This is My Confession

   Today's the day I face facts. After all, you can't fix a problem you won't admit to. Ignoring accelerated geometry in tenth grade never really made it go away, ya know? Anyways, this isn't a story about an addiction or a crime. This is me confessing my insanity. I know, I know. Stick with me here.
     Nowadays, there's a huge focus on mental disorders in society. In some instances, the focus is good. For instance, children with learning disabilities aren't just stamped 'Stupid' on their forehead and sent through the rest of their life feeling as though they're missing something everyone else has. Rather, they're given special classrooms and teachers, and even sometimes their own special set of rules. In most places, however, the focus on mental disorders is bad, very, very bad. There's a stigma around people who admit to having them, there's people who lie about having them just so they can get attention... And then there's people like me, assuming there are more out there like myself, who live each and every single day trapped in a box they can't find their way out of because being crazy just wasn't on their bucket list.
     Anxiety is one of the disorders I've come to hate. It's so broad and practically anyone can claim to have it and then all the sudden, they're excused from being a respectful, respectable human being. I know someone who takes anxiety medication at fifteen and then uses that as an excuse to act out and make bad choices, all the while her parents just baby her. I know someone else who uses their anxiety as a means to make them look vulnerable and gain attention. Every single time I see her update a status about her 'anxiety', I want to throw my phone out a window. Someone else I know claims to have anxiety so bad she can't even go into a Wal-Mart sometimes. The same person uploads selfies on facebook, duck-face and all, and posts statuses about something-or-other-is-better-than-yours. You have anxiety? Really? But, I digress.
     The reason I've called you here today is to confess my own insanity. No worries, I didn't murder someone and, if I did, I wouldn't plead insane because I don't want to actually admit (verbally) that I am crazy. One day, in order to live a normal life, I'll have to say it out loud to Someone M.D. but until then, I'll let my fingers and keyboard do the talking. I guess the hart part is... getting started.
     I guess the best way to explain my life is to break it down to each mental disorder I think I have. The list isn't too terribly long but I still have a few more googles to do before I feel one hundred percent comfortable with what's going on in this noodle of mine. I guess the most prominent one is paranoia. When I say most prominent, I mean this is the one that affects me most of the time and it's honestly the one I'm most comfortable explaining - which I'll glady explain after I list. The other one is bipolar disorder. Then comes depression

Grade Nine

Climbing all these stairs makes my calves and thighs burn. I thought I'd left gym class already but man do I feel the burn all over again. My teacher let me go a few minutes before the final bell so I could see my English teacher and not risk missing my bus. I'm so glad she did - I don't want anyone to see me huffing and puffing my way up three flights of stairs. To try to distract myself, with fifteen or so more stairs to go, I try to think of any reason at all Miss Knight would want to see me. English is my best class and when I turned in my last essay, I felt it was some of my greatest work. Maybe she didn't like the style or tone I used. When I finally get to the third floor, the classrooms are full of students who have stopped paying attention for the day. In some rooms, the teacher has given up commanding the room and everyone is standing around talking but in others, teachers are still trying to hold a lesson while twelve or thirteen pairs of eyes glance at the clock. At the end of the hallway, I hear voices rising from Miss Knight's room. Not wanting to interrupt what sounds like a group discussion, I wait outside the room. The clock in the hallway tells me the bell is going to ring in about seven minutes so I head back the way I came to my locker. It might save me time if I can switch out my books and get my homework ready. The hallway is mostly empty as I turn the combination lock and open my locker. I get all my folders and books in order and hear footsteps coming down the hallway as I shut the locker door. Remembering an extra credit assignment, I open my locker back up and grab another notebook and shut the locker just as the bell rings. I take off down the hall as doors fly open and students fill the empty space. When I reach Miss Knight's room, there's only one person still in there and it looks like he's staying. As I get closer, I notice it's Clark, a guy I met in eighth grade. I had the biggest crush on him but haven't seen him since then. We haven't had any classes together since high school started this past fall. I hear Miss Knight down the hall talking to another teacher and laughing. Thinking I could finish the rest of my algebra homework, I take a seat a few rows over from Clark. Noticing his empty desk, it crosses my mind he might be here for detention, which kind of surprises me. Miss Knight approaches the doorway, still in her conversation with a teacher from down the hall. I look at the clock and realize I'm probably going to miss the bus home. I decide to figure out a way home later. I only have a few numbers to do on my math homework and that means one less book - the heaviest book - to take home. Miss Knight walks in the room and shuts the door behind her. Seeing that I'm calculating my last problem, she walks over to Clark's desk to talk to him. I can't hear what they're saying but I'm not completely listening. I double check my work for the last problem and close the book, satisfied with my answers. Miss Knight stands at the front of the room.
   "I'm glad you both agreed to meet me after school. You're here because the two of you are in separate periods but I think you two would make a great match for tutoring."
    My mouth falls open and my mind races to the last assignment I turned it. I didn't think it was that bad that she thought I'd need tutoring. That must mean that she wants me to tutor Clark.
    "Emmy, you are really good in my class and I think you could really help Clark."
    I glance at Clark out of the corner of my eye. I can see his face getting red and I feel really bad that he's getting embarrassed.
    "But Miss Knight, Clark is really smart. I don't think he needs tutoring."
    "Well, maybe if you both meet up for one session and get back to me. I just wanted to test it out. That's all I needed. You two are free to go."
    She leaves the room, letting the door hang wide open. I stand up and gather all my stuff together and head toward the door when I notice Clark isn't standing up. I turn around to wait for him. He just looks at me.
   "Look, you don't have to help me, okay?"
   "Well, what do you mean?"
   "You didn't sound very interested so we can just tell her we did it and it didn't work out."
   "No, I'd love to. I was just surprised, that's all. When do you want to meet?"
   "I don't know, how about later today?"
   "Well, I have to try to get a ride home right now. I missed the bus and my parents work until later."
   "You could walk home from school with me. We can work together until your parents can come get you."
   I consider the idea. It's not like I have anywhere else to go. The school would probably be completely empty by the time someone comes to pick me up. And waiting in a nearby fast food joint alone didn't really sound appealing. Clark and I were good friends just six months ago and it's not like he could've changed that much.

Confessions of Bank Teller

1.) If I ask for ID, it's because someone at least five pay grades higher than me has the potential to fire me if I don't.


2.) We close at a certain time for a reason. Whether you like the hours or not, the decision is made by someone you will never meet in your entire lifetime and coming three minutes before we close with huge transactions does nothing but make your bankers hate you.


3.) No, we don't actually care about your day any more than you care about ours. But when we ask, at least grunt and smirk. Not being friendly earns you a reputation amongst the entire bank staff - and not a good one.


4.) Don't show up at our branch on a holiday and say how you're surprised we're open so late. If you really care and want us to spend next year with our families, boycott the bank and our transaction counts will speak higher volumes than you're small talk.


5.) While standing in line in the lobby, don't just walk up to someone's window. Wait for them to welcome you over. We're graded on our welcoming skills and we're more than likely working on something.
6.) When it's cold out or raining and you decide to go through the drive thru, rather than going inside because you don't want to leave your car, understand that we're not going slower than usual. Stop staring, stop tapping your fingers on your steering wheel, we can see you. We're going the same pace, it just feels like it's taking longer because you decided to sit with your window down while the freezing cold takes over your car and you are growing impatient quicker. Honestly, go inside.