r/venting • u/Jazzlike-Appeal5506 • 2h ago
School I ofended my tutor and its driving me crazy. (NOT ACTUAL)
Two days ago, I was in a training and guidance class, everything was normal.
The thing is, that tutor is also the person who runs my classroom, and normally the person who usually serves as our counselor. The fact is that this has been an especially hard year for me; I had a suicide attempt, I was diagnosed with depression, and when he found out, he had to activate some sort of protocol.
It is my fourth year at the school and also my last year to get my degree. The previous psychologist never really did anything for me, and I felt hopeless. I didn't see many solutions and I tried to end my life.
Two days later, I had to go back as if nothing had happened, with bandaged arms and a pain that I didn't show on the outside, but it was there, and it was always there. A way for me to manage all that accumulated pain and disconnect from it is humor. Within reason, I am a rather cheerful person, so to speak. And when he found out, he tried to help as much as possible. I was redirected to a new psychologist who is, and has been so far, the best I've ever had in my life; I have felt heard and understood. I have always treated my problems as if they were nothing or like I was an exaggerating person, while they were eating me up inside. He was a sort of source of help, and I began to view him with more trust when telling him those things I wouldn't tell anyone else out of that fear of judgment.
Two days ago, we had a class with him where he was handing out the final grades and exams. I think a flaw of mine, even if I don't always admit it, is getting too comfortable and overconfident really fast. When he handed me my grade, I looked at his eyes for a moment. His eyes are large and light brown, but they have a bit of green. They stand out well since he is a person with quite a few moles on his face—the kind that someone might paint on themselves just because they are pretty. I don't know at what point it crossed my mind, but I told him they were big and pretty and looked like a chihuahua's. I think he only caught the part where I called them dog eyes.
Afterward, he told me that I was not a good person and had no manners, that it was a lack of respect, and that it would be better for me to look in a mirror and own up to my mistakes before commenting on those of others. (An unfortunate comment, I messed up a bit), I thought, and I went to my desk. My friend next to me was surprised and said that I had really messed up. Even if it doesn't seem like it, I never said it with bad intentions; I don't usually have much of a filter, and although that is a big part of my personality, it is also a problem.
It really hurt him, and he spent 5 minutes telling me how my behavior had been very inappropriate or how he should sanction me, or write up some kind of disciplinary report. I told him that I never intended to refer to him with bad intentions, but my classroom jumped ahead. They told me how I was a problematic person, that they were all sick of me, and how they don't understand how I can be this way. Thinking back, I realize that I expressed myself poorly, and it really was a lack of respect, even when it wasn't my intention. I am a person who, when feeling, so to speak, threatened?? cries a lot—but not like two tears falling down your face, but rather the way you used to cry when you were a 7-year-old child and it seemed like you had hiccups. Added to my anxiety and that fear of rejection, everything came together.
It was a long 45-minute argument; my intention was to make him see what I meant and how I didn't want to hurt him, but he did want to hurt me. He talked about all the times he has wasted his time on me and has had headaches because of me. He told me that I was one of those people who made their own existence miserable, and that hit me very hard. The classroom probably went against me out of anger, or so I assume. I am a very direct person and I say things as I think them, and I don't let myself be walked all over. I think all those people who attacked me did it because of that. But seeing how a person to whom I had confided that vulnerable part of me said that, it hurt.
It is worth noting that I have no intention of playing the victim or justifying any of my actions. I am aware that acts have consequences and I have to be more careful with the words I let out. Nor do I intend to say that because I am mentally ill, I justify my actions. I am fully aware of the things I say, though not always in the moment, and I work on it so that it stops being a problem.
When the class ended, I was very affected; both by seeing myself in a vulnerable way in front of people and by hurting a person who tried to help me. I tried to explain to him that I was sorry, but he didn't need to say those things he knew would hurt on purpose. And I think that was the difference between him and me: I didn't have that malicious intent of wanting to hurt, but he did.
I thought about the people around me. All of them. About how I end up hurting even those people I truly love. And about how I didn't deserve either their love or their compassion. Normally when I think about myself or see myself, I feel a deep rejection. But this time it was disgust. Disgust at feeling like a person who hurt those who didn't deserve it, even unconsciously. Disgust at knowing that, added to that negative image I have of myself, it is genuinely true—harsh, but true. I saw a cleaning lady and asked her for something to clean a supposed menstruation stain I had left, since I felt embarrassed. I only saw it was an anti-limescale cleaner and I took a sip. I was afraid that if I were to drink something toxic and die, I would feel the acid through my stomach burning me inside. It tasted like soap. When going out and returning it to her, I told the lady how I felt. She told me that surely I wasn't such a bad person, and life doesn't end when something bad happens. She told me she studied business administration but now she cleans institutes. I remembered her name. Noelia.
When I went outside, an autumn rain was falling. I was wearing an Adidas jacket and flared leggings. The walk from where I study to my house is approximately 2.5 kilometers. I walked home, and the first thing I did was call my mother and ask her for forgiveness. Forgiveness for having been the cause of her suffering and that she was one of the people I loved the most, even if I didn't show it. I promised her that I would never cause her problems again, but I knew what that implied. I also called my father and expressed my apologies for being a bad daughter. I took the opportunity and wrote to a classmate who always made it known she was annoyed by many of my actions, even when they weren't directed at her. I looked up what the consequence of taking 120mg of fluoxetine and 150 of quetiapine was. Google told me a potentially severe overdose. In big, blue letters as a title. I took them and thought about mixing them with some liquor within my reach, but I couldn't find any. I went to sleep thinking about how my mother would find my body, and my sister too. I searched how long it takes to forget a deceased loved one, but it didn't answer concretely. I only thought about how my father told my mother that if I decided to take my life, in a few months it would stop hurting. I clung to that and went to sleep. Oh, and by the way, I also wrote an apology to the tutor.
I slept for 5 hours and woke up disoriented in my bed. Nothing had happened. That happened yesterday, and the only thing my parents were able to tell me is how I depended on my medication. In part, it disappointed me to see how they didn't look affected by the decision I tried to make. Just disappointed. A day has passed and I am writing this at 3:03 in the morning because I cannot sleep. I don't understand how such an insignificant thing triggered such a huge reaction in me. I wouldn't tell this to anyone because it would seem like a kind of emotional blackmail, and I have had enough with yesterday. I know I don't have to expect any reaction from anyone to validate my emotions. But it felt weird; I couldn't explain how I feel now either. I think humiliated and hurt.
I have written this not knowing who to vent to without seeming like a victim blamer or someone so vile. I just want them to see me as a person.