Expectation of Me Should Be Lowered Even Though I Hate to Admit That I'm Stupid

I may have always been a disappointment to so many people in my life, judging from the kind of things they put me through.

How is a square peg supposed to fit into a round hole?

No matter how they tried to force it, sawing off my four edges and sanding me into a round one, I’m still a square inside, pretending to be round outside.

I can never be one of the many ones. I’m just stubbornly me.

Perceptions were forced onto me, and when I couldn't cope or live up to that ill-fitted mold, as usual, I would be expected to be mistreated.

Photo by Quỳnh Lê Mạnh on Unsplash

I'm disappointed in you.

I get that a lot.

It never feels good to be on the receiving end of this. While such words are often blurted out in anger and perhaps shouldn't be that hurtful, my personal experience with this was particularly memorable with the painful follow-ups after that initial sentence.

This incident left the deepest impression; it was unforgettable. Even after so many years—35, to be exact—I feel like I've never truly recovered from the damage of those words.

Perhaps I'm just petty, but I don't know. It was etched deep within me.

My teacher, when I was just nine, told me exactly that, with the addition,

If I had known you were that stupid, I wouldn't have accepted you into my class.

I remember every tone of that sentence because she spoke it in a low voice, one-to-one, in such a calm way; it's almost like she meant to sting with those words. It felt calculated, not an anger outburst.

I'm not trying to accuse her or make this up, but now that I'm writing about it, I'm seeing that scene replaying, and I've analyzed it based on my current mind, not my nine-year-old self.

I was a transfer student, and the situation wasn't even my fault; it was entirely hers.

She had been so eager to have me after learning about my once-in-a-lifetime fifth-place class in my previous class at my previous school.

She was opportunistic, wanting to claim credit for a smart student in her class without having to work for it.

Now that I think about it, I really shouldn't have taken to heart what was said by someone so unfit to be an educator.

Sadly, it has already shaped who I am today.

These days I'd rather people think I'm stupid than have a preconceived notion of who I am, and later attack me for what they thought of me, rather than for who I truly am.

If anyone were to imagine themselves as my nine-year-old self reading this, I think the natural reaction would be to fight back and prove them wrong, or to dwell and sulk.

I did both: I fought back by wanting to be better, but it still haunts me.

This is why I'm never comfortable with compliments; there's always a doubt in me—what if I fail tomorrow and disappoint them? How do I return the compliment I've received?

Again, that teacher's voice rings in my head; I can remember exactly how she sounded, the very way of her voice. If she were to call me suddenly, I'm sure I'd recognize that voice.

As for how I, as the not-so-bright student, managed to secure a fifth place in the class, that's a story in itself that I'll need to rethink. I've never been particularly bright in my studies, probably because of my condition.

I simply learn differently from others, and that's something I've only recently managed to put together during my diagnosis with my therapist.

It's not an excuse; my school life has long passed, and I don't need to make excuses or explain why I might be perceived as stupid anymore.

No, I didn't cheat either. That was the only and the highest placing I got in my entire school life.

That was just an anomaly.

©Britt H.

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More about the person behind the writing in My Introductory Post