#like when she didn’t wanna skip 4th grade. if that were me my mom would have made me feel so guilty for being born | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

calpalirwin · 4 years

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Parent Teacher Conference

A/N: Anon request- Okay but single dad ashton au where he doesnt wanna risk getting his kid involved with a woman but ur the new teacher for them and yall meet and he falls madly for u

Content: All the feels! And swearing.

And away, and away we go!

~~~

“C’mon, Seb, get a move on,” I called out, peeking my head into the bathroom.

My carbon-copy of a son with a mop of brown-blond curls turned to me, toothbrush in his mouth, and grinned. “Dad! I’m in big kid school now!” his voice muffled around the toothbrush.

“Yeah, and you’re gonna be late if you don’t step it up a notch.”

4th grade. My 9 year old was going into 4th grade. I choked back the memories, refusing to cry, because “Dad, stop crying, it’s only 4th grade.”

“You’re right, bud, it’s only 4th grade,” I had told him, tucking him into bed last night. To him, it was only 4th grade. For me, this was also the anniversary of the day his mom left us 8 years ago.

I looked at my son, his brand new sneakers that would have scuff marks on them when I picked him up later, a long sleeved flannel tied around his waist. God, if it weren’t for the fact that he was clearly me- the eyes and the giggle were a dead give away- I swear he was Luke’s. “Uncle Lu tell you to dress like that?” I asked.

The curls bounced as his head bobbed up and down. “He said it was cool. And I wanna be cool, Dad. It’s 4th grade.”

I imitated my head exploding. God, when did this kid grow up? Seemed like just yesterday his entire body could fit in my hands.

“Dad? Dad!”

I shook my head, clearly the thoughts. “Yeah, bud?”

“Can we go now?” he asked, a Spider-Man backpack slung over one of his shoulders.

“C’mon, then,” I smiled.

~~~

It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried dating since Seb’s mom left us. I had. I was just very selective. I didn’t want to bring a woman home, have things go wrong, and be left to pick up not only my broken pieces but my son’s as well.

My heart was one thing. I’d been known to be reckless with it. But, my son’s was another matter entirely. He was too young to know heartache.

Plus every time I had to cancel a date last minute because Seb got sick, or left a date early because Seb called me in tears asking where I was, didn’t lend itself to much romance. Girls could go on and on about how hot single dads were, but what they failed to realize is that my son would always be my number 1 priority.

~~~

“Mr. Irwin, I’d like to talk to you about Sebastian. Is there anyway you can meet with me after school? Say 2:45?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. School had only been in session for a month. It couldn’t be time for parent-teacher conferences already. Which only meant one thing- something had happened with Seb. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Who was that?” Calum asked me.

“Seb’s teacher. She wants to talk with me after school.”

“Isn’t his teacher hot?” Mike asked.

“What? No… I mean, she’s attractive, sure. But, she’s his teacher.”

“Ooo, Ash like the teacher!” Luke teased.

I felt my face flush. Alright, maybe I did a little. She was attractive, stunningly so, and she was a teacher. Which meant she understood kids. And maybe, that just might mean she understood single dads.

~~~

“Hello?” I asked, sticking my head in the classroom at 2:45.

The bell had rung fifteen minutes ago and I still hadn’t seen my son. Now, I saw why, as he was hunched in his desk reading, a scowl on his face.

“Dad!” his face lit up when he heard my voice.

“Keep reading, Sebastian,” his teacher’s voice said firmly.

“Yes ma’am…”

“Mr. Irwin, glad you could make,” she smiled softly at me. “Please, have a seat.”

I moved to sit in chair she had just besides her desk. “So, you wanted to talk?” I asked.

“Yes. It seems your son had an incident with a classmate on the playground today.”

“Seb?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice level.

“Alex is a jerk! And she took away my recess!” he shouted at me.

“Sebastian,” both his teacher and I warned, and then I had to work at keeping the smile off my face.

“Anyway,” she said, turning her attention back to me. “There was an incident. Both boys lost their recess privileges for the rest of this week and next week.”

