, happiest places in the world. It’s funny, I don’t seem to qualify for these trips. They don’t seem to come my way. Where are they hiding? These people seem to know where to find them, — perhaps with their money and connections. But they make it all sound so easy and natural.
The boys at this table have it all settled for Homecoming: They are all meeting at one boy’s house (or mansion), their dates are coming over, their tuxedo’s are already picked out, pictures will be taken and then photoshopped. An expensive rental van will drop them off. It’s all worked out. It’s all been so carefully arranged. But I am not invited. I’m not really part of their group anymore. I just sit near the end of their table and listen in. Hearing their plans, I feel so much worse than I did an hour ago or even since the morning. The food I ate for lunch is suddenly making me feel sick and I’m tired too. There are two more hours of the day left. Then I can go home. Then it will all be over. Only two more periods left.
5th Period.
The last two hours always seem to drag by. Sam is sitting next to me again and he is gossiping steadily with disgusting words aimed at all of our peers. My brain starts to feel broken into and violated. This is health class and our teacher uses a powerpoint to show us highly detailed imagery on the screen of infectious and contagious skin diseases. I can hardly look up at them because of the way my stomach feels so I stare down at the floor while everyone in the class makes exasperated cries every time the slide changes.
Sam talks my ear off and I begin to feel drained of life. I’m already ashamed of my physical appearance today, but now I feel emotionally dead and numb inside.
6th Period.
Last class, Algebra. I am mentally bankrupt here. Thankfully it will all be over soon. The teacher keeps writing arbitrary, random numbers on the blackboard and explaining to us multiple, practically useless formulas before she has finally run out of numbers and equations to torture me with. Class is finally over. I made it. It doesn’t matter.
I bolt out of class to my locker, avoiding every person that I know. Grab my things, race out to my car. I’m going home now. I just want to get home. I just want to get away from everyone.
I eventually arrive home, I go upstairs straight to my room and close the door behind me. I’m in an empty house, I breathe a long sigh of relief. I am so tired and depressed from the day. Thoughts of homecoming tonight continue to darken my thoughts and I wonder where my headphones are because I need music to drown out these upsetting emotions that fill my brain, otherwise I’ll fall into a violent depression.
Listening to my music, at least I’m insulated from other people. My parents will be coming home later tonight since they carpool on the way home. At least I am safe from other people for a little while longer. I turn on my console. I’m addicted to a puzzle game that helps me get my mind off the day. I waste hours on it but I gain a lot of happiness from it. The game involves trying to roll a stone up a mountain, through fire and water, and adversity and hardship, but when you reach the top, the stone is reset right back at the bottom again. There is always another mountain to climb, more traps and enemies to avoid, constant battles, endless frustration, repeated difficulties, numerous setbacks, emergencies, handicaps, pits to fall into, failure and defeat is always looming.
Heavy metal is playing loudly, it is deafening in my ears, the stone is being rolling up another mountain, crashing into debris and garbage in the way but I keep getting knocked off the edge. I roll another stone. Falling off the edge. Another stone and I’m falling off the edge. I pause the game, feeling very upset inside. I realize I’m not in a good place to be playing this game right now. It’s too difficult and it’s upsetting me. I take my headphones off, drop the controller from my hands. I am so sick and weary of life right now. It doesn’t matter. I’m just another object to be despised. I must not be a human being. I might as will be a figment of these people’s imagination. People either talk at me, or don’t listen to me and treat me like I don’t exist.
Sam has started texting me. But I don’t want to talk to him right now. He keeps pressing me about my plans for Homecoming tonight. Abusive words are filling up my phone. Asking me, “What’s wrong with me? Why am I pathetic because I don’t have a date? Why don’t I hang out anymore? Why am I such an awkward recluse because I should get out and start going to parties and meeting people. That’s what I should be doing with my life. ” I wonder… why does he think I answer to him? Who is he to decide how I should live my life?
My classmates don’t need me. They are full up on friends. I think they could live their lives very easily without me. I haven’t found one person at this school who is interested in me or concerned about what is going on in my life. I was clinging to Sam because I thought people needed to have friends. I’ve been told over and over that I need to be around other people. But Sam treats me like dirt and other people don’t care about me. So I’d rather walk alone, than be walked all over.
I don’t answer him. He doesn’t need an answer from me. He’s already made up his mind what he thinks of me and I’ve already made up my mind that I’m sick of being his friend.
Maybe I just haven’t found the right people to be around. Maybe I’m still trying to figure myself out, trying to understand what I like and dislike. I’m still moody and temperamental. Maybe I can’t handle anyone in my life right now. Maybe I’ll find the right person someday. But I don’t have to attach myself to these self centred people just because I’m in need of a friend. Walking alone is fine. I’ll be ok.
I realize I can’t change everything about my life, but I can stop answering to these people who neither care about me or support me. I can stop being an object for them to treat with contempt. They can go their separate ways. I don’t belong to them. I don’t need these people constantly looking down on me with disdain. They can get away from me. It doesn’t matter what they think of me. I don’t need them in my life. I’ll travel alone if I have to. I will not let other people control my life.
