Highschool Hell

School, huh?
That joyful place where you get judged on what you wear, who you hang out with, the music you listen to (the major one for me) and whether your grades are good or not.
I'm not going to lie. My schooling experience wasn't the easiest and honestly, it wasn't the social side that I had a hard time with (well, sometimes it was). It was some of the teachers. Seventeen year-old me, with scraggly dark hair and braces was probably one of the strangest type of teenagers you could come across - in a way, wanted to fit in, but also, not wanting to give a shit of what other people thought of her and her quirks... and failing miserably.

I wish there was a way of telling sixteen year-old me this wasn't cute.

Hey, look! I made puberty my bitch!

I had an interest, (okay, more like, an obsession) with a certain boyband containing three dark-haired brothers who were made famous by the Disney Channel. Yeah, that one. Later, it was a certain then-recently-deceased music superstar who had probably the most famous fall from grace in the history of, like, ever. Apparently, neither of these were okay to like in social circles. While other kids were either listening to Top 40, dance music or even metal. I spent my nights alone in my room listening to Taylor Swift wondering why I couldn't get a boyfriend. Hell, I still can't seem to get a boyfriend!

I went on my first date at the age of 17 with a guy a good nine years older than I. It was at a bowling alley where some other kids from my class (one of which, I'm actually good friends with now, post highschool) was celebrating a birthday. It didn't last further than this first date, mainly because, while he was fun to talk to, I did find him a little handsy and a little awkward in places. Not to mention, the age difference was a little uncomfortable. Now, at 21,  I prefer older men!
He started to massage my shoulders when I started getting stressed due to losing the game. (Note: I suck at games and sports!)

But it was the next school day that the said friend's then-boyfriend loudly said in class, "Who'd go out with her!" This hurt a little. I spent an quite some time on a night that that week carefully wording, with the help of my parents, a Facebook Chat message to this guy on why I wasn't really interested taking it any further.

But it was the academic side of my schooling which was the hardest on me. I hated maths. Embarrassingly, I actually managed to fail Year 8 maths and pretty much every other year that it was compulsory, I JUST passed by what my mum would say - a bee's dick. Science wasn't much easier. I managed to do really well in Modern History and English, though, particularly towards the end of my schooling when I decided I should take this seriously if I wanted any hope of graduating and getting the hell out of there. My English teacher, while terrifying, taught me shit-loads. In honour of her incredible, shall I say, brain power? I feel I should say 'a great deal', but I'm going to settle for 'shit-loads'. She even taught me, even though it is hated by many a writer, the importance of the Oxford comma, which I love to use. I still talk to her when she comes into work today, even though she retired the year I graduated. I actually managed to pass Year 11 English with flying colours and that particular teacher seemed to dislike almost everyone. Even the cooler kids were like, "Why does she like you so much?" to which, I didn't have an answer for. When I thanked her for giving me such a high mark in my report card, she simply said, "you deserved it," to which I was so pleased with myself about. This was a teacher who we were given creative freedom with and having teenage kids of her own, she knew what we'd be interested in - particularly a certain music-based assignment where we had to analyse the lyrics of two songs with a similar theme.

My Modern History teacher, not only helped me pass in Year 12 by happily using a few lunch sessions in her office and helping me with my major end-of-year assignment but she made the lessons fun. One time she a few of us sit up the front of the class with our bare feet in a bucket of icy water and see how long we could last. She then set off a stink bomb and said, "This, kids, is what the battle zone may have been like in the winter." She then added that she wasn't too concerned about the stench because it was only Year 8's using the room next. 

But the beginning of Year 12 was difficult. I had one teacher who refused to sign me on to the next part of a particular assignment because, apparently, I hadn't done enough work compared to the other students. This really frustrated me, mainly because she wouldn't tell me how to improve it. She at, one point, emailed my mother, telling her I was lazy. I eventually dropped out of this class with the help of our assistant principal and my Modern History teacher, who also happened to be the Year 12 coordinator. It was also at this time that I found out that I have a slight learning disability after years of tests and going to psychologists and things. I, at 14, was told I had the maths brain of a nine year-old. This stung. We worked out that I mainly learn through discussion. It may take me longer to learn things than other people, but if people give me the time and the day, I can get it. 

I'm sorry that this was so long-winded, but I thought I'd share my story to get things off my chest. Highschool wasn't particularly easy for me. Like, is it easy for anyone? But I was blessed to have great teachers (well, other than that particular one) who helped me pass, when I (and I'm sure a number of others) thought I had no hope.

Cheers for sticking with me and stay classy, kids.

Tiarna Ellen xx