“You keep saying ‘incident,’ what happened exactly?”

“I keep saying ‘incident,’ Mr. Irwin, because your son is an incredibly… strong-willed individual.”

“You can just say he’s stubborn. And it’s Ash, please.”

“I prefer the term strong-willed, Ash,” she smiled at me again and I liked the way it was genuine and soft, her eyes crinkling at the edges. And I liked the way my name sounded rolling off her lips. And I was in trouble.

“So, my stubborn son won’t tell you what happened?”

“Precisely. And I’m not one to involve admin if I can help it. But in order to not involve admin, I need to know what happened. That’s where I’m hoping you can come in.”

“Seriously, Seb? She just said she’s not gonna send you to the principal, and you’re mad she took away recess from you?”

“She wouldn’t take my recess away if she knew what Alex said!” His book was now closed and clenched in his fists, vibrating with his tiny rage.

“Sebastian, I would love to know what Alex said,” she told him, keeping herself calm even though my son was far from it himself. Was that a special gift all teachers had, or just her? “But, every time I ask, you just tell me he was being a jerk. Maybe you’d like to tell your dad instead?”

“He is a jerk!” he screamed, throwing his book. “He’s… he’s… he’s a fuckin asshole!”

“Sebastian James Irwin! What the hell has gotten into you? Start explaining yourself, now!”

His face scrunched up as he realized I was now angry with him. “He said I didn’t have a mom!” he wailed at me before bursting into tears and running out of the classroom.

I fell back in my seat, watching him run off, my heart shattering in my chest. He was right. This Alex kid was a fuckin asshole.

“You okay?” her voice sounded, her hand touching mine.

“I thought I was doing everything right…”

“You are. Sebastian is by far one of the best students I’ve had. He’s so kind and polite to everybody. He’s funny, too. Which is why today surprised me. It seemed so out of character.”

“I better go after him,” I sighed, getting up.

“I’ll come with,” she offered, getting up herself.

It was the first time a girl had offered to come with me before when dad duty called. I couldn’t help it. I smiled at her.

