The Waiting Game

Dear Whatever,

I was called into the counsellor’s office almost as soon as I got to school today. I was barely ten minutes in the door when she appeared, like a ninja, and nearly forced me to her office. Apparently, she’s worried about me. I didn’t think that was possible, but then that woman’s ability to do her job has surprised me from the offset. We didn’t think she really did anything. As far as everybody else is concerned, that’s still the case.

But, I think she’s helped me.

I mean, even if the most she did was help me figure out where I wanted to go to college, and to get me to start writing this, she’s still helped. I don’t think I’d have lasted as long as the Mocks if she hadn’t called me in after Christmas.

The thing is, someone finally mentioned that I spend a lot of time alone. Teachers are noticing it. I don’t think it’s such a bad thing to read in the library, but once it was brought up that I literally spend every lunch time reading, other teachers started mentioning that I barely talk in class. And then someone mentioned that they thought I might be getting picked on by somebody, and I don’t really know what to say about that, because everyone knows that if you tell someone what’s really happening it only gets worse.

But she started to put me under pressure. She said that she can help, so I told her that people have been beating me up and called me names, but I can’t tell her who it is.

The thing is, since I left her office this morning, and I did it nice and peacefully, which surprised me, I haven’t been able to stop thinking that I just want to survive until the end of sixth year. I don’t even know what I mean by that, but it scares me to think that I might not last. I don’t know if I’m afraid that somebody might do something to me, or if maybe I might do something to myself, but it’s been bothering me since, and I can’t remember anything we looked at in class today because of it.

The whole day after the counsellor’s office has literally be a big blur and I felt myself feeling sick a few times, and if it weren’t for having something to read, I think I might have started crying at lunch.

As it is, while I’m writing this I can’t stop myself breathing a bit too heavily, and my hand is shaking, and it feels like the room is closing in around me. I’m feeling dizzy even thinking about this, and I’m trying my best to just make it all stop because I don’t want to know what I mean by surviving until the end of the year.

I don’t know what to do if I can’t stop thinking like this. I know that if I tell the counsellor she’ll have to tell someone else, and then I’ll never have peace over it. It’s just the school. I know it is. I know that it’s just being in the school with all the assholes who never leave me alone, and I’d be better off getting out than trying to get it all sorted by the teachers or the principal or whatever, because they can’t just expel half the year for treating me like I’m worthless.

And see, I think that’s it. Because I know I’m stuck with them. I know I’m stuck with them until one of them goes too far, or they push me over the edge, or I just get out of the school. And I know I can’t just transfer schools this late in, not when it’s all nearly over. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, what it’ll be like to finally graduate and to finally move on from this place, and I know I’ll never have to talk to a single one of these people again if I don’t want to.

I feel like that should make me worry less, but it doesn’t, because there’s still four months to go before I’m actually out of here for good. I only have to come back for my Leaving Cert results, and even then I can probably get my mam or dad to get them. Anything to never come back into this building when I leave, or to never have to meet my classmates again.

I know I shouldn’t feel like this. I know I shouldn’t care what they think. And I know I should be standing up for myself or telling people what’s really going on, but it’s taken the teachers this long to actually say something, and I don’t think I want to hear them say what I already know: that, at this point, I just have to wait it out.

I’m getting to the point where I’m just waiting it all out, aren’t I? That’s all there is. Wait, and panic, and wait some more, and just keep on hating the fact that I’m here. And they say these are the best days of my life?

Honestly, if things don’t get much better when I leave this place, I don’t think there’s any point on going on. And I know, I’m not supposed to be Mister Negativity while I’m writing this, but that’s how I feel. Life can’t be this hard all the time. That’s just not fair, even going by the “Life isn’t fair” mantra that so many people like to remind me of. Fuckers.

Whatever, I don’t want to die, and I don’t want to suffer, but I don’t want my life to consist solely of meeting people who want to hurt me for no reason whatsoever. I want there to be more to my life.

Is that too much to ask?


About Paul Carroll

Paul Carroll is a writer, born, raised and still living in Dublin. By day he's a student and bookseller, by night he writes fiction and uses social media.
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One Response to The Waiting Game

  1. Pingback: Friday Flash » The #FridayFlash Report – Vol 5 Number 40

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