"Who wants to be locked in a room with 30 people dressed like them to be surprised by a bell every 35 minutes in line at noon for 40 minutes and had to be left out in the cold twice a day? Jenn Ashworth, certainly not ...
We watched the family fortune. I was 11 to 1 baby late flowering in August, more like a child of nine years. One Sunday evening: the end of my first week at school. It was dark, my father liked to have the lights and only one large table lamps lined both, or because the darkness makes it easy to watch TV or because he wanted to save money on energy bills. Remember, no doubt, lying on the couch under a blanket of red plaid felt the car and the dog, and a few minutes before my mother noticed she was crying.
He asked what was wrong. I gave the simplest answer I could think of: I do not want to go to school. What should he say? Backpack that was right? The other girls were different types of socks? My hair would not stay in the clips? These things came later, while looking for a reason that could accept, but the truth is that it started with the feeling that they are still struggling to put into words. I hated that.
could not get used to the bell - noise damage the eyes and filled my mouth with a metallic taste. There are so many people walking in the corridors, all wearing the same clothes that I could not tell anyone, but I was convinced that among them I would lose, disappear or die. Blues Sunday school night are not unusual. What is strange is that I then refused to go. I stayed in bed and refused to get dressed. I ran from the house in the morning and not return until the bus was gone. I pretended to headaches, stomach virus, pain and phantom pain. I cried and epic tantrums lasted several hours. Threaten to kill me and I refuse to eat for several days.
This went on for years.
I am not the first nor the last to do so. There's even a name for it: the school refusal. Which distinguish it from regular school absenteeism, as there is no attempt to deceive - I never intended to take the bus. We normally disobedient in school academically brilliant or, if not brilliant, less willing. It was me. When the school, knowing that if he was wrong in the spirit in the body, sent to work for me to do at home, I sat in my room, and complete the organization of my books in a bag that never left the house. When I go out (which was rare), I take refuge in the library. Disobedient at school apparently depressed. They are anxious. It's a phobia, of a species.
If they wanted to put aside my negative as the product of an anxious personality, there was plenty of evidence. In the previous year, the last of the primary school, who had refused to join a group in order to intimidate a young girl who had fallen from his bike and broken ends of your two front teeth. The compliments I received from my position was addictive, but when it did not happen over time in a couple of weeks, he began to look more like what it was stubbornness. I sat on my own for a year and my hair fell out in groups. Even when the band broke up and was invited to return to normal social movement, I refused.
My mother told welfare officials that education history, and together they turned to him and told me that my hair fell out because I was afraid to go to the school and it turned out that he was anticipating change of fear.
Or maybe the cause was a postviral depression: one who is 10, had a severe case of chickenpox, so serious that he had been hospitalized for several days. Maybe I was never good for? For adults who work with me, this explanation sufficient will, so that all interventions and "treatment" in the next three years and half were dealing with an anxiety disorder or phobia. It was suggested that just go to school at night, and build more than a few months to a full week. They tried the cognitive-behavioral therapy to correct the flawed thinking that caused the concern that I said that I felt. It makes little sense for them.
But that's not what I felt.
is true, however, that less than 12 I was prescribed an antidepressant and then had a series of sessions with a child psychologist. I remember almost nothing, except he was wearing a brown leather skirt and told me that his goal was not for me to go to school. I'm not sure I believed her.
told them I would not take antidepressants, and I did it because I was told that it would help me sleep better. I pretended to sleep on the couch and I heard my parents talk about me. Do not take more tablets after. I did not sleep, not because I was depressed, but because they did nothing for me outside of tires. My mother advised him not to punish me for refusing school, but not to do at home one day treatment attractive, either. So I stayed and read.
therefore not depressed afterwards. But alas, no doubt. And catastrophically. I cried every day and months until they reach 16. I thought that too often, suicide as a solution better than what you expect miserable. My mother told me that the worst of the pain came in the second and third year of my refusal, and that's how I remember. It was all the preservatives education, endless meetings, the counselors, the constant pressure to do something that had already made my decision not to pressure to explain that my explanation was not, never, be acceptable to them, meeting in the deep unhappiness and real estate. They kept asking why and all they could say, like a broken record, that I did not. I knew, without being able to say that this place was bad for me. I refused. But I prefer to think of it, all this, or fall. I refused what was offered. I realize I'm not painting a picture of myself attractive. I'm sure it was difficult, so difficult to love, in those years, but it was as if life and death for me.
Local education authorities tore his hands and finally sent me home Mélèzes, a student referral unit that specializes in children with behavior problems may be excluded. I was 13. There was a child with epilepsy or medications for him, it unpredictable and aggressive. A girl who cut her hair with kitchen scissors, because she thought her mother was not sent to school if he looked like he had been scalped.
was no change. They were nice. They asked me what I wanted to read. They let me write stories. I was happy there. I had a friend in April that was like me - intelligent, quiet and no problems as long as it made its own way. We walked through the gardens and decided to invent a new language. I remember my mother commenting on how bright and happy I looked, how I had not seen him smile, with my hair in place for months and months. But my position has not been terminated because he refused to go forward when it became clear that I could participate in a single period, and the objective was to provide students like me, his phobias and return in mainstream schools. I refused.
At 14 there was another unit for children with behavioral problems who had been excluded. Now, I realize that I had no idea what to do with me. Classes are held in a warehouse on the drab wardrobe with a bit of sport management of the Council. There were rickety tables, mats for gymnastics and hockey nets stacked against the walls, and two tutors who had carried us through the English and mathematics for three hours every morning. I remember Julie, who dressed as a boy was happy when he was mistaken for one and always wore a hat because he had severe alopecia. And Emma, ??who was eating the rest of us on the playground, smoking furiously, to tell us about the joy she had sex with her uncle. Tutors told us not to pay attention - I was kicked out of school to tell stories in height
a few months ago, I went back and took a tour Alerces rooms that were familiar, looked at the garden in the rain. The director spoke passionately of the child-centered education, literacy, to make a difference. Phobic and disobedient, not to accumulate more playful with children, he said, meaning that if I were 11 again and start my antics now, do not send me Alerces. Medical education services that lead me on. Maybe being sick is better than being bad, but what if it is not? When I expressed this to the staff of the House Mélèzes, I did not make sense for them. "Children often refuse as a form of revenge on their parents," one teacher said, "as a way to return them for a divorce, or put too much academic pressure on them." I'm sure it's sometimes true.
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