“Now, I see where Sebastian gets his smile from,” she smiled back.

~~~

We found him huddled in the corner of the highest part of the play structure.

“Would you get down, please?” I asked from the ground. Climbing up there myself was going to be a bitch.

“No! Go away! I hate you!”

“Love you too, bud!”

“Where’s my mom?”

“I don’t know, bud. Come down so we can talk, please.”

“No!”

“That wasn’t a question, Seb.”

“I don’t care!”

“You have to the count of 3 to get down here, or I’m coming up there,” I said, really hoping I didn’t have to go up there after him. “1.”

“No!”

“2!”

“I hate you!”

3!” I started my ascent. My kid, the fuckin brat that he was, waited until I was on the middle platform before launching himself down the slide. “You stay right there,” I warned, moving to go back down.

“Sebastian,” I heard her voice say as he started to run. “Are we making smart choices right now, or are we acting on impulse?”

“Impulse…” he answered, stopping in his tracks.

“And, what do we want to do?”

“Make smart choices…”

“So, what do we do to calm our impulses, so we can make smart choices?”

“Breathe…”

“Alright, breathe with me. Ready?”

“Yeah…”

“And, inhale, 3, 4, 5, 6. Hold. Exhale, 4, 3, 2 , 1,” she coached as I watched. Was she trying to make me fall in love with her? “Better?”

“Better…”

“Alright, you ready to tell us what’s wrong?”

“Alex said-” he started, already getting upset again.

She held up a finger. “Calmly, Sebastian. What upset you?”

“My feelings were hurt when Alex said I didn’t have a mom.”

“Why?”

“Because it made me feel sad.”

“Why?”

“Because I have Dad. And Uncle Cal, Lu, and Mikey. And grandma. And Auntie Lauren, and Uncle Harry. And Auntie Crystal and Auntie Sierra.”

“Wow, sounds like you have a lot of people who love you.”

“But, I don’t have a mom…”

“Lots of people don’t have moms. Or dads. Spider-Man didn’t have his parents. Was he still loved?”

“Yeah…”

“So, what’s wrong?”

“Am I broken?”

“No, Seb,” I finally spoke up. Great. My life had come full circle. I was the man without a dad, raising a son without a mom. And now he was asking himself the same questions I used to ask myself. I crouched down to be eye level with him. “You know why you don’t have a grandpa?”

“Because… I dunno…”

“Because I don’t have a dad.”

“Where is your dad?”

“I dunno. But what I do know is that I’m not broken. And neither are you.”

“Are they in Heaven or…?” he asked, struggling with the concept of someone just abandoning him like it was nothing. Death made sense. But just straight up leaving your kid? Hell, even I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“No. I wish that were the case, but, no. They just left.”

“So, they didn’t want us…? Why?”

“I dunno, bud. But, I know that I want you. And I know that all your aunties, uncles, and grandma want you. We love you, Seb, and you’re always gonna have us. Promise.”

He nodded, seeming to accept that our love would be enough for him. Then, “Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“Can Miss Y/L/N come with us to get ice cream?”

“Oh, you think you’re getting ice cream after this stunt? Keep dreamin, pal!”

“But, you promised if I got on A on my test we’d get ice cream. Show him, Miss! Show him my test!”

She laughed and nodded. “Sebastian did get an A on his fractions test. Perfect score in fact.”

“See? Pay up, Daddy-o!” Seb laughed at me.

“Who taught you to call me ‘Daddy-o’, Seb?” I asked, giggling.

“Uncle Lu!”

I laughed again. Of course it was. “Alright. But only 1 scoop.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said skipping off.

“So, would it be too forward if I asked you to ice cream? I mean, the kid… he’s been through a lot today. You don’t wanna break his heart, do ya?”

She laughed. “You rely on him to get all your dates?”

“Only the ones that are worth it. You’re great with him. He really likes having you as a teacher.”

“I really like having him as a student. I hear his dad’s pretty cute, too.”

“Cute dad, huh? Did you hear he’s single?”

“Oh, wow. Did you hear his teacher’s single too, and happens to love ice cream?”

#parent teacher conference #ashton irwin #ashton blurb #dad!ash #anon request #ow my heart #galcal irwin

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amazignphil · 5 years

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TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM. PLEASE DON’T READ THIS IF YOU AREN’T IN THE RIGHT STATE OF MIND RIGHT NOW.

So, before I start talking about what actually happened, I wanna make something clear. Self harm is not solution to anything; self care is. I am gonna tell you something first. I used to self harm a lot back when I was in 4th grade. It was before I was diagnosed with with depression and people used to make fun of me for “attention seeking and pretending to be sad” while I actually felt like, if I actually hurt myself, I will be stronger than them. If I actually hurt myself and get through it like a brave girl, no one will laugh at me for being sad anymore. I didn’t even know what this ‘sadness’ meant.

