life as it is

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.