tw suicide

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.

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Queer is… (Negative)

Fear,
When you are five
it might be the name of
the monster under your bed
or maybe
the way kids look at you funny.

Fear,
at age twelve
It might be the boogie man
watching you from your closet.
Or maybe
it’s the same kids in the locker room
talking about you.

Fear,
now you are 15,
it might be a movie,
like Saw or Scream,
Or maybe
it’s the teachers
who refuse to see
how broken you are.

Fear,
age 20,
it is the feeling of alone
No family.
No friends.
No life.

Death,
age 21,
is the reaper coming
in the form of three guys
at a bar
coming at you with knives
or maybe
it’s yourself
already disconnected from life.

Sadness,
the flowers that the people who loved you
leave for you.
Your mother, watching the days
knowing you won’t be back.
Your father, looking at the football
and regretting calling you
a fag when you refused to play.
Your sister, hugging her pillow every night
wishing you were there instead.
Your brother, keeping everything inside
bottled up because
He doesn’t want to end up like you.
Your best friend, who keeps looking at their phone
but knows
you won’t text
or call.
Or be there at all.