I wrote a thing for school and realized it was horrible all over, so I had to come up with something else, and fast. But because I couldn’t change the horrible piece I did for school (because I had to read it out loud the next day), I was about to cry.
But this wasn’t going to happen. I won’t cry just because I’m not getting an A this time. I’m not that much of a wimp.
My head felt heavy and I sat back on my bed, putting down the headphones that had been blaring nearly-aggressive Indie into my ears. There was something about writing a speech in German and thinking in English, but I got tangled in between the translations and setbacks my brain made. It had been happening for a while now, long enough even for me to think it was just another sign of my schizophrenia.
Now I thought about my teacher telling me to cut the shit I was pulling in my text. She said every other teacher might’ve taken it as me defiling Hamlet, but she knew it wasn’t quite that. I was grateful. She still gave me the highest grade anyone in my course got and I felt really dirty, because of course I knew what she meant.
I was an arrogant little shit and starting to get insufferable. Since the countdown was set on 21 schooldays left whatsoever, she let it slide and I did too – I was so proud for not crying – but I felt horrible throughout my entire social sciences lesson.
And now I had to learn that dumb crap I wrote last Sunday night out of insomnia because I had no other option left.