(rest under cut IF you want to continue reading)

A year later, a teacher in my class sees me poking my compass into my hand and talks to me about it. I tell her its something I do almost everyday and she tels me to not ddo this and tells my parents, who were also aware f it but also regarded it just “attention seekin” (i won’t like, as a kid, i needed a lot of atention and care, but this wasn’t what i would die fopr attention. Not when I would deliberately make the cuts into the inside of my thigh to keep anyone from seeing it ever.)That was the first time I was taken to the therapist and soon enough, i was diagnosed with depression. He told me a lot about what this hurting myself thing ctually was, why its bad, why i should never do it and why its something thats extremely harmful.

I had stopped after that. I stopped cutting myself or hurting myself since that day. Never tok a blade to my thigh again, never took a compass to my wrist again, never deliberately pinched myself till my skin turned red again.

But recently, while it was pride month and eid, I already had a bad mental state. Not to mention, i have started shwing signs of anorexia according to my current therapist. My sister has started loosing weight and people started commenting that I am now getting fatter than her and... i don’t reallt take those comments well. So, i starve myself on days on end.

And since its Eid-ul-fitr, the fasting Eid, it was easier to do this. But when I was with my cousins, they repeatedly kept reminding me and calling fat and saying stuff like, “You’re the fatter one here” and “your sister is so think what the hell are you doing” and stuff like that. I don’t think they meant it as seriously as i took it, but it hurt.

And combine that with the fact that they hate my mom and keot non stop bitching about my mom 24/7.. it really didn’t help, .

Some other stuff which is a bit tmi so I’ll skip over but basically, i had a lot of shit in my head and I was about to relly do some damage to other people and myself but this stupid voice inside of me told me that maybe.. just maybe.. if I can hurt myself and survive that, than this pain will mean nothing.

And the stupid part of me did feel brave, for a few moments before the fact that I self harmed again kicked in. The fact that not only was I hurting myself, but I was doing it because it supposedly made me brave made me want to hate myself.

I wanted the hurt to stop.

I added to it.

I added physical and more emotional pain to what was already eating at me.

I regret it so much. I regret it with every fibre of my being. And this time, the scars are on my wrist. Visible, to anyone that just even LOOKS. Its stupid, i shouldn’t have done it.

There are about two dozens cuts there. All of which will be open for people to see and for me to regret over.

I wanted to lessen the pain i added to it.

So, I want to say this right now, as someone that has made this mistake again, please, don’t do this. The regret that washes over you once you realize all the other people beside yourself yourself you’re hurting, the regret that you just added to your pain, the regret that instead of fixing thing, you made a bigger mess and that instead of getting rid of the pain, you added to it, it engulfs you much more harshly than any other pain. It causes so much hatred to yourself, it unbearable.

I don’t want to do this ever again. People get worried, so many of friends have showed so much concerned, my sis and my dad basically baby proofed the houses and moved any and all sharp objects far away from me so I don’t even THINK about trying this ever again. Even thecusins cried when one of the saw the marks and told the others, I know they care, and it makes me feel even worse because even though they care, now they blame themselves and even though its my fault. And thats another pain to top the list.

So if you really think that self harm helps lessen the pain, you’re dead wrong. maybe you don’t see it now, but when ou do, you’ll regret it forever and maybe even hate yourself.

Save yourself that extrae load of pain, considering you want to get rid of the pain that you alredy have, and focus on self care. not self harm.

That’s all. I am really sorry this is so long.

#trigger warning #trigger warning: self harm #self harm trigger warnig #tw self harm #tw: self harm #self harm : tw #self harm #personal.

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ficdirectory · 6 years

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Disuphere Universe miniseries: When I Was 8: Pearl

