the world according to me...
THE WORLD ACCORDING TO ME...Your life is an occasion. Rise to it - Mr. Edward Magorium: Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium
life. its a funny thing, my went wrong around the age my father left my mother for the last time. it was just after my ninth birthday, pretty young for ones life to go down the crapper huh?. i was nine years old and dealing with the fact that i would only see my dad on the weekends (maybe) and the fact that my mom would cry. she tried to hide it from me and my brother and sister at first but we all knew it was happening, at that age i tried to figure out which was worse the crying or the contant yelling that occured before, where me and my brother and my sister would sit on the stairs listening in knowing it was going to happen again, see it was not the first time my parents had spilt up, my dad for lack of a better word is a cheater.
but this time was differnet, we all knew it yet a little part of me wanted my dad to come home and forget it ever happened just like all those times before, but it never happened. so i grew up under the watchful eye of a single mom with my dad visiting mostly on the weekend, sundays. it got easier not to cry after dad would say his goodbye promising to come again soon and soon the crying stopped all together i got used to it, i grew up and got over it.
school was always hell for me, not academicly wise allthough spelling tests used to have me faking illness to stay home. school was hell because i just didnt fit it, i had four best friends in junior school and i could hold a conversation with most people but i never felt like i truely belonged so i would distance myslef of course a group of girls took that as thinking i thought i was too good for them, and then started the bullying. i put up with it though my last year of junior school not uttering a word, i didnt want to kick up a fuss and my family was still going through problems with my brother rebeling and my sister getting an attidtude in her first year of high school, i didnt want to see my mom cry.
i thought it would get better when i went to highschool to my utter dismay it didnt. i made a group of friends in the first few weeks and avoided the girls from my junior school like the plaque. pretending they didnt exsist was my plan until year eight when they made it near impossible to ignore them, god bless my friends for trying to protect me but it was a loosing battle and i didnt want to fight anymore, i faked illness to skip school hiding away at home. the boiling over point when i actually had to admit to my mom that i was been bullied was one day after school, me and my sister where getting off the bus and the girls followed us yelling abuse at me, my sister stood up for me and ended up been thrown into the middle of the road while they shouted at me, i was in such a state when my sister finally managed to get me to walk the short distance to the house that my mom knew there was something wrong and it all came pouring out, my sister telling most of the story because i was too busy bawling my eyes out.
of course my mom contacted the school i ended up having to repeat the whole sorry story to my head of years. of course i didnt want to go to school but my mom let me stay home alot more which i was thankful for. i felt ill most of the time, sleeping the days away, feeling like crap, i couldnt cope with school the solution for the problem was to isolate me in the libary where i would do my work that teacher sent up. i felt like i was the one who had done something wrong while my bullies moved onto there next victim with just a slap on the wrist for what they put me though what they put my family and friends though. soon i was at hospital appointments, blood tests even conseling sessions. it led to the diagoness that i was in a deep depression and i was put on anti depressants straight away.
i hated the world and everybody in it for a while, missing more days off school too numb to actually feel proud that i had done well on my year nine SATS which i bascilly coached myslef through when i was in the libary or doing my work at home when i didnt go into hell. i did about a week and a half of year 10 in a real high school before i couldnt take it anymore, i felt like an outsider before now i felt worse my friends didnt get that i was goign through, the teacher would ask me if i wa sok every five seconds and i would still get nasty looks from my bullies i felt like i was drowning.
my life raft came in the form of a special school. 53 students spread across all the years, 12 students in my year in a small teaching centre a short bus journey from home. school had become something nicer i no longer felt like a freak because everyone there had either been bullied or had emotional problems just like me, jokes where made about it, and everyone was relaxed there was no subject off limits to talk about. seeing people who were stronger now after everything they went through made me want to pull though to the other end as well, i wanted to be stronger, and they helped me. i met some of the best people there, there was nothing fake about them. i started concentrating on art more filling sketchbooks upon sketchbooks with drawings and everything stopped becoming less bleak for the first time in ages i was smiling and creating pretty things.
im not going to say the last two years of my high school experience where plain sailing, because i would be lying, it may have been special school but there was still real high school drama it was just on a smaller scale. i learnt that pain doesnt take away other types of pain and i didnt have to smile just becuase....
i worked hard in the year leading up to my gcses and it paid off and i wasnt too numb to feel proud of myslef, i was getting into college and stupidly i thought everything was going to be perfect a fresh start.
once you start doubting your abilities in art college you have to pack up and go, there were so many people better than me i just felt like i wasting my time even attempting to keep up, the set projects werent giving me enough room to breath and do my own thing, i didnt want to produce the exact same thing as the person next to me but feel it sub standard to theres when i worked my hardest on it, guidelines made me want to tear my hair out when i was told my ideas didnt exactly fit, i was overthinking things apparently.
i just wanted to create something beautiful and college was very ugly to me, so i dropped out, art school dropout back in her depression, its been like that for months now, but i think i can see just a tiny little bit of light at the end of the tunnel, i started drawing again, creating and living in all senses of the word. i dont want to be that sad little girl anymore who cried when her dad left, or when people where mean. i dont want to be the girl that got bullied anymore. i am finally going to rise to the ocassion which is my life.
from the dairy of beth