Mostly just my unedited rambling about my feelings and thoughts now that I’ve finished high school. Let me know if i messed anything up! thatguyfrankenstein@proton.me

I’ve finished high school. Technically. I don’t know if the school year for years 12s is over, but I don’t have have to go anymore. I don’t have the grades to graduate or anything, so it doesn’t matter. I’ve been reflecting a lot because of it.

Really all I can feel about it is, wow, that really wasn’t worth it.

School sucked ass. I’m glad it’s over. I guess. Though now I don’t have much to look forward to. My main motivation for getting through school was the promise of it ending eventually. I used to think once school finished, I’d be overjoyed.

I used to be really miserable in school, but eventually I stopped feeling much of anything. Which sounds really edgy, but really, it’s quite boring. It’s kind of like watching paint dry. Sometimes you’re intrigued by a new colour, or a stray drip, but mostly it’s just boring. And being stuck there watching paint dry for long enough makes you feel like you’re losing it.

Meanwhile everyone else is talking about how interesting the colour is or the painters technique, and you’d scream at them if you could care more, because it’s been years and what possibly could they be seeing that makes this interesting? And everyone looks at you weird when you complain, because what’s there not to like?

Realising I had learning disabilities made me a lot more forgiving of my self. Turns out crying from frustration because you still can’t do basic mental math in grade six (age 11/12) is a sign to get checked out. Who knew. (all of my primary school teachers who told my nan to get me tested)

I remember in grade 6 I raised my hand for help while we were doing math. This was unusual, I never asked for help. Literally ever. At most, I would stare at the teacher until they came to ask me why I was staring, though most of the time I’d chicken out because I didn’t want the teacher to think I was weird.

When she came over to me, she asked what was up. I struggle a lot to speak, so I gestured at my work. We were counting for something, I think we were meant to be doing multiplication in our heads., I can’t do multiplication in my head, so i tried to make one of those number ruler things, where you have, say, 10 numbers in a line like; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10; and then you draw a curved line to show you skipping to the number. Like; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10; etc.

I was still messing up and was near tears so i asked for help. She looked at my work, and told me “You can do that, stop being lazy” and I sobbed. As quiet as I could, because I tried so hard to do that stupid math and I was so brave for asking for help for the first time in years and she called me lazy. She said it in a light hearted tone because she was the silly nice teacher but she didn’t help so???

That was when I stopped trying in school. I started faking sick to stay home, and I would make myself throw up to avoid suspicion. By the time of high school I was genuinely throwing up from anxiety. I almost ate mould and rotted food so a doctor would actually have something to diagnose. I almost purposely got bees to sting me because I’m allergic. I got to stay in the hospital the first time I was stung for four days.

Just this year a teacher told me “you can’t be burden on your nan forever”when i told her i didn't knwo what career i wanted, and i wanted her to drop dead. I still do. I spent my last few years in a school targeted towards kids who struggle with mainstream schools.

It was interesting how non-compassionate our teachers were. They treated us like they were saints for dealing with us. They participated in bullying one of my classmates who had higher needs then the others and was enby. She was open about things they needed and everyone fucking hated her for that. I hate them all for that too.

School just feels like an open wounds that's been festering for years, and somewhere along the line the infection got in my blood and now I'm all fucked up. But in a really boring way. Where everything feels like nails on a chalkboard and any emotions i manage to go a quikly as they came. Everythings just so boring but i have not motivation to do anything.

I have a blog now!

Which is almost entirely because ever since I added a thought to the thought page about intrusive thoughts, I've started ignoring its existince.

Now I get anxious at the thought of looking at it lmao.

Though I also want a place to put more words.