I sat in my desk in my Sociology class
that sixth period barely paying attention, or I’d be able to tell you what the
discussion was about that day. I’m really good at using selective hearing; a
whole conversation could go on right next to me and I can just block it all
out. It’s great. The sound of my name managed to catch my attention when my
teacher exclaimed to another student, “And Paige is still mad!” I had been mad
about the reading we had to do the previous night because it was long, boring,
pointless, and the text was tiny and smashed together, which made it difficult
to read. “I’m always mad, though. There’s no use in saying it,” I said back in
defense, half kidding.
My teacher reminisced on this. He really
did. He gave me one of those drawn out, thoughtful stares, and then concluded,
“Paige, you really are always mad. You’re going to ruin some young man’s life
one day.”
At the time, of course, I laughed like a
moron. So did the rest of the class. I mean, why wouldn’t they? It was funny
and I was really always mad. Every
day I have a different reason. In that class, I would say I’m not afraid to
express my anger openly. That class
kills me. The comment my teacher made didn’t bother me a whole lot. I haven’t
been able to stop thinking about it, though. As I turn it over again and again
in my mind, dissecting it, the thoughts won’t go away. Normal people would be
able to let this comment slide and never give it a second thought. But, let’s
be real, I’m not exactly what you’d call normal.
I didn’t used to be mad all the time. I
really didn’t. My friends that knew me back in my younger years would say I was
one of the happiest and nicest people they knew. Overly nice. They didn’t
really know me, though. No one really knows me. This is the only year of high
school I’ve been so angry.
Freshman year. That nasty, hell of a
year. These lousy morons think cyber bullying doesn’t happen. Guess what, crumb
bums, it does. That sexting and cyber bullying presentation I sat through twice
the other day really brought a lot of memories back. My Sociology teacher said
once that your mind makes a bad experience you once had better over time, so
freshman year was actually a lot worse than I remember it to be now. So, it
must have been pretty bad.
My sociology teacher says a lot of
things that make me think a lot of discombobulated thoughts.
Sophomore was nothing to be noted, but I
know I wasn’t angry all the time. I remember losing my moron of a best friend
that year, though. I miss that moron more than anything.
Junior year, a lot of good and bad
experiences happened to me. It was a life changing year that was ultimately
good. I now think that since last year was so great, this year just has to be
bad. It’s just how life works. You can’t stay in paradise forever.
So, now I’m in hell. I keep drowning in
my thoughts and I can’t swim out of them. What my Sociology teacher said has
kept me under water since he said it. Why am I always so mad? I mean, I have so
much to be happy about. I have a roof over my head, nice clothes, food to eat,
a car to drive, a job, a college I’m already accepted to, great friends, music
to listen to, and great books to read. I mean, what the hell is my problem? Why
can’t I just be happy and not focus on all the negatives of life?
I think what makes me angry is that I
over think everything. That kills me. I don’t mean to do it, it just happens. I
worry about everything, too. That’s a real big issue of mine.
For example, I always worry I’m going to
go completely deaf. I’m already deaf in my left ear, and my right one could
decide to go any day. Since I’m a half deaf moron, everyone gets mad at me when
I can’t hear them, which, in turn, makes me mad. Those lousy morons don’t get
that I’m half deaf, for Chrissake! When they talk like a damn mouse, I’m not
going to hear them.
It scares me when I can’t hear people
and how much I miss. It scares me that if I ever go completely deaf, I won’t be
able to listen to my music anymore. It all scares me a whole lot. It really
does. From freshman year to now, my hearing got worse.
I mean, I have noises in my head, for
Chrissake. The noises don’t go away and never will, says my ear doctor. They
keep me up at night and make me want to screech during the day at school, especially
when it’s real quiet in the classroom. The noises don’t bother me too much.
Just when it’s real quiet, is all. Music drowns it out real good.
Maybe that’s why I’m so scared of going
deaf, because I won’t be able to hear the beauty of music and all that will be
in my head are those noises.
My ear doctor says the fact that I’m
half deaf makes the noises in my head. I don’t see how hearing loss could cause
them. My Anatomy teacher could probably explain it.
The fact that I’m a perfectionist makes
me angry, too. I didn’t realize I was one until this year. I’m a perfectionist
in my appearance and English class. English class has brought out the demon
perfectionist hidden in me.
My English teacher this semester is
amazing. I wanted to have him, and I was overjoyed when I saw that I did. The
guy’s the shit. He really is. His quizzes are hard as hell, though. They kind
of make me want to punch him real hard in his jaw.
