Rememberance of Things Past, Part 1

For the record, I lifted that title from one of Marcel Proust's books. If you haven't read any of his works, you are missing out.

I am finally starting to understand the...rules a bit better. I have known what role I play in my family for a pretty substantial amount of time now. I guess I just sort of fought it just to fight. Not everyone can be worth...well, anything. C'est la vie. So, since talking to people that are actually physically where I am is out of the question, I figured I would do the next best thing and wordvomit all over the interweb.

I recently learned that thinking of, talking about, or acknowledging events that have happened in the past is weird and an overall shitty thing to do. I also learned that it makes people get very close to your face and scream at you and then dissolve into a fit of coughing only to begin screaming once more as soon as the spasm has passed. I found it...interesting that keeping one's own voice at a low, calm volume for the duration of the conversation does not help and may actually make it worse if it is seen as a sign of insolence rather than...just a person trying to have a normal conversation for once. Please forgive me if this post makes you want to harm me in unspeakable ways.

In 2007, I was in the 11th grade. My marks in school were...OK. I was having lots of trouble just making myself go to, and remain in, my classes. I had not yet stopped doing something incredibly stupid. One class in particular was making me want to break things. Things as in the very large plasma screen television that sat in the classroom on a black channel. For those of you who may not know, televisions emit a very loud, very high pitched sound. Most of you are probably thinking something along the lines of "I haven't heard anything high pitched from my TV." or "I've heard it and it isn't that loud.". Well, opinions and sensitivities differ. It was loud and made my teeth hurt and my head feel numb. But not the nice kind of numb that one feels after being drugged up for extraction of wisdom teeth. A heavy kind of numb akin to the feeling of a wet bathing suit...only in my head. A creepy crawly feeling like having static throughout my body. It is very difficult to explain. It was an invasive sound.

My teacher, I shall call him His Majesty the King (HMtK), was a very nice guy and an amazing teacher. Let me get that out of the way now. He was awesome. My issues were not in any way, shape, or form his problem. I understand that. I can only blame myself for me neurosis. OK, preliminary acknowledgement of where blame should be lain accomplished. It is now established that this is all my fault and that I am aware of it (least I come off as a [sarcasm]"right little genius"[/sarcasm]).

So, as is the norm for most classes, every so often we were tested to see if we were actually retaining any of the lecture or assigned reading. Being an AP class (with students that actually....cared) the room would be totally silent, which, initially, I loved. Until I realized that HMtK had no intention of turning off the television. It was one thing to half listen to his lectures because the pulsating *reeeeeeeeeeeeeeee* was distracting and slightly painful. It was another thing entirely to have to take a TEST with it. I have what my English teacher calls a "grasshopper mind". I have a tendency to quite literally be distracted by any little thing. This makes conversation slightly more interesting. "Hey, did you know that rubber boas give birth to live-OH MY GOD LOOK! THERE'S A KITTY OUTSIDE!!!" My train of thought derails.

So, testing was not something that I found particularly easy. The sound had a way of getting into my head and smothering my thoughts. I don't really know how to explain it. I can hear my thoughts...I assume most people can. It comes in two forms. I have text going through my mind when I think. Much like what you are reading now, but with fewer spelling/grammatical errors. And with that, is the sound of me basically reading the text to myself. The sound emitted by a t.v. disrupts that, so the words can't flow. I get stuck on a word and it repeats repeats repeats.

As incredibly reluctant as I was to talk to people during that point in my life, during the first test I decided to ask him to turn off the television.

Stephlton: Umm...hi. Could I ask a favor?

He removes his reading glasses, wipes them on his shirt a bit.

His Majesty the King: Sure.

I wring my hands and pull at my shirt. Suddenly become very interested in the lack of aglets on my shoelaces.

S: Oh...well. I was wondering if you could turn off the t.v...I cant...umm...I cant read when it's on.

He sits his glasses on his desk, folds his hands, and raises an eyebrow.

HMtK: It isn't on.

I rock a bit on my feet. Clear my throat. Lower my voice just a bit.

S: It is. Umm...you see...it's still on, it just isn't showing anything. It's on Video or whatever...so...you wont see anything until you insert the DVD...or press play if it's already in there. And that noise...it really bothers me. It's like...

I gesture vaguely.

HMtK: I can't hear anything.

S: Well...it's really loud and it's kind of difficult to listen to you during-

HMtK: It doesn't seem to be bothering anyone else, so I'm not turning it off.

I stand there for a minute. Opening and closing my mouth. Trying to decide on what to say.

HMtK: You can go back to your seat now.

I walk back to my desk feeling defeated and stupid for even trying. I spend the rest of the test trying to ignore the sound. I am the last one to finish. Holding up the lecture. I get a 48 on the test.

So. This goes on for a month or two. I study, he gives a test, I can't concentrate, I fail. Over and over and over. I can see his opinion of me becoming more and more negative. He probably regrets telling me to take the class. Shortly thereafter, I see a shrink. A very condescending woman. I resent her. She decides that I have depression and that Prozac will help me feel happy and reduce my panic attacks.

Fast forward about 3 weeks. The Prozac is taking effect. I am more hyperactive than usual. Instead of listen to HMtK's lectures I sit and pull paint off of the wall. People near by watch me and say things that I don't really hear. He tells me off near daily for ripping paint off of his freaking wall. My panic attacks go from a bearable once or twice a week to a crippling 5 or 6 times a day. I stop going to lunch. I eventually stop coming back to class after lunch. A short time later I stop showing up in class at all....stop coming to school at all.

Fast forward a few more months. I am being watched. Forced back into school (not that it matters. the year is nearly over.). I get to school very early on a Saturday for the practice APUSH exam. It is a big deal. If passed, the reward is college credit and ten million experience points. I have two panic attacks before HMtK arrives to unlock the class. He sees me there early...is hopeful. I have studied despite what everyone thingk. I know that I know the material.

The class slowly fills up. My chest tightens. The girl next to me says something that I can't understand. The clock is ticking loudly in my ears. That fucking t.v. is still screaming it's pulsating *reeeeeeeeeeeee*. He passes out the test...and I look at it. An essay. An EASY essay. I look at it for a moment....and my mind blanks. I sit there for what seems like an eternity. The girl next to me mouths something that looks like "Are you OK?". I try to smile and nod. I put my face in my hands and try to will my brain to work. I know this...I know this. It is so simple. We were JUST talking about this. My vision blurs and I blink away tears. I feel incredibly stupid. The room swims...my heart pounds. The words on my test move like ants. Suddenly something occurs to me: I have to leave. I have to leave now or something really bad will happen.

I hastily scribble two words on my test. "I'm sorry." I grab my things and leave as quickly and quietly as possible. Everyone looks at me. I pretend not to notice their stares. I pretend not to hear HMtK ask me what's wrong. As soon as the door is closed, I run. And I don't stop running until I have made it to the second gas station past the school. I call my best friend(at the time)'s mother and spill my guts to her. Ask her if I'm crazy...ask her if I'm broken...if I'm stupid. I don't remember what she says. She must have called my mother because as soon as I hang up, my phone is ringing. "Where are you? What are you doing? Did the practice test end early?"

I don't want to talk about. I beg her to let it go. I just want to come home and sleep forever. She persists. I break down. She tells me that I am stupid. So very stupid. She hangs up on me. I stop walking. I just sit down in someone's yard for the next hour. Embracing the cool breeze. I don't want to go home. I deserve to die. I am a failure.