When I came back to school after the 2 week holiday – not long enough – I hated myself. I hated myself, my school, my lessons, subjects, people I was surrounded with… my skin itched and crawled with the need to be back at home, safe and unthreatened by children or bad grades.
I don’t hate myself. Thankful to the last in this regard, I realise that I am incredibly lucky in loving the way I am, but I couldn’t push away the feeling that I was less than I was before the holiday. Like I had lost something important, something vital to my own happiness. Not knowing what that is, even today, a week after coming back to school, terrifies me.
I wanted to burn everything, tear down the walls and educational posters and anti-bullying slogans. I wanted to burn myself, to clean myself of the feeling of loss, to control how much I broke down and what it was over. I had two panic attacks that first Monday back.
By Thursday I was fine. I was doing work, handing in completed essays, completed music coursework and wondering what song I would need to learn next for my Solo Performance.
The self-hatred didn’t last. Self-love doesn’t either, and is usually forgotten more than the rage and anxiety, but that fades too.
I think I felt so angry because I was reminded of stress and worry and pain, whereas I’d had a relaxing holiday, not really stressing, revising casually – this brought everything to the forefront of my mind and my first reaction was to blame something – myself followed closely by the school.