Thursday, July 4, 1991

Pearl can’t wait to get out of the car. Driving around all day with Mom was boring. And she’s already read all of the Babysitter’s Club books she brought with her. They’re easy. But they’re fun. Plus, if they have summer reading lists for like numbers of books you read? This will definitely put Pearl way ahead.

Mom parks. It’s been a quiet ride except for the moment Pearl tried to compliment her singing voice. Annie Lennox had been playing on the radio. Mom was singing along. Pearl was in awe:

“You have such a good singing voice,” she’d said.

“No, I don’t,” Mom responded, serious.

“Seriously, you do. You could be on the radio. You could be famous like Madonna. That’s who Stef likes. You know, Madonna, the singer?” Pearl had pressed.

“Yes, I know!” Mom snapped. “Just because you live under a rock doesn’t mean all of us do. Leave Stefanie alone when we get there. She doesn’t want an 8 year old tagging along after her.”

So, Pearl lugs her 16 books, her backpack, her notebooks and all of her pens inside the tiny cabin next door to Frank and Sharon Cooper. Sharon’s fun. Frank is crabby. But Stef? Pearl would like to be her.

“Don’t forget your overnight bag!” Mom snaps. “I’m not gonna carry it.”

Pearl sighs. She goes and finds the neon yellow bag with the neon pink trim. It’s got all the faces of every single New Kid on the Block. She hadn’t known about them or really cared about them until Mom got her a tape of theirs last month for her birthday. She loves Cover Girl the most. But she’s trying to get more into Madonna.

She listened to Mom’s Madonna tape when she wasn’t home. Memorized all the lyrics to Like a Prayer. But Pearl’s not as great a singer as Mom. Or Madonna. Pearl stops unpacking to look out the window. Stef’s out there looking bored, hand on her hip, talking to her dad. Stef has her hair styled the same way as Madonna. Blonde curls to her chin. With bangs.

Stef is 19. Pearl would kill to be 19. Okay, she wouldn’t really kill. But she’d definitely be willing to get in some trouble if there was like, a Zoltar machine and she could make a wish to be big.

Pearl tries to remember what Mom said about not bugging Stef. She rereads Mary Anne Saves the Day because that’s the best Mary Anne book. By the time Jenny Prezzioso starts to not seem like herself, Mom yells to Pearl.

“Pearl, you are not going to sit inside and read all weekend. Go outside!”

“Okay!” Pearl says, jumping up off the couch and out the door. She tries to walk like she’s cool, like Stef. But instead, she looks like she has ants in her pants, because who knows how to walk cool when they’re eight?

She finds Stef on the step of the cabin. Leaning back. She’s got sunglasses on. Pearl should go get hers. Oh, they’re on her head. She puts them down onto her face. Hopes Stef won’t notice the Snoopys on them.

“Hey,” Pearl says, leaning one elbow on the railing and yelping.

“Hey. That’s hot,” Stef warns.

“I know. I mean, I didn’t know. I just found out. So… I like your Madonna hair.”

“Ha! Pearl likes my Madonna hair, Mother!” Stef calls through the screen door.

“Pearl, please don’t encourage my daughter to look like a rockstar…” Sharon says, but she’s not mad about it. She offers Pearl a beater to lick. It has Cool Whip on it.

“Thank you,” Pearl says.

“Hey, what about me?” Stef asks.

Sharon gives her the other beater, and walks back inside.

“So…” Stef says. (Even the way she licks a beater is cool. Pearl will never be this cool.) “No Barbies?”

“Mom wouldn’t let me take them. Too many accessories.” Pearl frowns. She thought about sneaking her Mary baby Barbie doll with somehow. But then she was pretty sure Mary would miss Katie. And Theodore and Billy. Her sister and brothers. So Pearl left them at home all together.

“So…” Pearl leans back on her elbows, imitating Stef. “No boyfriends?”

“There is this one guy...Mike? But he barely knows I’m alive,” Stef breathes, disgusted.

“Ugh, I know. Boy germs,” Pearl wrinkles her nose.

Stef blinks. “Right. What am I talking to you about boys for? Aren’t you going into third grade or something?”

“Fifth,” Pearl says, proud. “They kept letting me skip.”

“Wow,” Stef manages. “I mean...wow… If I was as smart as you, I wouldn’t be working at a corner store and babysitting, that’s for sure.”

“But that’s so cool!” Pearl gushes. “I bet you have a lot of money saved up.”

“Not as much as you think…” Stef remarks. “This takes work.”

“What?” Pearl asks.

Stef gestures to her face.

“Oh! You mean your makeup! My mom wears makeup. I can’t yet…”

“Yeah? Well, consider yourself lucky…” Stef mutters.

“Why?” Pearl asks. “I can’t wait to be 19. You can stay up as late as you want! Have your own money. Not have to listen to your mom.”

