Breakdown

My social brain stopped coping today. I slept more than usual, and my global studies teacher had a talk with me about social skills in my future. I started crying, so much that I couldn't even force myself to stop. She found me tissues and when she left, I melted down and started sobbing heavily. I had told her that I was claustrophobic-- and that nothing else was wrong, and I told her that I could sleep for 15-16 hours a day until someone wakes me up. I wasn't upset. I hate that I can't help but cry when talked to directly by a teacher. I don't understand why, not really. My earliest memory of it might be in fourth grade, maybe I was overwhelmed by being a new student, being frustrated with math I wasn't used to, and just went beyond my coping capacity without realizing... I dunno.

It probably happened to me before that, though.
Yeah, second grade. When my principal brought me out of the class for a misunderstanding of their tattles that I had flashed everyone, when really I was just scratching my belly button.
I felt so misunderstood, and upset, and admittedly ashamed. Mostly, I was confused. I still don't know if that was the first time it happened, though.
Maybe it was before that, in first grade, that I lost my trust of people. The boys in my bus started to scream, "She's not here!" when my stop came around, taking advantage of two facts: 
1) That I was a very quiet and shy kid with no aggression whatsoever and
2) That I had been absent quite a lot due to illness.
I ended up being the last person on the bus, holding back tears as I stared at the unfamiliar brown and green woods of New Jersey. The bus driver asked if anyone was still on the bus, and I croaked, "Yes, I'm here!" he didn't hear me, so I tried again until he did. He looked shocked to see me there, and took me home. No one wondered why I was out so late, since I usually ran off to my neighbor's house straight after school to play.
Perhaps it was even before that. I was younger than I was then, but I don't know exactly how old. It was a holiday of some sort, I think Simchat Torah. The shul was packed so tightly that you had to shove people aside in order to get anywhere. People clad all in black, as is the dress code of Monsey, New York. Music blasted around, and my father said happily, "There's a band playing up there, you want to go see? Go to the front, go on!" He let go of my hand and gave me an encouraging pat on the back. I guess his intention was to escort me to the "front", which I soon found out was not an ideal place to be. 
I reached it without much effort, as people didn't want to trample a little girl. i stood there excitedly, watching the drummer and whoever else was there clanging away at their instruments, but the sound grew to a pounding in my ears that caused my head to ache. The sickly sweet scent of sweaty polyester penetrated my nostrils, and as I looked confusedly around me at the same gaping expressions on the face of every single person, I thought to myself, "I really don't want to be here." I began to tremble as I tried to push myself back to my father, but found I was trapped in the tiny space, right next to the drummer who banged relentlessly on. 
I don't know how long I stood there, but eventually the current of people shifted and headed downward, like water. I had no choice but to follow it, hoping beyond hope that my parents would be heading for the same place. I sat in a chair at the foot of the stairs, watching the video on display, but not interpreting anything since I didn't know how to read very well yet (it was lined with subtitles). I was calm, trusting that I would find my parents eventually. Finally, my sister came down the steps and shouted, "There you are!"
Apparently, they had been searching endlessly for me, and were worried sick. My sister grabbed my arm and pulled me up the stairs, and out of the building, where my father stood angrily. He texted my mom that I was found and sat me down on the hill in front of the building. 
He then proceeded to shout at the top notch of his lungs about how I could have been kidnapped, and I worried them sick, and they had looked everywhere for me... I tried to defend myself at first, shouting, "I've been looking for you!" 
He wouldn't listen.
I looked up at the middle-aged women standing at the gate by the front doors. They sneered at me, then whispered to one another, snickering. I mumbled, "Can we please talk about this at home?"
"NO!" was the immediate reply, followed by a repetitious string of words that I decided not to make sense of anymore. They were just making me anxious. And I already got the point, they were worried about me. But that didn't excuse my father for abandoning me in that horrible, noisy place. Of course, he didn't seem to recognize that that was what had happened. Not at all. I must have just ran off without telling anyone where I was going. Yes, I just left by my own will and rendered myself helpless to a crowd of open-mouthed inbreeds. They looked like zombies, truly.
I don't doubt that's where I got my claustrophobic-centered sociaphobia, and extreme panic at concerts of any sort. 
That didn't stop me from attending a Marina and the Diamonds concert, but at that point, my fears don't matter.

Back to the present. I was in the isolated library and just collapsed. My legs stopped working. I was shaking so bad and could hardly breathe, so my breaths came in short gasps as I tried to calm down. I decided I just needed some "introverted time" to gain back my energy. While I was leaning heavily on the window in the left corner, finally managing to breathe normally, the bell rang. About a minute later, I heard someone come in. I figured out who it was when she spoke in a soft whisper: Yehudis. She was asking someone something, who I assumed must have been Tamar. No one else could be that quiet, anyway.
Fat tears splattered onto the paper roll under me.
I saw a hand come around from behind me, and Yehudis dropped a bag of pretzels on the windowsill. I was grateful, but I didn't have an appetite.
I eventually slid into the desk by the window and pulled my knees up to my forehead.
She left half a bag of Nuggets on the desk, said something about a test, and left.
I finally managed to croak something to Tamar: "Can you tell me a corny joke?"
She couldn't think of one.
That's alright, it's hard to think under that kind of pressure.
I told her I'd laugh at anything she had, even if it made no sense; I just needed an excuse to laugh.
I could have just laughed without a joke, I just didn't want to sound insane. But she said nothing.
I told her about my teacher phobia. I paced around the room, rambling on, as she replied with "Hm... Yeah..." to mostly everything. I eventually ushered her to class and told her I was gonna go wash my face, and that I'd be right behind her. I stood by that sink for what felt like hours before the swelling in my eyes receded. Every time I thought about going to class, however, tears would leak out again. I thought of ditching, but I really like English class. And so I clenched my fist and approached the office window, asking for a late note. 
The secretary commented on how damned late I was. I simply nodded and took the note. I went into class without comment from anyone, but couldn't focus on anything anyway. I ended up with my hands resting between my arms, letting more tears spill onto my desk, thinking about the last time I had cried in class. It had been about a crushing relationship I was in, that was finally getting to me at the worst of times. My friend knew I was crying then, and passed me tissues, not that they did much for the puddle I left on the black table in the science lab. Still, however, I am grateful. And so I pretended to sleep at my desk in English class, then ended up actually drifting off as I tend to do. As was the subject of concern for my global studies teacher.

I hope I can work myself out better. That's why I'm writing this. I wish I had the courage to post it for my family and friends to see, not just on an obscure blog page I haven't told anyone about. I don't know if anyone will ever read this, or if it will just sit in the wastelands that is the Internet forever.