He's Different

1. Failure

I honestly don't expect anyone to watch all of the video, but I hope you could give it a minute or so of your time! <3

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"Mom, I don't want to go to school." I mumbled softly.

"Sam, you have to go to school, your grades are suffering." She placed a hand on my shoulder, making me tense up. "I know it's hard, I've already contacted the principal about the problem. You will be ok."

I just nodded.

I was diagnosed with SAD (Social Anxiety Disorder) at the age of 11. I've always feared being judged by other people, I get cold sweats when I even think about even talking to the teacher.

I do very poorly in school. I work in everything I'm supposed to, I just can't go up to the teacher and ask for help when I need it, which is usually all of the time. Even speaking to a peer sends me off the edge.

My mother tries to help me when she can, but the school curriculum has changed in the past 30 years, so she really can't do much to help. She's tried hiring a personal tutor, but in the end they would get stressed from my lack of communication and leave.

My dad is currently out of state, he's a manager at a gold company. He's traveling around the nation for a yearly training. He's always wanted me to go to a good college, but with my grades so low, I won't even graduate high school.

"Sam, you know I'm doing everything in my power to help you, right?" My mom asked, her eyes focused on the stove, where she was cooking breakfast.

"Yes mom, I know." I rubbed my arm nervously. I already knew where she was going with this. She's always encouraged me to make friends, but I've always told her I'm fine without people. I'm happy.

"Having someone you could relate to would help, Sam." She reasoned. "If you could make one friend, one that understands you, one that can help, you would be happy."

"Mom, there's no one like that!" I snapped. "They've already made a judgement of who I am without attempting to get to know me!"

I instantly felt bad for yelling at my mother. She is my main supporter, and I shouldn't be mad at her for my lack of need for a friend.

"Honey, I'm sorry." She walked over to me and hugged me. "I just hate seeing you come home everyday with a defeated look."

"I know."

With that she let go of me. She was already dressed for work, her shiny blonde hair pulled together in a ponytail, her blue eyes gleamed with passion. She wore a simple green dress that went down to her knees, with black leggings to keep her warm in the chilly buildings

"Cassy is wanting me to design a dress for her dumb party." She sighed. "She's given me a list of requirements, and I swear, she'll end up going to the party looking like some old Barbie doll."

I let out a chuckle, and my mom rolled her eyes. I grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulder. My dirty blonde hair was put into a bun, I wore a plaid skirt with leggings and a black sweatshirt.

I slipped an earbud into my ear, glancing at my phone to make sure my favorite song was playing. I walked with a nervous quirk to my step, hoping I would be alone at the bus stop.

Part of having social anxiety was also being scared of being in the same space as other people, in fear of someone making some judgement of you.

People are odd creatures, they already assume someone's personality based on who they're friends with or what they wear. To much surprise (not really), a few of the neighborhood boys stood at the stop.