My Explanations, Still Silenced

I feel I owe you all a huge explanation to last night's explosion. I feel like I should have one, some major apology statement, but I really don't. Last night, I was under incredible stress. I had four major projects due the next day, plus a project looming in the future that I just wasn't "up" to doing. The truth is, I'm really not "up" to living anymore.

Last night, time had constrained against me, I had spent all of the previous night talking to Jason. I was typing to Dobbl as well. She mentioned something about East Hollywood and I remembered that I had to tell her about my mom's oh-so-characteristic-quick-change-of-mind. You all saw it, the bit of the conversation I had posted? Yeah, well. Let's just put it this way: I wasn't kidding about killing myself. And I said that, and I expected something out of Dobbl that I usually see, compassion. But instead, she told me "I'm probably going to drop out." Which gave spark to the fire inside me, raging about not being heard once more.

The thing is, I don't care if Dobbl drops out. I'd half expect it from her. But she doesn't care if I kill myself? What if I weren't "doing this for attention," if that's what she thinks? What's she going to say when my contorted corpse is lying on the floor. "Well I guess I am dropping out, then." I just really want to say Fuck You to her. I don't think she understands that, while she may not be able to be happy without friends, I won't be mentally functioning if I stay at this school. That's how immense the work load is. Math is simple, I understand, Language Arts is nothing I can't handle, Biology is pretty easy, and Geography is like being back in fourth grade, but make all of those into Honors classes and give homework from every one, and you are here. You Are Dead. Homework isn't necessarily something that I have "trouble" with, so to speak, but this is High School Honors homework. Even if I organize everything, even my underwear drawer and the stairs I descend, I'm still going to be stressed out. And my mom wonders why my back cracks so often.

I won't be mentally functioning because this school is meant to squander creativity and turn brains into the same paste, jell-O, oatmeal consistency. You're in the IB? Well in that case, read these books and write these words and do this homework, and then you'll get into college. But it has to be BYU, or Harvard, and you'll have to be whatever your mom says you must be. I don't need to go to college, I need to be creative. And no matter what you try here, "creative" isn't part of their vocabulary.

So what's more important? Happiness or mental capability?