Join Date: Jul 2007
I am currently:
That thought that always accurs.
I am having memories. They make me want to cry. I know most of us have the thought of...'Why did no one help me?' or 'Why did no one care enough to help?' Maybe someone here can help me understand the uncaring people in my story.
I played an instrument throuh out school. I thow the stereo type of that means you are loaded, and that automtically means you live a happy life. Maybe for a strings player...or a pianist, but not for a simple woodwind. I know that pain comes from all walks of life. I am not trying to discriminate. strings and pianos cost alot more then a woodwind so that is why I said that. Moving on.
I took private lessons everyweek. From the summer before fouth grade untill high school. In junior high the teacher decided I needed a second teacher to give me lessons. Since there was only one for my instrument in this area she said she would teach me. Two lssons a week, sometimes the school teacher would give me two. Having to come in for lunch every day to practice. Being yelled at for not playing it right the first time, for not comepletely learning a piece in a week, for not being ahead of the other from so many lessons. You name it, I was yelled at for it.
One day after school I was sitting in a lesson playing. 12 years old, in a dark classroom with just the teacher. Two hours into playing I was tired, and was yelled at for being out of tune. I couldn't hardly blow air through my instrument. I was exhausted. The teacher would grab my instrument, shove it farther in my mouth, cutting the roof of my mouth. She would grab it from me in mid play, knocking my teeth. Hitting hr stick off my stand knocking my music on the floor. This wasn't just me. Induring class she would go around to every instrument in my section shoving them farther in our mouths. Anyway. The stress finally got to me. I started crying twlling her to stop yelling at me. I take multiple lessons a week, and it is hard enough from the other teacher wanting me to learn something new each visit. She yelled at me telling me it didn't matter. I needed to practice way more, and to not talk back to her again. I grabbed my case, and headed for he door. She told me that if I left then she wouldn't teach me again. I slowly went to my seat thinking that would be a good thing. I just sat thre, and cried. She said she thought this to go far beyond instrument playing. I came out with it. Saying what was going on at home. She looked suprised. She told me to finish up the piece the best I could, and then I could go home. After that I didn't have any more lessons with her. Not after school, during lunch, any time. All she did was tell us to practice, and point to me saying expecially me. Reminding me every day to practice.
I wondered why she never helped. Maybe it was, because she was so close to retiring. Maybe she didn't want to get involved. Will she spend the rest of her life wondering what would of happend if she did help? Eather way it over with, and she did nothing, but hurt, stress, and push me.
Soon after I saw what was claimed to be a professional counselor in the school. I hated her so I won't get into details. She found out I was suicidal. She said it was a safe place. No one could hear me in there, and she wouldn't tell my parents. So I told her about my harming. The next day I walk in to find my parentals sitting there crying. After that I refused to go back to her.
In 9th grade I had a group of people I hung out with, talked to, and did class work with reguarly. I was close to, and trusted these people. I told the boy I liked about my harming. He would talk about it in the group every day having me talk about it. We didn't saything when the teacher came around. Soon after I was called into the counsellors office. She said I need to stop or not talk about it anymore. I was called in every week, and checked for any new cuts. A few weeks in the counsellor put a piece of paper in front of me. It was a contract for not harming again. If I didn't sign it then I would be stripped infront of my parents, searched fr harms, and be forced to sign. If still refusing I would be stripped infront of the school on the gym stage, searched, and be forced to sign, or she would call the principle in to have me suspended, having police make me sign, and then escort me home. I just signed, and went back to class. My group no longer welcomed me, and with semester change each teacher made me sit in a dark corner alone...cause...you know...everyone else will, "catch my self harming disease" as the counselor said.
I stayed quiet untill high school. I met this boy who was an intraining on call firefighter. By this time I was bitter. I was angry, and hurt. He was in band with me. The director was a bit fun, threw a few fits, stomped around, told jokes. He had us play actual music, and didn't pressure me. This boy talked to me everyday. He asked about music, how I was feeling, what was going on... He knew I was harming. I think a mutual friend told him. Anyway he would always get the same, "What do you care. Get away from me. I hate you." told off kinda answers. I was told he was kind, but didn't believe it. One day I admitted to him I harmed, and he said that was it. I was grabbed by the arm, and he pulled me into the school building. I yelled and screamed at him the whole time untill we got into the under stair entrance. He shoved me against the wall, and covered my mouth. "Don't be loud in the buildng like this." I was suprised so I agreed. I didn't know what to think. He continued pulling me. Here I am with my feet trying to be planted in the finished concrete floor, silently struggling to not go where ever he was taking me, being pulled by a guy carrying a barri sax. He drug me into a room, and shoved me into a dark room, and made me sit in a seat. He said, "This one needs help, I tried, I don't know what to do, somthings going on, I know you can talk to them and help." He left. I was so confused. i looked around, and surprise! Yet another counselors office. I was in panic. I stood up saying I had to leave, but she lockd the door, and made me sit down. I sat there watching the band march out on front campus. I started shaking, and crying saying I would be in trouble. I sat there, and did so while she did work through a couple of songs. When I calmed down she told me she has been helping that other boy since he started high school. He no longer has anger problems. I sat there with a strange feeling on the inside. He cared enough about me to force me in the right direction. Halfway through marching season I had grown soft. He would cover for me anytime I needed or he forced me to go see that counselor. Stopping was hard though. He couldn't always be there, and he had to leave alot. The first time I had to make up an excuse I was yelled at for missing practice. I was angry at him. I continuely yelled at him, and eventually told him I couldn't stop. He said, "Ok. Just don't expect me to help you anymore." A sad feeling hit me. After rarely going to see the counselor, the next year I went as a regular thing. Every few weeks. This wasn't good so I scheduled a time to go. She walked out of her office, and I was sitting there eating with my friends. I reminded her I was coming in, and she told me that I shouldn't be doing it in the first place. That I just need to grow up, and stop. She left, and I fought back tears. I didn't go back to the counselor to talk again. I told her what was going on to, but she didn't help. I begged for her to do somthing to help me, but she never did.
Sorry for this being so long. It helps me feel better to tell a bit of my story.