8th Grade Epidemic

“Pressure is an epidemic! A disease! It’s spreading more quickly and more extensively among 8th graders, than anyone would expect. Peer Pressure, academic pressure, social pressure!” I barked to my therapist. Call me weird, well thank you.




She just nodded, I swear to god, and continued on with her notes, scribbling onto her sheet without so much as a glance up at me. I stared at her and she gave me a go on smile. I was every councilor’s dream, a fully cooperative crazy person, now that does it!



I stared at her slightly and finally she found herself obligated to ask a question. “So…is you’re rating of the school any higher, maybe we can move that 5 to a 6…” She urged and I felt like slapping myself. I gritted my teeth and forced myself not to frown. I shrugged, so so. I just didn’t like her bugging me about it, when I was ready I was ready, stop pressuring me.



She started scribbling again, what would she write…client shrugs at positive suggestions, meaning she is only half willing, being stubborn, need to press for further detail. I could practically see her brain wheels turning.



“It’s actually getting pretty late…” I noted, looking up at the clock. I’d been here over an hour, babbling about myself mostly just for entertainment. It’s not like she would tell anyone, it’s just…I guess I needed to get it out. Maybe that’s why I’m writing this diary/blog. Oh well.



Mrs. B looked disappointed, she looked at her watch and her eyebrows rose. “Oh I’m sorry.” She mumbled, smiling that creepy smile of hers that made me want to tie my hands together to keep them from fumbling around. She was so nerve wrecking.



“I guess I’ll see you next week then, please make sure you talk to your mother about this.” She told me, smiling lightly. I gave her a quick nod before pulling open the door of her broom style like closet and exiting from the annex, a tiny little room that reminded me of Harry Potter’s bedroom closet I swear, it’s so small all there is a wood desk, two chairs and a poster of a kitten.



The chairs aren’t even facing each other either; it’s sideways because it’s so small. I grunted, pulling the second door open and finally I was free into the world, free…yeah right more like enslaved.



And you think I’m kidding?



Let’s take a tour of my new school shall we? The halls…are nonexistent, there are no halls. We walk outside. The only building area is classrooms and doors, and for the rest you walk on sunny sidewalk with all the other sunny people…great.



No one is allowed to touch the grass, and so not in the cool environmentally friendly way as in you touch that grass, you’re suspended or yelled at by Mrs. Cox, in front of the whole student body.



The lunch area, again just a bunch of park picnic tables all smashed together under the overhang, with seagulls looming overhead. Somehow I haven’t seen any seagulls, except on my school roof…strange.



The teachers, the classes are hard. My first walk into Algebra and this is how our teacher gritted us. He smiled the whole time, telling us half of us would never pass nor understand this class. He was pressing us (as I know now, half a year later) and trying to get us to prove ourselves, as kids our age always want to. He was trying to get us to prove him wrong, I didn’t accomplish that much.



He described the two sections of the class as this, the ones who will succeed, end up being bosses, and C.E.Os and the others…the Dory’s; in other words, the people who…just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. I’m a Dory, and I’m proud! Algebra was never my strong spot.



All my teachers are humorous, yet difficult. They know what they’re talking about, and even young Mrs. Brewer is full of knowledge with her cracked up Sprite addiction and her happy smile, she’s definitely my favorite teacher here.



If things sound peachy now, wait until I get to the good part. Each table is separated into sections. I swear it’s worse than the movies, one wrong move and you’re slapped. My first week I spent on the benches, which I now know is called The Randoms Place. Everyone else has a place, you’re a jock, prep, a popular, and believe me their different! (…believe me I thought there wasn’t a difference between them either, until you see them, shiver…) a Goth freak, the meat heads, the dorks, the Asians, the anime nerds, the normal, the Cling Ons, and of course the Happy Family. I’m part of the Happy Family, unfortunately.



The Happy Family is a perfect name, everyone is…ok looking, everyone smiles, everyone seems normal with obsessions and flips flops, but underneath the skin everything is tense. It’s a win or lose situation, in or out.



I found out the more I stay quiet, the more I fit in. One single outburst about the silence and the exclusion and all I get is one of those, are you kidding me, this is how things go look. I stay silent, and everyone ignores me. Everyone is happy.



Someone I would like to be my best friend kind of has been passing me up for one of her other friends she knew for less time than me, wants to die her hair black and is a freak about her religion. My former best friend…was a mess, a love child of Depression, Coolness, and Popularity.



Jewels is not someone you want to bug. She has that grip on the High School Life that scares people and has connections in every section of this puny town. She constantly brags about her high school friends and is the perfect popular, excepting, snobby, and all gossipy. I listened to her talk for weeks, and whenever she let me speak, she usually ended up scowling or bored after and yet she expected me to be all doting and unworthy towards her? Yeah right…



I passed her up and Anne; my…wanna be best friend pulled her back into our circle. She asked her to parties, movies, assignments and suddenly I’m the third wheel being dragged along like a unwanted child. Actually, I’m not even been dragged, I’m chasing after…trying to jump on, but no one wants to stop.



I feel like the world is moving on without me. My Seattle friends have moved on, they don’t send me almost love sick messages about how much they miss me. They didn’t have to leave their lives…they got to live on, with just a tiny piece missing. I had my whole puzzle ripped apart.



Maybe I’m being clingy, or over analyzing…but all I really know, is this is my life now and I have to slug through no matter how bad it may seem…



Song of the Post: Psycho by Puddle of Mudd


Love, Kay