Crying at School.

Isn't crying at school suppose to end around the 8th grade?

In the 8th grade there was a US history class that I was in. I did well in the course itself, but what made me hate that class so much were the people. A few kids from the popular crowd were in my class and they use to tease me. Snicker behind my back; call me stupid names. Even when I knew they weren't talking about me, they were whispering among themselves, and I was paranoid. I would come out of that class a few times with a tear or two; small enough that I could quickly wipe them away before meeting my friend Virginia who was in the math class next door. But there was this one day-- and I don't even remember what happened-- when I came out of that class bursting with tears.

Four years later. I'm a senior in high school. 2nd period Psychology. It was one of my favorite classes. I enjoyed the subject, the teacher was awesome, and I had a few friends in the class too. But there were three people in that class that made me so angry at times, I felt like shoving their head in a blender. I never met them, never knew they existed, until I took that class. I don't regret being in it, but at the same time I wished they would drop out. Plus it didn't really help that more than half the class of 2008 liked them. But this blog post is about crying in school, not so much about their social ranking.

There were only 2 legit times I cried while in high school.

[ o n e ] Sophomore year. The "Every 15 Minutes" exercise. The principal-- on the loudspeaker-- would announce a few names of students, teachers, and staff and declare that they have either died or are critically injured due to an accident, in order to stimulate the pain and impact drinking while under the influence can have on a person. One of the names they called was a girl named Claudia who was in my math class the year before. We were just acquaintances, but it really hit me because she was a senior that year. She was suppose to graduate in a month and go off to do amazing things in life. Of course it was only a stimulation, and Claudia didn't really die (I hope she's doing well these days). But after hearing her name on that loudspeaker... I broke down.

[ t w o ] Junior year. The unfortunate loss of a great person. I've known Mike since freshman year and I'd like to say we were close acquaintances. We didn't hang out outside of school, and we weren't exactly in the same pool of friends, but if we saw each other in the halls we'd say hi. Or ask about each other's weekend during class. He left for Heaven on a Saturday night, and I remember the Friday before I had wished him a good weekend. I came to school the Monday right after the accident and went to my first period class. Algebra 2. I noticed the empty desk behind mine. It was Mike's. I broke down.

I don't really like crying in public, because if you knew me in real life you'd know that I'm naturally a happy and spunky type of person. Two of friends, Megan and Joe, had claimed on two different occasions that if I'm sad, everyone's sad. Which looking back on it, makes me realize the reason why I don't like crying (or being sad in general) in public: because if I make other people happy with my happiness, then it's not worth to see them worry about me or wonder what's wrong.

But there was one occasion during one day in that 2nd period Psychology class when I wanted to not just cry, but to scream! It was almost like an everyday routine for them to say rude and obnoxious comments about things I'd say or do. They would indirectly belittle me by questioning the way I thought, or the things I liked. Teens will be teens, I get it. But there is a line of tolerance, and it's different for everyone. For me, the tolerance level is high. If you want to be mean, or talk smack about me: go ahead! It's not like I'm going to do anything about it, but to shrug it off. There is a breaking point as well, and it can be one little or one big thing that sets it off. For me however, it was an accumulation of all their little things, plus one too many.

So the question is: did I cry? No. I held it in, and saved it for that night's shower. In the midst of the warm water, I cried. And while I thought about how much I disliked them, and how much I wanted to tell them off, I had a spark of insight that was lost in my head until now.

They had no idea how much of an influence they had over others. And when you don't know the kind of affect you have on other people, how the fuck are you going to change if the affect you have is not good? To some people, they were amazing friends. To to others, they were absolute douche bags! I don't hate them, and I don't wish them any harm. They're probably having a great college life, but if I were them, I would hate to be the cause of someone's tears.

"Know you're affect,

And don't be blind.

Don't be the cause,

Just be kind."

Insight, from the shower <33

** picture provided by studiosetsuna at deviantART [ click ]