5-12-03 I think I hate school.
Plano East- it’s not such a bad school. The campus can be very pretty assuming you view a day when the pond doesn't reek and spray every poor schmuck fated to walk to the fine arts building and a day when the wind doesn’t blow in from the farms when it’s hot out and nearly makes one ill. There is always something interesting going on- with over 2,000 spoiled, little rich kids never reprimanded for not applying themselves, it’s not hard to find someone dancing around like a fashionable Abercrombie monkey, groomed like one, or talking like one. The halls would be very quiet, I imagine, if we all walked around naked and bald- seriously, the most critical topic is short shorts and minimal skirts.
Teachers barely know their students’ names even after sending them to leveling daily for a year. And I can’t blame them either; why would anyone really want to get to know such snotty, know-it-all teenagers? After 11 or 12 years of going to school with all the same people, everyone’s nearly forgotten who they started with or as or strove to be. My best friend of 11 years stopped talking to me. My sister for 5 fell off the face of the planet as far as I know. I could go the whole day without speaking to anyone until after school, except at lunch, and no one would notice because no one in any of my classes know me. Maybe only half of them know my name even though we’ve been sitting next to each other for 9 months.
No one notices when I write depressing suicidal and homicidal messages all the time, everywhere, on everything, or that some days I just can’t take it anymore and my eyes water so bad that it’s all I can do not to burst out in tears and scream “F*ck you ALL!!” I could wander the halls for 5 minutes straight and not even encounter anyone I recognize. I could walk out to the pond during passing period and scream at the top of my lungs, or even drown myself probably, and maybe 5 people would look up, tops (probably only to cheer me on at that).
Do you know that over 2,500 students attend Plano East? The anonymity is overwhelming and so completely envelops me that I am lost. Not just feeling out of place and overlooked but actually lost inside myself. For the rest of my life, I will be trapped inside my head, trapped and alone. No one else will ever know, or be here, or exist to me. All the talking, all the voices are just a dull roar in the next room. I am alone to wallow in despair, alone even in joy. The one thing I would give to the world; I can’t share it with a soul.
Life is so boring because I am my only company. Bored, bored, bored. I wonder what other people think about. I envy those who converse and find such comfort and solace and company that I feel I can never have because no one will ever understand me. A psychologist could analyze me and tell me exactly why I do everything I do and not even begin to scratch the surface. So why don’t I tell you what I’m feeling/thinking? Because I can’t; I can’t make you understand. Wouldn’t it be so cool if, like in a sci-fi film, you could come inside me and I could show you?
I’ve been given this extraordinary talent of thinking, but I don’t know how to use it. I can solve problems, find answers, and regurgitate figures, but what am I to do with my thoughts and my feelings? Will they just sit here and bubble or boil over onto paper like this? If one day I do manage to share my thoughts and ideas, who would care?
Am I forever doomed to just sit here in this classroom while the world goes on without me? Sleep seems such a waste of time. Who knows everything that can happen in 8 hours? I don’t really want to sit here just writing when I could be anywhere else doing anything, just sitting outside on this gorgeous day. There are great things in store for me, for my future, even just in a few days, but I don’t like waiting. I’m not impatient, I just don’t like waiting for life to happen. But what am I supposed to do when there’s nothing else for me to do? Read a book. Right- let someone else’s thoughts and ideas enter my head and duke it out with my own. Stating their opinions challenges mine to change, and I don’t like that. I’m already dealing with and intense world-war-like moral battle within me because of my actions, my religion, and the controversial ideas presented in one particular book I read this year that challenged me to question the norm of consciences and has probably led me into a lot more trouble than anyone can imagine. My ideas should change on my own, as I grow and develop and mature. Crap. If I go with that line of thinking, then I have to accept that nobody else even wants my thoughts, so why do I even bother? Seems like such a waste that this paper would only wind up in a box for several years until I found it again and read it. Then I’ll be the only one who receives my thinking and thoughts anyway. Oh goody.