I've always written stories for myself, things to help me calm down or slight ideas in my head I could probably lose myself to it like Cassandra to her effort of being skinny to the point where she is no more than a thin piece of skin stretched over a panel, brain in a jar. But I've always been ass at formal writing. I swear English teachers find more allusions and metaphors than the author who wrote it. For example, this stupid chapter we just read from Annie Dillards autobiography was literally just a story about how her throwing snowballs at cars on Reynolds street., got her into a high-speed chase for her life. Basically, the driver got mad when the snowball splattered across his dash and he proceeded to exit the vehicle and chase this medley group of kids all over Pittsburgh until they split up and he finally caught Annie and one of the other kids in the motley crew. But instead of writing about things like that our fucking teacher says there's "Observations about energy and how its lost in adulthood" bitch it was a story about a kid getting chased by a 20 something-year-old down the street and all over tow because she threw snowballs at his vehicle! That's it, period!
Not only has she blown this chapter WAY out of proportion but instead is making us write a 3-page TYPED essay about does she make a valid observation about the assessment of this adult or does the author overgeneralize by noting those who are "normal" never would have the enthusiasm to chase the kids. And if we disagree give an example of an adult figure who portrays the same energy. Like What the actual fuck. I honestly couldn't care less. Not only that but say that we do disagree but don't have an in our lives example? Then what Affanato? Huh? You don't know? Of course, you don't stupid bitch.
On another note about his dumbass of a teacher how come you give us homework but don't grade it like what's the point, and while we're about grades WHY THE FUCK WILL YOU NOT SHOW OUR CUMULATIVE GRADE! YOU DIDN'T EEN POST OUR MIDTERMS! I swear to fucking god if I get o the end of the semester and I'm failing and there's no way to fix it because your bitch ass just didn't give enough fucks to actually help your students by oh I don't know, giving them a heads up to how they are doing in the class so you don't have to deal with a bunch of pissed off English 110 students. I hope to god that all the English professors on this campus aren't like this and if they are, I am so freaking glad that I only have one more English after this because this is bullshit.
You know I have had more mental breakdowns this semester over this one class than any other one I've had in a long time. Like, this class gives me worse anxiety than the class where my algebra II teacher called me out in the middle of class because I had skipped class the day of the test because I was too overwhelmed to deal with her bullshit.
Like okay, I have never wanted to be medicated for my anxiety because I'm scared of the person I might be when I come out on the other side. Like what if I'm a bitch after because my fear of backlash is what kept my razor tongue at bay. I used to be violent as a kid like choke my sister till she was blue and drop her on the floor type shit what if I turn into that? Or even the reason I have quit burning off the skin in my arm was because the look in Dakota's eyes made me hate myself even more for doing it. What if not being anxious just leaves a power vacuum in my mind for something worse to fill the space like depression or multiple personalities or the bipolar disorder that runs in my family. Or even better what if the meds just make it 10x worse, I mean hell Emma was on the same meds id probably be put on and she saw shit. I can barely handle myself now and to be fair with you it terrifies me to even want to be on meds, but despite all this I just can't bear this class anymore without it like its to the point that if I escalate 1 more decibel I'm going to be bleeding from my eyes and ears from the screaming pressure in my head, if I don't burn my arm to pieces first.
I've been supposed to have been writing this stupid essay during this time but I honestly just can't, and I don't have any motivation to continue this fucking bullshit anymore. I needed to vent, and this was it but yeah, we stan wanting to die in this household.
