Reasons why I don’t really talk to professors

1.) With the experiences I’ve had, if I’m wrong, they will rub it in my face until I can’t even think anymore. It’s not even a joke anymore, it’s gotten to the point where I am terrified of it, because all my life I have been told my self-worth is linked to my intelligence, which is linked to a number that indicates how well a professor thinks I’ve learned the material.

I suppose with this I should give some small details. I’ve been diagonsed with Manic Depression, and an anxiety disorder. I have had panic attacks before. I am not the most mentally stable person in the entire world, far from it actually.

Constantly berating me leads to probably the worst points I have. Inversely, if you try to compliment me and acknowledge I do something right, I don’t accept it and think I can always do better, to be a better person.

2.) Because of anxiety, I clam up in an instant, and if I need to speak it will be in simple sentences. And when you are Mathematics major, they don’t care that you know what the derivative of x squared is, they care that you can explain everything in the universe pertaining to the question. So, panic begins to seize my voice, and soon, as quickly as I have come for help, I quickly shut up.

3.) I shame myself, for having to get help. It’s not a matter of pride, it’s a matter of my family’s attitude of me, as a “brilliant child, who will grow out of this pit and get a decent job”. They think I shouldn’t need help, I’m better off than most people. I’m the fucking Valedictorian. Apprently, I never grow out of that title now. I never grow out of the honors system, out of the list of people who dedicate their lives to pleasing the professor. Even though I have. Even though I have formed my own opinions, and came to my own conclusions, they still see me as the perfect dutiful student.

Lastly, people scare me. Period.

So, if I should leave before the end
I pray my withdrawl goes through
And if it doesn’t,

You might not see me here again.


Daily Prompt: Lookin’ Out My Back Door

Daily Prompt: Lookin’ Out My Back Door.


I actually don’t really have a backdoor. It’s more like a dorm door, that I always have my back to.

Through that dorm door, you begin in a hallway. Most of the time it reeks of vanilla candles mixed with the stink of freshmen thirsty thursday, and upper classman smoke of the gods. It’s pretty bright, almost blinding, especially if you wake up and decide you don’t want to exist today.

Walking down the hall you see boards, designed by the lovely R.A., let’s call him C. Right outside the door is one on masturbation. Always make time for some self love. Another one down the hall is on sharks. Two more, one on current events and the other on “happy mistakes”. Walk past them like they don’t exist.

Going to the left gives you a small lounge, where I spent my time avoiding my ex-roommate when he wanted to wallow in that upperclassman smoke of the gods. I also played a shit ton of video games in there. It’s a decent looking lounge, with a few comfy chairs, and some uncomfortable ones.

Going to the right leads you to the pinnacle of Emerson, or at least to me. You’ve got the holy trinnity, the kitchen, the vending machines, and the laundry room. I spend alot of time in the laundry room. Working in a dinning hall as a student manager, I need to do laundry pretty often, sometimes two loads twice a week. And, because of that, alot of times I spend my time at the vending machines. All the food, and some of the condoms you would ever need, just $2.00 in quarters. Then the kitchen, which I only use when I need a microwave.

Going further, you pass gilded mailboxes, right next to the door. You can show yourself out right?