Ever since I dropped French – which was finalised on Tuesday – I’ve noticed a marked change in my behaviour.
To put it simply, the last time I cried with any measure of seriousness was Tuesday, but that was out of relief when my head of year told me I never had to do French again. Before that, I’d been so scared about going to the lesson that I was shaking, my face was pale and I was doing my infamous “stick-insecting” – rubbing my hands together. Naturally, when I found out I was French-free, I sobbed on my head of year and spent the rest of the day trembling out of a strange sense of happiness.
My body’s still getting used to not stressing constantly, every day; I’m still tense as hell but that’s because I’m working on relaxing myself. There was a brief moment of terror when I was told that my French teachers wanted to speak to me; I was in the middle of doing Peer Mentoring and so had to pause in order to get myself under control.
I spoke to the girls in my French class – my old French class – and they were all so amazing about it. Laurel – the girl who sat next to me – also wants to drop it and yesterday, I sat with her. We talked, we hugged and at one point, I could barely breathe with sadness because I’ll miss her. Yes, I can see her out of class any time, but it’s not the same; we don’t share the understanding of hating French any more, which is kind of a good thing. I hope she can drop it, though it’s likely they won’t let her: it’s not fair though, because she’s as miserable as I was. God, it’s weird to say that in the past tense.
In terms of speaking to the French teachers, I’m dreading it. I was too scared to tell them what was happening with me, how low I was feeling, because I thought they may convince me to carry on and then I’d get worse. However, I understand why they’d want to talk to me: I can’t just leave it like this, where I bugger off and don’t say goodbye. I’ve got no idea how terrified I’ll be when I actually have to go to them because apparently they’re really sad I left, but we’ll just see what happens. The other three girls in the class were just as nice as Laurel, and understand my fears about the subject. The lesson on Tuesday, according to my other friend in french, was attrocious because the teacher went on a rant about how you shouldn’t drop it as it would be an awful idea, and Laurel was sat there with the saddest look on her face.
It surprises me how well everything else is going. I got an A in my English mock, and supposedly did well in my History (or so my teacher says). When I found out about the english result, I almost cried, and then almost cried again out of annoyance because a girl next to me refused to understand why I was so shocked “Because you always do well anyway,” she said in a patronising voice. I won’t think about that though.
I got a real emergence of motivation for my History coursework and for psychology revision. At the removal of a stressful thing, everything else has taken on a life of its own and just seems more vibrant, and more worthwhile. Even the effort I put into talking to people has increased.
This post was just a way to let you know how I’m doing. Everything is looking up; I’m going to go and do revision now. Proper revision, and reading, and maybe even talk to friends later on.
I may not be entirely happy, but I’m getting there. French isn’t the only reason why I felt – and feel – bad when it comes to mental health, but removing one of the key components means that I can, for the first time since I started hating myself again, concentrate on myself and to let my mind understand that I am slowly wending my way to loving life again.
From Elm 🙂