School is a hungry monster

Okay, anyone with anxiety can tell you: School is hell for people like us. The teachers don't really understand what you're going through or just tend to think you're just lazy. No one wants to be in your group because they know you have a fear of public speaking, or that you'll be passive towards whatever you're working on. Partner: Which section do you want to take? Me: I don't care I'll do whatever. Sound familiar? Well you've probably been one of the two at one point in your life. God, presentations are the worst. All those people staring at you, expectant, and the teacher, watching your every move, just looking for a discrepancy, waiting for something to go wrong. You can hear the clock ticking and feet tapping as you remain silent looking out at the class, palms sweating, thoughts going a mile a minute. It's almost painful to know that all you have to do is start with one word, but it doesn't want to come out. You know that speaking to a friend is easy but speaking to a class is like climbing Everest. You stand there insulting and battering yourself, putting yourself down because all you'd have to do is say that one word to start but you can't. The teacher gets mad, the students are impatient, and you wish you could just run from their stares. When you finally insult yourself enough to start, it's weak, feeble, and you're constantly asked to speak up. You try to but your vocal cords just don't want to work. When you finally finish, the teacher tells you good job and begins a slow clap. The students halfheartedly follow suit, but you know you didn't do a good job. You know that they weren't really listening. And now comes the worry of the grading. You can see the teacher checking things off, and writing comments on her paper, glancing up at you occasionally. You know you're gonna fail. Then when class is over you have to walk in the hall with what feels like a million other people, bumping into you. You're invisible. School sucks.

However, I'm weird. It's not like that all the time for me. Quite the opposite actually. Some days, I am queen of my school. I'm not afraid to speak my mind or stand up to students and teachers. I walk with my head held high and there's people in the hallways giving me high fives, pats on the back, and running to come walk with me. Sometimes I'm so confident it makes people ask how I manage to stay so positive. I have the best presentation in the class, and my teacher tells me I have a gift. Everyone wants to be in my group because they see that I'm in a good mood today, and I'm ready to get shit done. I'm the loudest kid in the class, the class clown if you will, keeping people light and laughing. I'll fucking stand on tables and sing at the top of my lungs during lunch. Yeah... I'm weird.  I don't wonder any more why my doctor thinks I'm bipolar. The issue with pretty much being two people is this. Teachers can't tell when I'm actually having strong anxiety about presenting because sometimes I'm the best at it. I have two very different groups of friends and they do not get along.  No one really knows who the real me is. I'm not even sure if I do. Which me do I like better? You may never know.

A penny for my own thoughts

I’m crazy. Trust me. People say that depression and anxiety is one of the most common issues among teens, you'll grow out of it, it'll be okay, this too shall pass, keep your head up, keep positive or any other bull they can think of at the moment they find out that you have it. In that moment when someone finds out that you have either of those things they treat you differently. I guess it's normal. They cant help how they think of feel just like I cant. Maybe they'll start to treat you amazing, maybe they'll hate you a little because they don't believe in mental illness, maybe they'll treat you like you're a broken vase in need of fixing, maybe they wont treat you different at all, but you can tell by the look in their eyes that they're judging you. What I find the funniest is that just because they know something about you, they think you're the one who is gonna act different. They're surprised when you make jokes about it, or even talk about it at all. Suddenly they think that you being sad is an issue of life or death. The worst thing is the voice. Oh, how I hate the voice. You know, the voice where it sounds all gentle and understanding, but really just makes you feel like a mental experiment? Yeah that voice. Therapists and psychiatrists aren't the only ones who use that. -Walking through the halls at school when a teacher asks: How are you feeling today? When someone makes jokes about you: I didn't mean it, I shouldn't have said anything. When you make jokes about yourself: Oh stop, you're not crazy, just different.- Yes, the voice gets used every day. And every day I'll respond with the answers that make those people the most comfortable instead of what I'm thinking because they would either be very sad or very uncomfortable if I told them what was actually going on in my mind. It might go a bit like this:

Teacher: How are you feeling today?
Me: Well considering I only got two hours of sleep last night- because well I don't know, maybe it was because the ceiling became rather interesting, or maybe it was because my brain was thinking so many things so fast I wanted to explode- and when I woke up I had to take more pills than my liver appreciates, drive on the school bus with a bunch of people I hate just to get to school and see more people I hate, and when I finally get through this never ending school day I have to go home, listen to my parents yell at me, do more school work and then stare at the ceiling for another 5 hours while my brain goes over the day one thousand times just to get another 2 hours and wake up to do it all again.... You know what, I feel great. Just kidding, I feel like a hungry lion pack decided to make me their lunch but when they found out that I was all bone because I don't eat on account of I have no time, or I'm so worried or sad or sick that I just don't get hungry, they hand me over to the scavengers so they can pick over my mangled carcass until the only thing that's left on my body is the fake smile that I put on every single day when I get out of bed so that the people I encounter, that I most likely hate, aren't uncomfortable, or constantly bombarding me with questions that I will inevitably answer falsely just so they'll leave me be. How are you?

Yep. Fun ain't it. I've never understood why I can't just grow a pair and say what I'm thinking. I guess I may never know.