Memories of an Old Friend | ✓

23 | the school therapist said

A few weeks ago I went up to my guidance councelor and I told her how shitty my life was and how miserable I felt every day. I asked her to even transfer me to another school, but to no avail. I hate it here. I feel like I have no friends, and I feel like everyone hates me because I'm suddenly wearing a hijab.

It's fucking twisted and unfair. I just want to fit in, but why is it so hard?

I stand out so badly and I just don't want to. Everyone is staring and everyone is judging. I just want to die. I hate this attention.

What's wrong with me? Two years ago attention was the best thing anyone could ever offer me, but now I feel like insects are crawling on my skin every time someone even as much as looks at me.

Fuck everything. 

I'm a stupid idiot who can't study for shit, everything makes me anxious and I have no friends. I also hate my parents for the pressure they've been putting on me recently. In fact, the pressure they've been putting on me for the past sixteen years. Can't I get a break anytime soon? My grandpa just died. What does everyone want from me? Why won't anyone let me breathe?

There's a girl in my class. Her name is Brita. I hate her too because she treats me like shit. I'm in this friend group or whatever and we're seven girls. It's a bit hard to be friends with these girls. Whenever I speak, Brita talks above me. I want to talk, but nobody is letting me. Whenever I suggest something, I'm ignored. In P.E.—because Brita makes the group—they exclude me. All these six girls are letting her do this to me.

Jenna wasn't saying shit either, even though she knew this was going on right in front of her. She still won't talk to me when it's just the two of us alone. I get it. I feel bad for what i did too.

It has been six months since high school started, and I feel so terrible every day. I just want to die. Nothing and nobody is going my way.

I told my guidance councelor to help me. So she set me up with a school therapist. 

For minorities.

What?????? The????? Fuck??????

Why minorities??

I didn't say anything, though. I let it be because I'm desperate and I need help. All these crazy thoughts I've been getting recently are making me want to die. So who the fuck cares? I'm not feeling shitty because I'm a minority. I'm feeling shitty because everyone hates me. Whatever. Maybe this minority school therapist will get it.

Fuck, I was so wrong.

This lady made me feel worse about myself every time. She pressured me into talking and I cried loudly in almost every session and she wouldn't even try to comfort me? She just kept pushing for more questions while I was loudly sobbing in front of her, obviously triggered?

The topping on the cake was when she told me I had to show my parents my report card no matter what. I didn't want to. My grades were not acceptable. My parents would kill me.

She asked me if it was because I was abused at home. I panicked and I said no.

Then she said that if I didn't tell them, she would personally call them and tell them herself. I wondered why there wasn't any other way to go about it. She said it was because I'm a minor. I told her I would show them my grades myself just to get her off my dick.

I did show them my report card, eventually, in February. Sort of. The school sent it electronically to my email so all I did was create a separate word document with the same format of the report card. Then I switched the numbers accordingly to what my parents would be satisfied with.

It worked and nobody knew. That stupid minority school therapist won't ever talk to me again and my parents will leave me alone for at least one semester. It's perfect.

I feel like that lady damaged my head more than she fixed it during all my sessions with her, truthfully. I don't feel good these days. I just feel like I want to kill myself. That lady definitely amplified the horrible things I was feeling with 100. It's suffocating.

Maybe there's a tweet on Twitter about how therapists have so much power to damage another person mentally.

How are you doing? better than me, I hope.

Yours truly.