Why is the world telling me that I'M the problem?

I just need to yell at something right now in the middle of my ELA class and this is the only way I can figure out how because all the stress relief websites are blocked, i cant stab myself with pencil, yell at a teacher or blow up, and I need to look like i'm doing something. I am so unbelievably angry with my grades on an essay. everyone hates my teacher because he is super strict, crushes dreams and gives a lot of homework. I don't HATE him because I don't hate anyone and like to think of myself as a very empathetic person, but I am THIS close to pounding my head against a table because it is finals week and I had accepted the uselessness of this school support system months ago, yet here I am growing more frustrated. Between the repetitive mental health presentations, blaming of social media and high expectations, I have been stretched as thin as everyone else. Grades aren't bad in my family. They can't be. In middle school I worked extra hard to get straight A's, and was almost done with eighth grade when I learned that those grades don 't even count for anything on the long run. By then It was too late to change the way of existing that was drilled into me, and I even felt glad that I would have practice for high school, when the grades would go on my record. well here I am, halfway through the year and I have never been more tired. in addition, my grades have never been worse. Since the year began, I have volunteered twice, helped out at a bake sale, got first chair in band, learned to play hockey from the ground up, written 26 essays, ACTUALLY studied, prepared a duet piece with my friend for a competition, signed up for an extra online class outside of school for credit, joined weightlifting and marching band, stopped my friend from unaliving herself, gave up art for college credit classes, privately entered a short story contest, and not missed a single day. not when I got sick, not even after a car crash we got into on the way to school. I don't skip. I do my work. I have supportive friends. And here I am, wishing I could die. I think my body is trying to kill me. My stomach turns at the thought of eating anything, but I force myself to anyways because I need to have enough energy for hockey and dragging my backpack around, and I can't help but fight against my melatonin each night to stay awake for hours because my head keeps rushing and it's the only time of day when I can actually relax. I have to drag myself into the shower, and stopped wearing earrings, which sounds dumb and small but for me it feels noticeable. I am known for my giant, unique earrings, or at least i was, and they were one of the only things that made my feel like myself. Now, things like that don't feel worth the energy. But despite being exhausted, despite wishing I could end it all, I just can't. I know it would devastate my family and friends, and I just feel too busy to focus on any of that. I hate living, I hate trudging through the day, I hate working so hard I want to cry, and I hate that i'm failing anyway. I have A-s and B-s, which will never be enough to get me into a good college or have a meaningful future. My grandfather wants me to go to Cambridge or some Swedish university, and I want to make a difference in the world or something idk, But even if I had a 4.0, I would have to stand out somehow to be accepted anywhere. I've never been good at remembering or getting things in on time, but it's caused me to become a genius at lying. Excuses. Gaining sympathy. Taking advantage of my charm and empathy. I can get teachers to really like me without being a suck-up, and when I forget to turn something in, all it takes is a creative and specific story about a computer problem or something that is somehow their fault. I won't say I wish I didn't do it, but I can't, because it works and the extra time makes decision paralysis a little more bearable. AND YET STILL. STILL. I'M F*&KING FAILING AND NOTHING I DO SEEMS TO HELP! nothing I sacrifice, nothing I skip out on, nothing I do to myself helps. not even the "giving yourself breaks" things helps, because it never makes me feel any less tired and just sets me back. Even now, I am spending precious time in class to write this instead of editing a failed essay because I feel like it's the only way I won't scream. a 30/50. Handwritten, three-page report on irony used in To Kill a Mockingbird. Last essay, he told me to divide into more paragraphs. Now, the paper is covered in barely-readable scribbles that say things like "why did you indent again?" "dividing information makes it confusing" "And... WHAT?". The worst part, he acts like HE IS THE VICTIM! I have never met a more bitter man. He spends all class long harping about how the system has stuck him in a thankless gob where we stupid kids don't even listen to him after spending his whole life in school, like a martyr. He tells us that maybe if we studied instead of playing games on our computers, we would be as good as his AP class, or make an essay that was actually readable. It makes me fume. Infuriated at the way he doesn't seem to understand that we are fighting just to stay alive and people like me can't even have fun anymore, even if we had time. The worst part is that even if he did understand, I doubt he would care because this is the bare minimum for everybody. Dying every day and running on 5 hours of sleep. hating yourself and constantly competing. Sinking into depression in the back of your mind without having a minute to spare on escaping. There is no escaping. This is our reality. Our lives. Our fated failure. This is what they have made for us, and yet we are still told we aren't good enough.

Stories in the same category