This is a nonfiction recollection of events as experienced by me; used with permission.
I had a hard time in high school due to things at home not going so well. I would frequently get in trouble and then be grounded for a long time over it. Many days of my childhood were spent in my room because I was in trouble at school or because my grades weren't that good in general.
For a while, I had an art teacher that didn't like me whatsoever. In my mind, art didn't have a lot of rules so I would frequently ask why something was done a certain way. This made the teacher upset with me all the time so she'd make me go sit in the hall by myself for asking what she called ridiculous questions.
It has always been hard for me to follow the rules, especially since I learned things differently than my classmates. If I was doing something, I had to have a good reason to be doing it or it just wouldn't click for me. The teacher was not good at explaining anything so most days in her class were spent by myself in the hallway.
Because I was in the hall during class, she'd come out and give me assignments and would tell me just to try or else I was going to fail. I am not sure why I got on her nerves so much because all I remember doing is asking why a lot. After a while, she seemed to get bored with getting me in trouble at home by kicking me out of class and calling my parents so she started to do things outside of the school to make my life more difficult.
Growing up I used to smoke cigarettes but at the time of this story I was mostly not smoking at all because I was young and didn't have a way to get cigarettes without money. However, somehow this teacher knew where I was sometimes and my parents would show up asking me if I was smoking or I'd go home and be grounded for smoking even if I was just out at the house of my friend.
I had art class every other day so every other day I would have to deal with my art teacher trying to stir up drama on those days. One day when she sent me to the hall, I asked her why she hated me. She told me it wasn't hatred and that she just wanted me to be less of a handful to deal with.
After that talk she ramped up her calls and would even start saying I was smoking on days I didn't have her class. I remember that I actually started to smoke after a while because I was getting grounded for it anyways. My parents would not believe me that I was innocent because the teacher was an adult that they trusted and soon enough they were actually catching me smoking.
I felt like I was being targeted for something so I went to the principal to ask him to go to another class. They brought in a counselor and she did some testing with me about fitting in. She would ask me about how I felt about following rules and things of that nature. After we did that she said she would talk to the art teacher because she didn't understand what the problem was.
Whatever she told the art teacher after that made her leave me alone. I remember the first day of class after they talked, the art teacher let me stay in the class but she made me sit away from everyone. Little by little I was allowed to take part in class but I could tell she didn't like me because she wouldn't pick me to answer anything.
Sometimes when I think of this I feel bad because I should've been a good student that made all of the adults happy. Then I think of me being in trouble all the time and how terrible my life was for a while. If they really wanted to help me, they could've done it and maybe I would've been able to get psychiatric care earlier in life.