When we arrived at school, my mum stopped at the entrance. I got out of the car and took my school bag with me, putting it on my back.
"I'll see you after school! Bye!" my mum said, waving.
I shut the car door, then I waved back before walking through the school gates and into the horrible place that somehow qualified as a learning environment. I made my way across the school grounds, then I went inside the main building. I walked down the corridors towards my form room, and as I did so, I saw some Year 11 kids walking towards me, on their way to their own form room.
As soon as I saw them coming towards me, I started to panic. I felt a familiar feeling of dread in my stomach, and I could feel my heart beating faster.
Don't look at me, I thought. Please don't talk to me or say anything bad about me, I pleaded silently in my head, hoping that they would walk straight past me.
The Year 11 kids walked past me without saying anything, and a sudden feeling of relief washed over me. Sometimes when I walked past older kids at my school, they made fun of me and said horrible things about me, even though most of the time they had never met me before. The other day, I was making my way up the stairs that led to the English corridor, and an older boy that I assumed was in Year 11 yelled at me and said that I was 'nothing but a nutter', just because I had walked up the same stairs previously to go to a different classroom. I had never met this boy in my life, and he still felt the need to make fun of me, like everyone at the school did.
Everyone at my school was just so horrible and ignorant, and it was awful how they could just insult people and make fun of them without caring how they might feel or even giving it a second thought. I never understood how they could be so cruel to others, and not feel bad about it. They were all just bullies, and they were all the same. Sometimes I kind of wished that there was one person in my school that was like me, someone that actually understood me and shared the same opinions as me. But there definitely wouldn't have been anyone like that in a school like this.
I made my way up the stairs to my form room, which was the Art classroom. When I reached the top of the stairs, I walked into the classroom and seated myself in my place next to my fake best friend, Alex.
Alex was my best friend when we were younger, and we used to be quite close, until a few years ago when she became a fake friend. Before, when we were better friends, I told her things about me that nobody else knew, and I really trusted her. But I started to realise that she was becoming a bully like everyone else at school, and I regretted ever opening up to her. I would have stopped being friends with her, but every time I tried to tell her that I didn't want to be friends anymore, she forced me to stay friends with her. I was so scared that she was going to tell everyone at my school everything about me one day, because that was the sort of thing that she would do.
As I sat down, my form tutor, Mrs Whittle, greeted me.
"Good morning, Bianca!" she said cheerily, beaming at me.
I froze in my seat, terror rushing through my entire body as I looked down at my desk and pretended I hadn't heard her. I felt horrible, and she probably thought I was just being ignorant, just like all of the kids in this school thought I was. I wished that I could just speak at school like everyone else, instead of being controlled by my disorder.
I hated it when teachers greeted me in the morning at school, because I felt so awful and embarrassed when I couldn't say 'good morning' back to them. Sometimes it felt as if the teachers were just greeting everyone in the morning so that they could wait for me to walk through the school gates and try and force me to talk, just so they could laugh at me. I wouldn't be surprised if they actually did, to be honest. The other day, when I walked into school, two teachers tried to make me talk to them while I was on my way to form. It was awful, and I just felt really anxious and embarrassed.
I wondered what it would be like to be able to talk at school. I didn't know how everyone else could just speak to people when they wanted to, or how they could just respond when they are being spoken to, instead of freezing up and not being able to say anything. Whenever people spoke to the other kids in my class, they could just reply with ease. But when I was spoken to, it seemed as if my words got lost on their way from my mind to my mouth.
In form, Mrs Whittle handed out some questionnaires about the school. We had to complete them and write down our opinions on multiple aspects of the school, such as the safety of the students in the school, if the school had improved, what we liked and disliked about the lessons and other topics like that.
When I was completing my questionnaire, I wrote down what I really thought about the school. Most of the kids in my form probably just quickly wrote down a few positive things about the school, so that they could get it over and done with. But I wrote what I really thought, because I thought that questionnaires should be answered honestly. It was kind of strange how teachers always asked you to complete surveys about your opinions on the school, yet they only talked about and showed the surveys with answers that they wanted to see. And by the answers that they wanted to see, I meant blatant lies. The survey answers that actually told the truth about the school were the ones that were never shown to parents, and they were the ones that were locked away in the headteacher's office so that people didn't accidentally find out how bad this school really was.
After I had finished answering the questions on the questionnaire, Mrs Whittle collected it in, along with everyone else's. I was kind of worried that I would get into trouble for writing negative things about the school, because the teachers were going to read the answers on the questionnaires, but I tried not to think about that. The teachers needed to be told that it was a disgusting place, even if only one person was telling them that, because it was the truth.
I sat there for a few minutes, looking at the clock in the corner of the whiteboard and counting down the minutes until the end of form. When the bell finally rang, I picked up my school bag and put it on my back. Then I walked out of the door, and I headed to my first lesson of the day, which was English.
YOU ARE READING
Forever
Teen FictionThe story of two girls battling depression, and their idols that saved their lives. Bianca Parker doesn't like herself at all. She is bullied at school, she struggles with depression and anxiety, and she deals with self harm. And to make matters wor...
