Letters

Dear Mrs. Citydeliver

(Again, name changed to protect identity)
Mrs. Citydeliver, I owe you an apology.
I'm sorry. Sorry that you're a homophobic, transphobic bastard who can't deal with anything in an appropriate way. You ignore me in class because of who I am.
You refuse to refer to me with male pronouns. Granted, I've never told you to, but I've heard you tell stories of transgender people in your past. You just don't understand the concept.
So thanks a lot for frowning on everything I stand for.
I really needed that in my life. On top of everything else, I totally needed a disrespectful teacher like you.
One question. I asked you one question, and you gave me PERMISSION to ask and record it for a school project. I'm sorry you're so homophobic that you couldn't even answer the question.
I'm sorry I asked the question.
But then to go to Mrs. Pinkler and tell her about it? And then to have Mrs. Pinkler call me in and talk to me? And after THAT to have Mr. Dungeon call me in to FUCKING interrogate me?!!!
Come on!!! It was one fucking question! One damn question!!! And you didn't even actually answer it!!! So you just HAD to bring the behavioral specialist assistant principal into that stupid little thing, which I deleted the recording of anyways!!!?!!!
Anxiety attacks. Three, actually. Within like a thirty minute time span. One just after I left Mrs. Pinkler's room. One while I was on my way back to my current class at the time. And one while I was on my way to Mr. Dungeon's class.
And each one got worse. The first one wasn't bad at all, just a bit of hyperventilating and lots of crying. The second one was quite a bit worse. I stumbled along the corridor, bracing myself against the walls when I could, but I still had the strength to keep moving. And it wasn't full on panic attack yet. The final one had me thinking I was going to die. Worst-case scenarios kept going through my head and I couldn't move. I curled up in a ball near the auditorium doors and shook with sobs, hyperventilating as my vision faded in and out of focus. Eventually, that one simmered down just enough for me to get to Mr. Dungeon's office, where it continued.
Mr. Dungeon was actually very nice about it. He was very helpful. Can't say the same for you, Mrs. Citydeliver. You're no help at all. I think I may even be able to go as far as to say you're the absolute worst teacher I've ever had.
'Cause I mean, Mrs. Slavesquirrel was boring and strict, but she never caused a fucking panic attack!
So thanks a lot. I hope I never see you again after I leave middle school.
Sincerely,
Macks(the one you always hated)