Status: very slow
Just a Story of One Little Girl
Chapter 22
I finally made my way to the guidance office. “Is Mr. Murkle available?” The woman at the front desk nodded, so I walked into his office. The sound of the door closing caused him to look up.
“Mackenzie! What brings you here? I thought you ‘hated talking to professionals about your problems’. What’s the special occasion?” I blushed remembering when I had told Jason that in the beginning of the year. He was trying to force me into the guidance office and I practically screamed at him.
I sighed. “It’s becoming too much. I can’t handle it anymore. Everything’s getting worse and worse and I have no control over it whatsoever. I mean I don’t wanna exactly talk about what’s wrong, but I kinda do. I just want it to go away!”
“Ok, well what’s wrong?”
“That’s just it! I can’t tell you what’s wrong. Even if I could I wouldn’t want to.” I frowned and glared at his desk.
“Alright. How’s school going?”
I stared at him, confused. “Fine, I guess. I like school.”
“That’s good. And how are your friends doing.”
“Well, I kinda lost my whole group of friends ‘cause I learned that they didn’t care about me, they only liked me ‘cause I let them use me. But I gained a few friends who actually care about me for me. Jason introduced us.”
“I’m glad you got better friends. That’s something you need in high school – a good support system of people your age. Did the loss of your old friends bother you though? Or is something in one of your classes bothering you enough to push you over the edge?”
“Bryan Braxciuh. He is the bane of my existence. No matter what I do, he finds new ways to get under my skin! I can’t stand the kid.”
“Did he do something today.”
“He stole my book and replaced it with one of those first grade reader book things. He made fun of me all through English like he does every day in History, and he just wouldn’t let up!”
“Is this the kid you threatened to drag to hell?” I blushed, but nodded. Murkle nodded his head thoughtfully. “How do you feel about all of this.”
I pretended to think. “I feel like this is why I don’t like coming here. I feel like I’m talking to a shrink.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to psychoanalyze you or anything, but I’m confused about whether you’re angry or upset or frustrated or what?”
“I feel like, I feel like I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep living like this. Honestly? I feel like I should just die, and then everything would be better.”
“What! That’s the last thing I expected from you. You always seem so…” his sentence hung, unfinished in the air. I decided to fill in the blank.
“Strong? Lively? Happy? Carefree?” He nodded “It’s all an act. I hate my life. I’m a weak little child! I worry about everything and I’m totally dead inside.”
“What would you like to do about it? Other than kill yourself, I mean.”
I looked at him. “Cry.”
“You can cry. Why don’t you cry if you want to?”
I shook my head and scrunched my eyes shut tight. “Children should be seen and not heard. Crying is for the weak. Crying doesn’t help anything it just lets people know you’re an easy target.” I felt a few tears slip out from behind my closed eyelids. “And if you can’t stop yourself from crying, then what the hell are you? A weak little brat. That’s all you’ll ever amount to being. A stupid little bitch that people walk all over.” I was really starting to cry now, but I kept talking. “No one respects little pussies that can’t even hold themselves together. You gotta bite your lip and pretend everything’s ok ‘cause if it’s not, you’re fucking something up. You’re just a fuck up who doesn’t deserve to live. Not really.”
Mr. Murkle left his own chair and squatted down next to mine. I turned my head away out of habit, but he only placed a hand reassuringly on my shoulder. “Do you want a friend to come down?” he asked, sounding concerned. I shook my head; they were already suspicious.
I cried for about 20 minutes before finally drying my tears and sitting up. Mr. Murkle hadn’t moved from his comforting position. A glass of water sat on his desk, and without hesitation, he gave it to me. I gulped it down and sat as straight and dignified as I could after that episode. “I’m sorry sir,” I began, but my guidance counselor cut me off.
“Never apologize for crying. Do you understand that?” I nodded my head yes, but inside I was thinking he was crazy. I had always learned that I shouldn’t cry unless I was in real physical pain. I just couldn’t let myself think any other way if I was going to survive.
“Mackenzie! What brings you here? I thought you ‘hated talking to professionals about your problems’. What’s the special occasion?” I blushed remembering when I had told Jason that in the beginning of the year. He was trying to force me into the guidance office and I practically screamed at him.
I sighed. “It’s becoming too much. I can’t handle it anymore. Everything’s getting worse and worse and I have no control over it whatsoever. I mean I don’t wanna exactly talk about what’s wrong, but I kinda do. I just want it to go away!”
“Ok, well what’s wrong?”
“That’s just it! I can’t tell you what’s wrong. Even if I could I wouldn’t want to.” I frowned and glared at his desk.
“Alright. How’s school going?”
I stared at him, confused. “Fine, I guess. I like school.”
“That’s good. And how are your friends doing.”
“Well, I kinda lost my whole group of friends ‘cause I learned that they didn’t care about me, they only liked me ‘cause I let them use me. But I gained a few friends who actually care about me for me. Jason introduced us.”
“I’m glad you got better friends. That’s something you need in high school – a good support system of people your age. Did the loss of your old friends bother you though? Or is something in one of your classes bothering you enough to push you over the edge?”
“Bryan Braxciuh. He is the bane of my existence. No matter what I do, he finds new ways to get under my skin! I can’t stand the kid.”
“Did he do something today.”
“He stole my book and replaced it with one of those first grade reader book things. He made fun of me all through English like he does every day in History, and he just wouldn’t let up!”
“Is this the kid you threatened to drag to hell?” I blushed, but nodded. Murkle nodded his head thoughtfully. “How do you feel about all of this.”
I pretended to think. “I feel like this is why I don’t like coming here. I feel like I’m talking to a shrink.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to psychoanalyze you or anything, but I’m confused about whether you’re angry or upset or frustrated or what?”
“I feel like, I feel like I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep living like this. Honestly? I feel like I should just die, and then everything would be better.”
“What! That’s the last thing I expected from you. You always seem so…” his sentence hung, unfinished in the air. I decided to fill in the blank.
“Strong? Lively? Happy? Carefree?” He nodded “It’s all an act. I hate my life. I’m a weak little child! I worry about everything and I’m totally dead inside.”
“What would you like to do about it? Other than kill yourself, I mean.”
I looked at him. “Cry.”
“You can cry. Why don’t you cry if you want to?”
I shook my head and scrunched my eyes shut tight. “Children should be seen and not heard. Crying is for the weak. Crying doesn’t help anything it just lets people know you’re an easy target.” I felt a few tears slip out from behind my closed eyelids. “And if you can’t stop yourself from crying, then what the hell are you? A weak little brat. That’s all you’ll ever amount to being. A stupid little bitch that people walk all over.” I was really starting to cry now, but I kept talking. “No one respects little pussies that can’t even hold themselves together. You gotta bite your lip and pretend everything’s ok ‘cause if it’s not, you’re fucking something up. You’re just a fuck up who doesn’t deserve to live. Not really.”
Mr. Murkle left his own chair and squatted down next to mine. I turned my head away out of habit, but he only placed a hand reassuringly on my shoulder. “Do you want a friend to come down?” he asked, sounding concerned. I shook my head; they were already suspicious.
I cried for about 20 minutes before finally drying my tears and sitting up. Mr. Murkle hadn’t moved from his comforting position. A glass of water sat on his desk, and without hesitation, he gave it to me. I gulped it down and sat as straight and dignified as I could after that episode. “I’m sorry sir,” I began, but my guidance counselor cut me off.
“Never apologize for crying. Do you understand that?” I nodded my head yes, but inside I was thinking he was crazy. I had always learned that I shouldn’t cry unless I was in real physical pain. I just couldn’t let myself think any other way if I was going to survive.