This post is a sort of continuation of my last one, so you should probably take a look at that first. You have to in order to understand this journey that I went through. I regret to say that this post is even more verbose than the last, but I feel it must be to truly communicate everything I want to say. Please try to make time for it. I think it’s worth reading, as it points out a terrible discrimination in our society that people very rarely consider.
So, this year has been particularly stressful for me. Same number of AP/Honors classes as last year, so I'm not sure exactly why. Maybe the senior project we have to do in addition to classwork. Maybe classes like calculus that I have to actually study for. Maybe just a classic case of senioritis. It doesn't matter, I guess. But on one particularly stressful day in this particularly stressful week in this particularly stressful year, one day when I was feeling the lack of sleep from previous nights, when I couldn't seem to focus on anything, I took one of the biggest calculus tests of the semester and didn't even have time to answer what seemed like an enormous number of questions at the end. And on this day, I lost it. Lost it like I haven't lost it since middle school--arms flailing in despair, broken and unintelligible speech, tears welling, voice yelling--basically, flipping out. I'm afraid I simply can't do this reaction justice; just know that this is not how people normally react. To anything.
Since I was scaring everyone in my next class, my teacher, Ms. Cavanaugh, let me go into one of the staff rooms, which was empty, and cool off. I spent most of the class period in there, mostly just staring at the walls, thinking back on what had just happened and what I should have done differently. After a while, one of my classmates came in quietly and sat down next to me. She tried to console me; instead, it did quite the opposite. I could feel her eyes on the side of my face, and I knew if I looked into them, I would see a concerned, almost pitying look there. And I did not want to see that. Tears welled up again, but not tears of frustration this time. Just tears. I waited for her to leave, and she did.
Before class ended, Ms. Cavanaugh reentered and began to talk to me. I was staring out the window and not really paying attention, but I heard her say something about getting extra time on the test, and that triggered something within me. I told her I didn't want any extra time and that I would just take my lumps, that I didn't want any special treatment. Of course, she began to protest my decision. They always do. But I was resolute, and I left the class to take my government test, and somehow, as upset as I had just been moments earlier, I walked into that class completely composed, and I dominated that test.
The next day, everything was back to normal. I knew it wasn't over, though. It’s never over after one day. Sure enough, about halfway through the day, I passed by one of the counselors in the halls, and he asked if I could come talk to him for a second. Sigh…here we go, I thought. The body of the conversation was just what I expected—he tried to push getting more time on tests onto me like a drug commercial. “I knew a student who just couldn’t do tests fast enough, and it hurt his academic performance, even though he was a very bright guy. When he took the SATs, he was only able to finish about half the questions in the time they gave him. Once he finally decided to get more time on his tests, he performed excellently.
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
Meh, screw everyone. If you want to cry, do it. It's what I do. Sure, it makes some people a little uncomfortable; it's a direct breach of the surrounding expectations for a stoic demeanor. But screw 'em. Just make sure you laugh as much as you cry, and everything will turn out fine.