“Whoa there, little missy,” Sharon says, through the screen door. “Just because Stefanie is 19 does not mean she doesn’t have to listen to me.” She’s smiling, but Pearl still apologizes.

“I’m sorry,” she ducks her head.

“Come with me,” Stef invites, nodding to Pearl.

Pearl jumps to her feet. They go down to the lake. Pearl usually stays away from here, but with Stef she doesn’t feel so nervous. They find Mom, smoking a cigarette.

“Got an extra?” Stef asks, and Mom taps out one and gives it to her.

Pearl’s mouth falls open.

“Don’t you get any ideas,” Mom warns Pearl.

“I’m not. Smoking’s bad for you,” she says.

“You could always go see if my mom needs help in the kitchen,” Stef remarks.

Dejected, Pearl walks away. She can’t believe her role model smokes cigarettes! She’s going to die like eight years earlier now. That thought makes tears spring to Pearl’s eyes. She had already cried all of her tears over the idea of Mom dying eight years earlier and now she has to deal with the idea that Stef is gonna die, too?

She sits on the steps alone, this time. Tears drop off her face and onto her legs. Her Never Going to Be Madonna Legs.

“What’s shakin’, bacon?” Frank asks, sitting beside her on the steps.

Pearl pushes her glasses up on her nose. “What?”

“What’s all this? What are the--uh--tears for?”

“They wash your eyes,” Pearl explains. Maybe they didn’t learn science when Frank was a kid.

“No, I mean… What’s upsetting you?” Frank asks, flustered.

“Human mortality,” Pearl tells Frank seriously.

“Damn,” Frank swears. “Well, why don’t you help me at the grill? Handling meat always makes me feel better…” he grunts, getting to his feet.

Pearl squints behind her sunglasses, cocking her head. “Why?”

“Couldn’t say.” But he extends a hand her way. She follows.

She spends the next few hours forgetting all about Stef and Mom smoking by the lake. She puts cheese on burgers. Even though Frank said she might get to handle some meat to make her feel better, he seems to think better of it when she’s actually standing there. She doesn’t mind being on cheese duty. She loves cheese. Thinks about eating it all. The only thing that stops her is the idea that Mom might find out and Pearl might be in trouble.

That night, they eat the burgers and hot dogs Pearl helped with. There’s strawberry fluff that Mom made. And a cake that Sharon made. And raw veggies and brown beans and chips. Pearl eats a ton. Wondering if she’ll ever gain any weight or always look like a beanpole.

That night, they all get in Frank’s boat. Pearl shivers in her tee shirt and shorts.

“I’m cold,” she whispers to Mom.

“Well, you should’ve grabbed a jacket like I told you,” she says, whispering back.

Except Mom never told her to grab a jacket.

Pearl sits on one of the seats, huddled up as Mom rolls her eyes and laughs. “Pearl, it’s not that cold. It’s the 4th of July.”

But she feels something get draped over her shoulders. Stef’s jean jacket. “Here,” she says. It smells like smoke and Christian Dior’s Poison perfume. Like grapes times infinity. Uniquely Stef.

Pearl cuddles in the jacket. “Thank you.”

Now that she’s warmer, Pearl watches the sky, ready for when it explodes with color. Fireworks are so radical. It’s even better when Stef puts an arm around Pearl’s shoulders.

“I still have to listen to my mom,” she whispers.

“It’s okay,” Pearl reassures. “So do I.”

Stef kind of laughs. “I wanted to stay home this year, but Dad wouldn’t hear it. Mom either, so here I am…”

“It’s okay. We can hang out together,” Pearl reassures.

“Does your mom need a babysitter?” Stef asks as the sky explodes with the grand finale.

She’s so happy. Then the sky goes dark again. Then, Stef’s question really sinks in.

Pearl deflates. Mom doesn’t have extra money for anything. And Pearl left her saved allowance at home in the tiny cardboard box with the money slot. She has about $30 saved. Including birthday money.

“We can’t pay you,” Pearl says serious.

“What?” Mom budges into the conversation. “Pearl, don’t talk about money, honey, it’s rude.”

“She asked.” Pearl protests.

“I did,” Stef nods as they drive back to shore. “Wanted to know if you could use a sitter.”

“You know, I really could.” Mom answers.

Pearl keeps her mouth shut and listens. It’s not like Mom ever watches her anyway. But Pearl’s not going to do anything to ruin the chance to get to hang out with Stef more...even if it is to get money for watching her.

For the next two days, there’s a note on the table when Pearl wakes up that says to go next door and Stef will watch her. But at home, Pearl’s not allowed to go anywhere when her mom isn’t home. She hangs out inside, making sure her bed is made and she is dressed and has eaten breakfast before peeking out the window at the cabin next door. She won’t go over until she sees one of them go outside.

