I Don't Want to Be Here

I don’t want to be here1, 2, 3...No, this is not a note of thoughts on ending the life of mine14, 15, 16...No, this is not a cry for help.26, 27, 28...This is simply what it says, I don’t want to be here...This room is full of ambitious students. Somehow I am among the group. I do not wish to interact. I must sit in the back of the room and count the tiles on the ceiling so I may get through this lecture. This is a frequent thing for me.42 ,43 , 44...I know there are 173 tiles on the ceiling in my psychology classroom. I know there are 103 tiles in my interactive media room. I know there are 326 steps between the two buildings.I keep my head down and count. I cannot see the faces of others. I know what they must be thinking. I am crazy. I am stuck. Count. I must count. It calms me enough to make it through the class. All I have to do is make it fifty minutes with others around, then I can go home.73, 74, 75...Fifty minutes, I can make it. That is twenty-five twice. That is ten minutes five times. I can make it through fifty minutes.Sometimes counting is not enough to keep the destructive thoughts at bay. I look up to see other students eagerly writing notes. I do not know what the topic is. I feel as if their eyes are drawn to my awkwardness, my self-loathing. I feel as if they are writing, taking notes of what I am doing. Her breath is uneven, her face screams terror, the way she carries herself tells all her secrets. She cannot hide from us. My thoughts are in the air and everyone around can see all my insecurities.94, 95, 96...But I sit in the back of the room. It is illogical that the students in front of me, facing away from me, can be judging me in silence. I feel their judgement. I know I do not belong in this group of ambitious students.102, 103, 104...Class is now over, students begin to file out. I sit alone.128, 129, 130...Slowly I close my notebook, the only written thing today’s date. I should not be here. I reach for my pencil and place it in my bag and replace it with my earbuds. I lay it on my desk. Slowly I gather myself and put everything in is place, the next class in filing in as I leave.153, 154, 155...The world is spinning around me, I keep my head down. I fix up my phone and put in my earbuds. Music blocks everything out. Students flood the quad as I make my way home. I feel as if the glare at me as I walk by. She walks with torture, every step is tender. She is trying to hide, yet it is clear she is exposed. I walk home.167, 168, 169...My door slams shut behind me. I am alone again. I am at peace. My heart rate is lower now and my breath is even. My head is held high and I am no longer prey for those to attack. I am at home, I am protected. I am enclosed in my own little cave.171, 172, 173

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741