The guy’s my role model, though. I’ve
told him that, but I don’t think that he thinks that I mean it. I do mean it. I
have this dream to be a lot like him when I grow up. I want to be as good of an
English teacher as he is. Everyone loves this teacher. Like I said, he’s the
shit. I’m trying to be perfect at English now so, one day, I have a shot at
being as great as him. I bet he was a perfect English student when he was a
senior in high school.
All of my papers have to be perfect,
they just have to be. I mean, what kind of future English teacher can’t write
perfect papers? Everyone has idolized me as this amazing English student so far
this year. If I don’t get perfect papers, I’ll just be a lousy moron with no
academic talent.
This is the only subject I can excel in.
All the others, I’m the biggest moron in this history of the world. All of
those math and science subjects make me want to cry and pull my hair out. They’re
so hard. They really are. I make good
grades in them; I never have had below a C+ on my report card. I don’t know
how, though. I took Calculus this year. I could kick myself. Why didn’t I take
the easy way out and take College Algebra? I’ll tell you why; because I want
people to think I’m smart. I’m really not smart; I just want them to think I
am.
When things in my life don’t go
perfectly, it makes me angry, so angry that I want to throw things and break
stuff. Life itself is imperfect. People say perfection doesn’t exist. Well,
crumb bums, I could argue with you. It does exist, and when I don’t reach it
with my appearance and English class, it drives me up the walls.
I make myself angry, too. For example, I
really want to be seen as perfect and flawless. At the same time, I want people
to think I’m really unique, intricate, insane, discombobulated, and mysterious.
All of those adjectives are the opposite of perfection. It really boggles my
mind why I want these things. It really does. I know I’m far from perfect.
The other thing my Sociology teacher
said is that I’m going to ruin some young man’s life some day. I think I
already have.
I said junior year was really life
changing, and the reason being that I fell in love for the first time. Don’t worry,
I’m not going to give you the story. I know you don’t care, and there’s a limit
on this thing, anyway. The main point is that I love him a whole lot. He just
doesn’t love me. He made me think he did, but he lied. He lied to me more than
anyone in the world could lie to anyone. Like the lousy moron I am, I fell for
all of those lies. I’m still falling for them.
Narcotics Anonymous quoted,
“Insanity is to do the same thing over and over again and expect different
results.” Well, this boy made me pretty insane, more insane than I already am. He’s a lousy
crumb bum himself. I honestly don’t know why I love him. I really don’t. I
don’t think I could count on both hands how many times I’ve cried over him. The
attachment I have is pointless and overdrawn. I could live without him if I
really wanted to.
The fact is I don’t want to. It’s not
what I feel for him; it’s what I don’t feel for anyone else. No one. I’m pretty
positive I ruined his life because of my constant anger. He listens to all my
crap all the time. He’s the best listener in the world. I love him for that. He
just lets me talk and complain about anything I want. He asks about my life and
how I am all the time. He wants me to talk and be myself. He enjoys when I
talk, he told me. I can completely be myself with him and he doesn’t judge me.
Anyway, I rant to him regularly and I
think he’s the only person in the world who will ever care about me at all. No
one other than him could give a damn about someone as jacked up as me. He willingly lets me ruin his life with my
life.
In reality, he doesn’t care about me at
all. He just pretends he does. It makes me mad and worries me that I probably
won’t ever find anyone who truly could care about someone as jacked up as
myself. I’m going to die alone with a billion cats.
People have layers to them. Even the
dullest, most boring people have hidden stories. Everyone has a story that made
them who they are today. I don’t think I’ll ever find someone who’ll want to
read mine. I really don’t. And if
someone would ever want to, I’ll just end up ruining his life, right?
When people first see me, they think I
might be somewhat normal. Then, when they get to know me, they realize that
their first impression was very wrong. Most of the time, people make me think
they care about me, but just end up treating me like shit. And then they leave.
My feelings don’t really matter. Most people are full of shit. All people do is
use me and leave.
The moron doesn’t understand that about
half of anger comes from him, though. He doesn’t understand how nuts it makes
me that I love someone with all of my heart who doesn’t love me back. He really
doesn’t.
In Sociology, I learned about this
theory called Negative Skepticism. According to Negative Skepticism, everything
is false. You’re false. I’m false. This rant is false. My anger is false.
English class is false. Perfection is false. Love is false. Nothing exists.
It’s all just a figment of our imagination. Then again, our imaginations are
false, too. We are actually nothing. Nothing doesn’t exist either because
nothing is a something. And everything, including nothing, which is a something,
is false.
I’ve come to the conclusion that
Sociology is actually the catalyst of all my anger in life.