It takes two hours for Pearl to see Stef go outside with her book. Then Pearl runs out to meet her. “Hi!”

“Hey. Thought you were gonna be here at like 8:00. That’s what your mom said.”

“Oh. I didn’t wanna wake anybody up.” Pearl admits.

“So, did you like the fireworks?” Stef asks.

“Yeah,” Pearl smiles. Just saying it makes Pearl remember the warmth of Stef’s jacket and the arm around her. The grape gum explosion smell and smoke all mixed together with the fabric.

“Do you think I can still get paid for those two hours even though you weren’t here?” Stef asks.

“I won’t tell,” Pearl promises.

For a while, it’s fun. Stef reads aloud to her. Stef drives them to the Taco Bell and they have lunch. But after lunch, Stef goes back inside her cabin. Pearl follows. They’re showing Beverly Hills, 90210 all day. Stef looks like this is where she wants to be.

After a while, Sharon comes in and nods to Pearl. Pearl gets up and goes with her to one of the bedrooms. In it, she finds an old Barbie case. With Barbies from the ‘70’s inside. Pearl plays by herself, giving them names, and stories.

(They’re not the same as her Barbies at home, but at least they’re Barbies.)

All the rest of that day and all the next she plays with Stef’s old Barbies. She sees Mom at dinner time every day. And on Saturday, it’s time to go.

Pearl watches Mom give Stef a bunch of money. Pearl feels funny inside. Knowing she really only watched her for two hours. But Pearl promised not to say anything...so she just doesn’t.

“So, did you have fun?” Mom asks, bright.

“Sure. Did you?” Pearl asks.

“I really did,” Mom says back.

Pearl settles in with her books again, and thinks, as long as Mom’s happy.

If Mom’s happy, everybody’s happy.

#fic: when i was 8 #disuphere universe #disuphere things

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citrus-feline · 7 years

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now i like wanna talk about this, cuz im remembering just how much shit i went through doing homework every night

serious homework probably started in like 4th or 5th grade where we had to read, which i didn’t mind cuz i had like 2 friends and the nonfiction books i read comforted me, but i know it went bad w a lot of other kids.

when we got to middle school the difference was so fucking shocking that i remember i just couldn’t believe it. little me, the lonely shy girl with two friends who was considered a little bit smarter than average, felt herself feeling incredibly fucking worthless over the sheets of papers each night. she tried so hard to do a good job, but it felt like it wasnt doing anything. she started avoiding because all she would get on the pages were her name and tears.

i remember how terrifying my homeroom class in 6th grade was. my homeroom teacher was strict, and would get mad if you didn’t do homework. she was also my math and science teacher, so i couldn’t really... escape her... i remember like. being so scared every time i walked in that classroom. i would freeze up and my eyes would start to water. even if i DID manage with the homework, i knew i wouldn’t get a good grade. because i wasn’t good enough. and thats... really not healthy for a kid to think at such an important time in their life...

it didn’t stop when i entered 7th grade and had new teachers, either. it kept getting worse, actually. so it wasn’t the teacher specifically, it was more so the pressure and amount of work. i was a pretty smart kid, so i could usually manage passing classes by smarts alone, but my inability to effectively do homework hurt my grades a lot. and i tried, every night. i ALWAYS tried. i didn’t give up. i was forced to stop when i couldn’t handle it. i would have near breakdowns every night if i didn’t understand something completely or if it was too much for me. and being so shy and anxious, i couldn’t ask for help. and the very few times i worked up the courage to do it anyways, it always just made me feel worse.

8th grade, oh boy. oh fucking boy was 8th grade GOOD (sarcasm). that’s when math started to become so difficult with the content + workload that i could not even look at it. that was the point where i, for the most part, didn’t do anything outside of class. i tried sometimes, but i felt so stupid not understanding stuff that i would start crying and not be able to read clearly. near the end of the year i started to get stuff together. i made big pushes and put in TONS of extra work to understand what i was missing, because i didn’t think i was going to pass with just smarts that time. it looked impossible, because i didn’t know most of the stuff in the first place. so i did a SHIT TON of work; most of which i finished several missing homework assignments within one night, i specifically remember spending HOURS working