One day after school, I was feeling particularly poorly, and I sought out my old Math teacher for support. He told me that he was happy to be there but that he needed to do something first, and he would be back. He left the room.
I waited by myself for a while, but I was too restless and anxious to sit in an empty classroom all alone. I did a quick lap around the school, and then I spotted my teacher walking into a classroom with another teacher. The door closed behind them, so I went back upstairs to his classroom.
Time was ticking, and I was expecting a ride home from a family member. I knew that I had to go, and my window to get these feelings off my chest was closing.
Fleetingly, I thought of going downstairs and knocking, letting my teacher know that I had to go. But a part of me was shouting danger! Danger! And said don’t do that, just wait for him to return. Don’t be so needy. So I waited.
Finally, there was only five minutes until my ride would arrive. I almost left, but I paused, thinking that he knew I was in distress, and I would cause trouble if I just disappeared when I had asked for help.
I hesitated, and then scolded myself, thinking that this was ridiculous, I was doing nothing wrong, I had to get a grip on my anxiety, I should go downstairs and let him know that I was leaving, and that would be that.
I forced my feet to carry me downstairs, and just when I had situated myself in front of the classroom, working up the nerve to knock, the door opened wide and my teacher came out.
At first, he looked startled, and then his face quickly changed into a severe expression of anger. The other teacher sidestepped him and turned to walk down the hall, looking amused.
My teacher began to raise his voice, demanding to know how I knew where he was, and accused me of stalking him.
I was shaking, throat tight, face red, hot and cold chills, probably one of the worst anxiety attacks I had ever experienced in my entire life. Tears were streaming down my face as he turned on his heel and stormed up to his classroom.
After a minute, somehow I managed to follow, and once I reached the classroom I whimpered to him about how I happened to see him go in the room and I was scared if I didn’t let him know I was leaving that I would cause everyone alarm.
After recounting what had happened, my teacher seemed to relax slightly, once he had established that I was not stalking him. I am not sure what had happened next, I think he tersely told me that he had to go, and then left me on my knees, crying, in the middle of the classroom floor.
I cut that night. I cut, trying to punish myself for seeking him out. Punish myself for being so needy. I punished myself for demanding so much attention from others. I believed that I was a terrible human being. I wanted to die so badly, but I just went to bed.