To the Teachers

As many of you know, I resigned from teaching almost a year ago and I have never been happier. I am a full time photographer now and I love it.

I am writing this blog today because for many of you, Spring Break is coming to a close and tomorrow is the return to another week at school. I am not saying teaching was all bad; it is cheesy but most of the students make the job tolerable. I stress the word most.

To all the teachers, paras, support staff, I want you to know that I see you.

I see you coming into school early in the morning to make sure that your lesson plans are ready.

I see you coming in early to make sure your room is ready for your students.

I see you busting ass throughout the day, in which there is never enough time for it all.

I see you ‘writing’ out a week of lessons while you are on your way to work.

I see you holding your pee after your third cup of coffee which on some days, coffee is the only thing getting you through.

I see you taking a small bite of your sandwich because between cleaning up from your last class and getting ready for your next one, a small bite is all you have time for right now.

I see you keeping a close eye and a close ear on the kid that may be getting bullied.

I see you keeping an eye on that at risk student and doing anything you can to connect with that child. Yup, all of a sudden you like rap music and the WWE.

I see you wiping away the tears of the student who just got dumped by their boyfriend or girlfriend.

I see you sharing lunch with the child that doesn’t have a lunch packed.

I see you talking to the gay kid in the corner who just wasn’t accepted by their parents.

I see you telling the child who failed the test that not all students are good test takers and they will get it next time.

I see you talking to the teenager who is afraid she is pregnant.

I see you trying to make those deadlines that never seem to go away.

I see you struggling to make ends meet- teachers have summers off but you work two jobs.

I see you coming home from a long day of work only to start your next job of being a parent to your own kid.

I see you making lesson plans long into the night.

I see you waking up in the middle of the night because you are worried about that one student.

I see you waking up when that alarm goes off just to do it all again because you are someone to somebody.

Until next time,

Not all heroes wear capes; some carry a lesson plan

Whoring It Up

‘Hey mom… how do you spell whore?’ – Vincent (10 years old)

‘What?’ -me

‘Whore.’ -Vincent

‘What…?’ -me

‘You know the whore of it all.’ -Vincent

‘Oh! You mean the horror of it all?’ -me

‘Yeah, (w)horer of it all.’

Phew… that was a close one. I thought he was calling another little 4th grader a whore.

Until next time,

You are on my corner

Find Me

I am alone and I hear nothing but a haunting silence.
The silence takes over my mind and I am distant.
You can’t reach me here.

I am alone and I hear nothing but a haunting silence.
The silence is pulsating in my ears; I hear the humming of the day.
You can’t reach me here because you don’t know how.

I am alone and hear nothing but haunting silence.
The silence is like a soft ringing in my ears but I am the only one that hears it.
You can’t reach me here because I don’t even know the way.

I am alone and hear nothing but haunting silence.
I see your mouth moving but nothing is registering in my mind.
You can’t reach me here because the birds ate the breadcrumbs.

I am alone and hear nothing but haunting silence.
It is the third time I said ‘what’ in our conversation because I wasn’t listening.
You can’t reach me here because you can’t find the path.

You can’t reach me here because I won’t let you.
I can’t let you into my thoughts because once you know,
there will be nothing but haunting silence.

Put on this Mask

*Trigger warning, suicide. If you are suffering from suicidal thoughts, text the National suicide hotline at 741741*
I see blue and green passing through my line of vision. Blue, green, blue, green. I am spinning so fast that I can only see two colors and can only feel the rush of wind brush against my cheeks. I need to make it stop because I am so dizzy but I can’t stop the spinning.
My thoughts are swirling in my head and the feeling is like being swept up in a tornado. I look for the witch out my window on the old bike and there she is, cackling as she passes.
The thoughts are too much for my aching head and all I can think of is how can I stop this violent spinning? The only thing that I can think of, you say is too selfish to even say out loud. All of you tell me that I have so much to live for- a great husband and three beautiful kids.
Telling me that I have so much to live for is just more salt in my open wound. It burns. And you don’t get it. You don’t get me. And here I am putting my mask back on and agreeing with you. ‘You’re right, I have a lot to live for- I didn’t mean to have those thoughts.’
You give me that, ‘oh good’ statement and we move on in our mundane conversation.
I sit across from all of you and wear my mask. It is the one you are familiar with because it is the one I wear when I need to function. I am a functional borderline. I live my life on autopilot on my bad days. I am the captain but I am barely in control.
I will never again share my thoughts with you because I can’t let you see what is underneath this mask anymore. When I finally took off my mask that one time, you said I was selfish. I can’t have you calling me names when I am so good at calling myself names on my own. I don’t need your help in that regard.
My mask is on and will rarely come off again. I take it off to talk to my therapist and even then those times are few and far between. I don’t trust you. How can I?
From now on my autopilot response will be, ‘I’m fine.’ And you will never know the difference because I wear a mask and it is not transparent.

Until next time,

Allison

If you are having suicidal thoughts, text the National Suicide Hotline at 741741