on it. i stayed up until about midnight working and barely took any breaks. now, keep in mind, my main reason for doing this? fear. fear of being worthless. fear of failing and not being able to live with that. so, i did the work. for hours and hours until i was so tired that i had to stop. and when i came to class the next day to turn it in, we were cleaning our binders out. you see, in my EXTREME SLEEP DEPRIVATION, i made the horrible mistake of throwing out the work i spend all fucking night working on. and when i realized this, i started freaking the FUCK out. see, i was a kid who usually kept to myself unless i was with a friend. so me having such a serious meltdown in front of my entire math class? not fucking normal. i rummaged in the recycling bin for minutes, starting to cry and shake in front of the entire class cuz the bin was at the front of the room. and my teacher? she looked like she thought i was lying with every fiber of my being. i had NEVER shown her that much emotion, let alone the people in my class, and yet i bawled my eyes out so hard that i was taken out of the room. i got zero credit for the stuff too. im pretty sure i just barely passed with a low D. i had some similar experiences with my social studies class, but thankfully i retained the information in class much better so i passed fine.

each year it would get worse and worse. freshman year was the year i first hurt myself. it was for no reason other than punishing myself for my lack of worth. after that i finally started getting some professional help, so the experiences weren’t as easy to pick out, but i still remember the FEELING of just EXISTING and how awful i felt about it. walking the halls in high school was the most horrible feeling, especially if i didn’t have friends with me. i would silently think about everything wrong with me. i would even try to silence my footsteps if it was quiet because i didn’t want other students to hear my weight, of all fucking things. with all of this, homework was still an issue. i tried a lot of different things. different ways to organize, study, etc. and the constant changing both hurt and helped, in many different ways.

i thought after a while i had figured it out, and i wouldn’t be bothered anymore by it, but WHOOP SENIOR YEAR!!! FINISHING MY DEPRESSING ANXIETY FILLED SCHOOLING WITH A BANG!! my depression got so severe my second semester of senior year that i skipped almost every class that i didn’t need to pass in order to graduate. i switched to online classes with english classes. and with the finance classes i decided “i need to go to school at least a little so i should keep this” and oh boy was that an interesting choice. like the fiasco w 8th grade math, i had trouble with finance. especially because if you missed a day of class, you missed an entire core lesson and had to catch up on your own. thankfully our teacher understood that was hard and gave us review days a lot for us to ask questions, so through other people asking questions, i had my own questions answered for the most part. but there was still shit i didn’t get. and he was a nice teacher, he tried to help and coordinate with me to get things done. the problem was that i had to be there for so much of it. if it was all online, i would have been fine. but i missed quizzes and tests that had to be monitored to ensure i didn’t cheat using the internet or my phone. and motivation for me? super super low. the worst it had ever been (saying that in past tense cuz recently my motivation has been so low that i havent even gotten out of bed most days but thats besides the point)....... i barely passed it, in the end. i didn’t even know if i would graduate or not, to be honest. i was so close that i knew if i did bad enough on my final, it might drag me down the small amount between passing and failing. i like started crying with relief when i saw my name on the list of graduating students.

anyways this was really long. but. school was fucking tough for me. i tend to just think about the most recent years but i’ve had serious issues with school since i was a kid. when the workload got to be too much, i started to break down. and with each year, it got heavier and heavier. i never really had much of a childhood in the first place cuz of my lack of my mom, so having the rest of the waning about being taken from school really drove that knife in deep.

i like sincerely believe that i will always have issues because of what happened in school. like, yeah, i’d probably still have my mental illness even if things weren’t like that, but would my self worth still be so fucking low? i kinda doubt it. i honestly feel like i would be a much happier person if i didn’t go through so much during school.

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