When I was 5, I attended kindergarten. When I was 6, I attended 1st grade. When I was 7, I attended 2nd Grade. That is all that I know from that period. I don’t remember my teacher’s names, who my friends were, or how I felt at the time. It’s a big empty space in my memories. My mother tells me that I enjoyed school and looked forward to going. This is unimaginable to me now. I suppose this was simply the cocoon out of which the true insect emerged.
3rd grade was that emergence. I had a teacher, named Ms. Jeffers, who I hated on every single level. I don’t know if it was my newfound awareness, or if she was actually particularly bad. Whatever the case may be; I hated seeing her, hearing her, and taking any kind of instruction from her. As such, I usually didn’t. It’s 11 years later now, so I can only withdrawal 2 memories easily.
One day in class, the lesson was to learn how to “argue correctly” or something similar. The idea was for a child in the class to make a statement, until someone disagreed, at which point the teacher would moderate the argument. Soon enough, someone said “South America is hot!” To which I disagreed. Everyone looked at me like I had 3 heads. The teacher asked me to explain why not. I said that there are 2 poles, north and south, and that south america is a huge continent, the southern tip of which reached close to the south pole. Therefore, just like how Canada is colder than the U.S., southern South America is quite colder than the other part of it. I added that there are very mountainous regions as well, and mountains are always colder at their higher altitudes. The other student defended herself by saying that a relative of hers had spent a long time in South America, and it was always hot.
To my shock, the teacher took the side of the other student because it was “eye-witness evidence”. I started freaking out— if I remember correctly, standing up—and reiterating my arguments. I talked about the poles, mountains, and something the other student had apparently forgotten about; seasons. The crux of my argument became the sheer size of the continent, all of which the teacher and student agreed were “hot”, with absolutely no variation. The teacher told me to stop, I didn’t, and then she went in her desk to get something. I knew at once that I would be sent to the office, so I stormed out of the classroom to go there myself. I kicked a rack of plastic tubs(a device for storing the students valuables) as hard as I could on the way out. There was nothing but silence during these few minutes, and it felt great.
I used to love to write symbols and logos. I was somewhat obsessive about it. Designer clothes, historical symbols, things I made up. In a little sketchbook at home I kept a few pages dedicated to “collecting” them. Among them were the swastika. My parents and brother noticed this, but could easily tell, next to other symbols like peace, that it was just doodling. They still told me to never, ever write a swastika in school or anywhere else besides my book at home. So, that was the only symbol that was restricted in my mind.
One day after finishing a spelling test early, I turned over the half slip of paper and started drawing symbols. Among them were the circle-A of anarchism, a pentagram and a “nothing” symbol I made up that was just a capital N in a circle(creative, I know). There were also words on the page, but they all related to the symbols and I can honestly say I don’t remember them. The next day, my teacher asked to see me in the hall. She immediately showed me the back of my test from the day before. She asked me, “do you know what this means?”. I snapped. I couldn’t quote myself word for word(though I wish I could) but I looked her straight in the eyes and said something like:
“Who cares? They don’t mean anything. There’s no god and there’s no point, so why do you care? I’m just going to die in the end, so what’s the point of getting good grades or staying out of trouble or not drawing on tests. We’re all just going to die”.
I remember that the normal anxiety and nervousness that joined talking to authority figures felt like it left my head, my chest, the rest of my body and spilled out of my feet while I said all of this. It started simply, but then when I felt some relief after saying how I really felt, I just kept talking(probably repeating myself) until it all went away. The catharsis was unbelievable, and ultimately I felt powerful because it looked as though for a moment she was the nervous, anxious and controlled one. She sent me to the office, and in a move that I repeated often afterwards, I started walking there(refusing to take a hall pass) before she finished the sentence.
The office sent me to the nurse, clearly not really knowing what to do, and many of them looked at the test as if to say “so what?”. The nurse simply asked me if I’ve thought about suicide. I said yes, and she asked me if I had a plan. I said yes, and she asked me if I wanted to do it. I said no. She talked to me a little more about wether I was happy or not. I told her that I am unhappy in school, and happy at home. She asked me why I’m unhappy in school, and I said because of Ms. Jeffers. She said there was nothing anyone could do about that, sent me back to class, and told me that the school would sent this “test” to my parents. When my parents got it, they didn’t see anything dark about it, and took my side that I can draw whatever I like, short of a swastika. I don’t think they addressed me about my “suicidal” comments(which simply recognized the existence of death).
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