(no subject)

[charliesmum]

Thirty years ago, I had a nervous breakdown.

Not sure exactly why this particular anniversary occurred to me; I don't really think I marked the 10th or the 20th year, but I think it may have to do with the fact that Charlie is the age I was, and in the grade I was, when it happened.

I wish I could pinpoint the moment that sent me down this road, but it had been building for much of my life. Lack of self-confidence, and an overdeveloped sense that other people's opinion of me mattered probably contributed, and my beloved grandfather was dying of cancer at this point, so and I'm sure that didn't help. But the flame that set off this powder keg was lit by my forth grade teacher.

Her name was Mrs. Wood. She was probably in her thirties or so, maybe younger, and she must have been forced into teaching because it was pretty obvious she hated everything about it. She would fill three black-boards with notes, and we would copy them, and that was her teaching method. Briefly, she was mean, and for whatever reason, I was many times the brunt of her meanness.

I can't give too many examples, as I've blocked out most of it, but I do remember her yelling at me for losing my map worksheet. I remember standing in the doorway as she towered over me, screaming at me and calling me names, while kids stood around us, watching.

She would give candy to kids who got As and Bs, and I also remember her once telling them that they can eat it in front of those of us who didn't get it because 'we deserve it.'

I dreaded going to school. The best two days of that year was when we had a substitute who was great in her own right, but for me it was like having an angel smiling on me. I can still remember the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I walked in to see the regular teacher standing there. Thank God for the teacher's strike that kept me out of that classroom for a bit as well, otherwise I think I'd have died.

And the kids in my class didn't help. Sensing weakness, I was picked on; but that's much less a unique experience, so I won't dwell on that.

At any rate, I got more and more withdrawn. I would pile books on my desk so people couldn't see me and escape into a fictional world, mostly Honey Bunch or Nancy Drew. I'd go so deeply into my books, people would call me and I wouldn't hear them.

My mom tried to get me switched into a different class, but they wouldn't do it. Eventually, and someday I'll have to ask her what convinced her to do this, I started seeing a child psychiatrist. The kind that could prescribe meds and everything. Which, incidentally, he did.

Dr. Myers was the best thing that ever happened to me. We would just play games; mostly ping-pong, and we would talk. We'd take walks in the woods behind his office and talk, and gradually, over the next few years, I crawled out of the darkness.

My parents wanted to sue the school, but they were told it would be way traumatic for me, so they didn't. The principal didn't do anything, and Mrs. Wood was allowed to go on to torment other children. Could still be, for all I know.

My mom told me much later that Dr. Myers said I was the most suicidal nine-year old he'd ever had to deal with. Dubious distinction, no?

So thirty years ago, I was damaged, but not broken beyond repair. It's still there, like cracks in a patched up vase, and sometimes water leaks through, but mostly I think it made me stronger. Strong enough, I hope, to keep my son from ever having to feel the way I did.

I still wonder how I let other people own me so completely. If I could convince any 'young people' of anything it would be to trust in yourself, and don't let other people judge your self-worth. You are as good as you think you are, so don't let anyone tell you that you are anything less than the best.

Comments

[cactus-wren.livejournal.com]

Nope, our Mrs. Wood is as whitebread as they come. And in no way attractive. But certainly evil.