  Second grade
The fact that this was my teacher's first year teaching, paired with the fact that no one knew what was wrong with me, couldn't have been a good thing. Not that it would have been difficult to figure out, they just preferred to 'let it take care of itself' I guess. Not even that, they would do what THEY thought would work to make me talk rather than what would make me able to talk. So my teacher kept me after school one day, and she told me we were going to read. I loved to read, so I got a book and started reading. She told me I would have to read out loud. I remember being told I wouldn't be able to leave until I read out loud. Not surprisingly, this never worked out even after a few days of being kept after school to read. So we stopped, but even now when I have to read out loud I get more nervous than I should. I'm always reminded of my teacher looming over me, watching and waiting for me to say something. This same teacher made a 'deal' with me that I would talk by Christmas. Pretty much, I was cornered back by the closets where she asked me if I would try to talk by then. Since the whole class was watching as though it had been discussed with them beforehand and they wanted to see my response, I agreed so they would leave me alone. That wasn't good enough for the teacher, who held out her hand so we could make a 'deal'. I didn't know what a 'deal' was, so I shook her hand. Everyone was so happy, it was like I had just guaranteed that I would talk to them. When Christmas came and I didn't talk, my teacher tried to make me feel guilty for not keeping our deal. I didn't feel bad, I figured it was her own fault for forcing me into something I didn't want to do. When I think of how much I liked this teacher back then, it's kind of ridiculous how much I would dislike her if I met her today, knowing what I do now. I still wasn't able to let her know when I needed to use the bathroom. One day when we were cleaning the room and I was actually having fun, I had to go so badly I started crying. This made my teacher think I was sick, so we called my mom to take me home. When she got there my teacher said something about how 'they always get sick when there's work to do'. I was so annoyed; I actually wanted to stay. Too bad they couldn't have done something to help me rather than assuming they knew what was wrong. That's right, they DID do something to 'help' me. I guess the idea was that if they humiliated me enough, I would stop having 'accidents' in school. My teacher made a big 8x11 inch sign for me, with something like 'I NEED TO USE THE BATHROOM' on it in big, bold letters you could have read across a football field. She held it up for me, and everyone else, to see before bringing it back to me. I was nearly crying as I shoved it as far back into my desk as it would go. I knew I would never use it. I wonder if practically being locked out of the bathroom all day in school is the reason that I can now go over 20 hours without using the bathroom? I'm not even exaggerating, I don't know if my body's messed up from grade school or some other cause. Here at college I've gone to class after I woke up without using the bathroom and then I just sort of forgot, and from 12:30 AM to 8:30 PM is a long time. I've been going for a record, my first was only 17 hours. And this was even after drinking an entire 20 ounce bottle of soda too. I expect someday I'll get this checked out by a doctor. It can't be good, anyway. Anyway, this was the year I had my first Penance, the beginning of my never wanting to go to church again. I spent hours writing out my confession, making sure everything was right for the first time. It went ok, I didn't talk but it wasn't too bad. It wasn't until a few times later that I started hating it. We had to go about once a month, during school. My priest from church was the one they always sent me to, and after a few times he told me that I would have to stop writing my confession. I would have to start talking to him, because otherwise it TOOK TOO LONG. Even though it was already written out, it took too long. Going to him was bad enough, since even though I had my sins written out he always asked me if I was sure those were the only sins I had. He would keep asking me until I made up something, then he would be satisfied that I had confessed all my sins. Then as I was leaving he would tell me again that I would have to talk to him next time, we couldn't keep doing the written confession. I never told my mom about it, because I was afraid she would agree with him. When I asked her about it recently, she said she was incredibly annoyed with him and tried talking to him but he wouldn't listen. I guess she knew something was wrong when I would pretend to be sick every time we had confession. That was the only time I would play sick, because I didn't have a friend to get missed assignments from if I was out. Previous Page | Next Page
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