On February 14th of 2013 I cried because I had no valentines.
Nah. I’m strictly Asian. I cried because of a bad mark. BUT it’s not math. I cried because I got ‘not meeting expectations’ for writing in engrish. Oh I know, what a banana. Instead of something so lame I wish I could tell you I hadn’t cried, hadn’t gotten a morbid nosebleed in the beginning of my next class and did not miss the entire afternoon while my school counselor drove me to a youth center.
I can however, tell you that I am not that insanely Asian, I suffered through that bad grade and valentines had nothing to do with why I was upset. I had already bought and eaten all the toblerone bars that I got a great deal on. What more could a girl ask for.
Worry not, this was not your sweet drama crying, it was gruesome hiccups, and nose-wiping with deliriously puffy eyes and incoherent choking. Two times in a row. I give nothing but the best to my audiences.
I spent Wednesday afternoon talking to my French teacher (very thankfully in english) and went home that night and cried silently on the phone while my mom talked half a world away. The next day, I had to re-write my English essay at lunch because, well I practically failed. I’m not even going to bother and say that I wasn’t extremely pissed off right then. I had walked in and stomped to my seat and got down to writing what my peers took two blocks to accomplish in half an hour. By the time the teacher swung around to correct my old writing I slowly started sobbing. The fact that she immediately felt sympathetic and apologized for making me upset because of my mark just vanished every vindictive thought I had against her, so much so that I began actually honestly telling her why I was upset. Now, I wished I could have stayed angry. That way you’d be able to hear some epic comic book-like back talk right about now. Instead I pretty much repeated the same things that I had unintentionally disclosed to my French teacher. Does this categorize me as a big mouth? So that I deserved the following: Yeah, I was a little displaced to find out that my counselor knew when I went to visit her. I didn’t even know what to feel anymore. Were they protecting me? Or just think they are?
What did they know? – I’ve been living alone for about 6 weeks, and that on all levels, did not want my mother to know I’ve been on occasion seeing my counselors or that I’ve been upset at all for the past year for multitudes of stupid problems I got myself into. I even got to re-hating some old counselors who had sent some
douche bag know it all to my home when I was in elementary, to ‘sort things out’, and frankly, got me beat the night he left. In a sense, I was still angry, but at least I redirected them to people who weren’t within ear shot of me. That’s worth something right?
On one hand I know the value of six week. In real life time, it’s hardly a blink of the eye, I can’t realistically recount to you much of what happened during this period. In fact, for the most part I did not particularly mind to be left alone in this house. Apart from a few individuals, the peers who knew were envious that I may do whatever I wish for the time being. Most of all I just hadn’t wanted the discriminate view of my mother when adults found out. They say they don’t judge, but let’s get real, I know every single one of them did and the people reading might as well too. It sucks that I can’t defend my mother well enough while I’m in the ambivalence of hating and loving her. If her way of compensating was to bring me back to China with her this time during spring break, then so be it. We all have our quirky ways of showing affection. Therefore, when my counselor kept telling me that I need to connect with people, that I needed to go out and socialize and get that ‘fill’ I refused. And at any point that she mentioned disclosing any of this to my mom I would involuntarily burst into tears. Maybe I’m overly dramatic, but every time, I could see them utilizing this fear as certain counselors had before to stop my self harm. They really needn’t to I think to myself. You can’t stop one’s thoughts.
That being said, I don’t know why I was so surprised. Or that the words somehow lost their supposedly ever existing magnificence in which I’d thought they’d possess. When my counselor suggested that there might be something medically wrong with me, somehow I was shocked that I wasn’t relief like I had selfishly thought I would be. That being labelled something ‘medically wrong’ would have been the key to everything that went wrong. Being ‘medically unstable’ might actually prove my situation to be serious so that my being a ‘stupid teenager’ status would be overthrown. Yet somehow I felt really defeated at that moment with my head down and a wet napkin between my fist. No matter how many times I had wished to be diagnosed with something more substantial than bursts of emotions, it never occurred to me that I might feel like a defect. It also never occurred to me that my state when I visit her had been on the decline until she mentioned it. Had it been three years already? What was the first problem that I went to her with?
Similarly, when my counselor insisted that I leave school and be driven to a youth clinic, I was very much on the verge to just rebel against everything they thrown at me. In my head ‘I was fine’ despite looking ridiculously like a lousy panda. Arrogantly, I did not want to associate with some woman who kept calling me on the phone to set up a meeting, I hadn’t want to visit her clinic with derailed youths who didn’t know any better. I was definitely better than that.
I won’t go wholly in detail but I am going to give you a brief assessment. I’m a sour little bitch. The clinic was wonderful, the people were nice and they were there for good reason.
Any who, naturally, none of this (such as my counselor driving me around) could happen without some legal approval. Besides my mom, I think I made a pretty good choice to bet on my sister. I hadn’t told her anything though. She was extremely worried that night and took me out downtown to shop. Maybe it was that I hadn’t been out to shop at all (other than groceries) since my mother left, or that I hadn’t seen my sister in about a month, or that my balls haven’t grown in yet but I didn’t tell her. I couldn’t really. Most importantly, I didn’t want to. Didn’t want to ruin this image of me who did not experience with boys, who did not plummet to depression, and who was only a child in their eyes. Even though trying to nurture this false facade of peace and happiness is ridiculous enough for me to admit, I still do it. I talked to my mother very happily the following night because it’s just nice to hear the smile over the phone. It’s nice to ever so briefly return to normalcy. And I know that means I still need help.
On the last day of the week, I went about in perfect euphoria. So wonderfully handled that I think my both my teachers probably thought me mad for having been so upset the other day. But I kinda know it won’t last. I’m not terribly sad at the moment. But I know that shit needs to get real for things to get done in the end.
So I presented my ‘Ruler’ speech..somewhat in the same sarcasm as my actual post. Yeah. We’ll see what grade I get in English.
“The severity of the feeling is sometimes out of line with the reality of the problem”.
This is why teenagers are idiots: according to adults and science vs actual teenager.