life in the darkness

The following words were written by me in 2009. I have since edited the spelling errors, or what I could find. This is a slightly detailed account of the traumas throughout my school life along with some nicer memories too. I did however, forget about most of them and when I reread the document yesterday, after finding it in a folder, things came back. Having epilepsy sometimes makes one have a little amnaesia. This makes it very interesting when you read back through old documents, or look back at old audio recordings of what you have done.

29.4.09

Evaluation of my support.

During Infants school, I met my first support officer who was called Mrs O.

At first we got on very well and enjoyed everything we did together.  We used to sing, she used to listen to me playing the piano, also she helped with the violin and how to play it because I found it difficult and also, she helped me to read my first words in braille.  However sometimes we used to have arguments.  Once I was in the hall singing in assembly with everyone else when Mrs O came up to me and moved me by the arm to another part of the hall.  I don’t know what I’d done at all, I was just sitting there doing what everyone else was doing and thoroughly enjoying it.

Gradually things began to get harder throughout my school life, mathematics and various other things.  Mrs O used to take me for walks, when we were doing art, to find bits of bark off trees, leaves, feathers and other things for my collages in year two.  She also helped me with swimming.  We used to sing in the pool, jump around and she used to hold on to my hands when we were doing the breast stroke.

In Fairfield, my primary school, Mrs O started to get more strict with me.  We didn’t sing any more, we didn’t do the good things we used to, we didn’t go out for walks as much, also we didn’t chat as much.

She was very serious with me.  She started to be serious in year four, sometimes when I did things she used to shout at me telling me that I was in primary school and not to be rude.

Also my music was getting better.  The teacher in Fairfield had noticed that I could play the piano and had asked me to take part in assemblies by sometimes playing and accompanying the children in their songs.  Mrs O disapproved of the matter saying why did I want to do it and why did I have to.  One day I kept it a secret from her, but to my dismay, she found out.  I had to tell her.  She got cross saying `I know you’re playing the piano in assembly Samantha.  You don’t have to keep it a secret.` she sounded angry.

I don’t think she was very encouraging which is one of the qualities a teacher or support officer is supposed to have.

Mrs G was very encouraging though. In the times when we were together in the work room, we would play `Winning games.` which involved me winning something if I got the word right. In the holidays, every Friday, she would play a `Winning game for buttons.` with me. If I got all the words correct I would end up winning the whole packet of buttons that she bought from the shops that morning and they were nice too. Once or twice she ended up winning a few buttons and sometimes stole some while I was reading the words. Also she took me round the schools so that I knew where my coat peg was, my classroom, the hall! where I loved to shout because of the echos. I still love echos now because I love singing. Mrs G also once set the burglar alarm off in Glen Crutchary School and she ended up running around ringing people and asking for the code. I didn’t go with her because the noise was unbearable and it hurt my ears. Another time was when we were in Fairfield, in the work room, reading The night it rained Chips.` not chips, wood chips and suddenly, the fire alarm went off. When we arrived outside, there was a huge dark cloud of dust which was opaque.

Mrs H came in year four because Mrs O had to go somewhere else. She was an excellent teacher! She helped me with science, mathematics, also with reading. The best book she read me was Lady Daisy. I cried at the end of it. She had a `High Voice.` and the same hands as another teacher in the school. When they were both in the playground, I used to push their hands towards each other to show them that they both had the same hands. It brings back many memories. I also used to like blowing teachers whistles because I loved the noise. Mrs H started teaching me chemistry, solids, liquids and gases., showing me how sugar dissolves in water and what sirup feels like.

When I was in year five, Mrs H had to retire, due to her health.  I was upset.

Unfortunately, in year six, Mrs O returned. She was even more strict with me and once when I was rubbing something out with my braille rubber and thinking about what to write next in my English essay, Mrs O, who was talking to Miss D, the English teacher at the time, gripped my ear and then put her hand over it, saying that I shouldn’t be listening into her conversations. I couldn’t help it, as they were both standing behind me.

Also I noticed as we went into secondary school, she began to talk with all the male teachers, laughing and joking as if they were her friends or sometimes as if she liked them.

If I said something like why were you doing that, she got cross and said it was nothing to do with me.  Also in the science lessons when she came into year ten she laughed and joked with the female biology teacher when she should have been helping me with my work.

Also she’d be texting or talking on her mobile if it rang during back-up lessons.  The most annoying time but sometimes funny was in year ten, in French.  She was flerting, or what seemed like flerting with my French teacher who seemed to enjoy it.  On one occation she asked him over to her house as a joke and then said, would you like to come down to resource base for a cup of tea.  He laughed and said that he’d meet her down there.  We all used to stop working because they took up the whole of our lessons, laughing, joking, talking about the sixties, the seventies, the eighties and also the present day.  He used to talk to Mrs O in this Manchester accent when ever they were both talking.  She sometimes made me stressed when ever I thought things were mixed up or not brailled.  I used inend up crying to Mr B in the work room because I was so upset.

On one occasion she stressed me out just before my module three mathematics examination.  Sometimes I think both her and my French teacher both wanted to get involved in the `Let’s shout at Samantha. campaign.

Also she said one day that she would make a list of the times I was rude or something, I answed back by saying `Yes, you do that then!!` shaking with anger. She got angry asking me Would you like to go to the head teacher for being rude to teachers.`

I said no but should have said yes.

I think Mrs O thought herself more important than she actually was.

I also forgot to mention talking about self importance that in year six, she made a stupid home school book which the teachers, mostly her wrote in if I was rude or anything.  She used to threaten me with it by saying `What should I put in the book, Samantha hasn’t had a good day because she was rude and answering back?.` it reduced me to tears.  Also she bossed taxi escorts around telling them where to put me in the taxi but she met her match when Frida, one of the escorts stood up to her telling her she was under no circumstances allowed to tell her where to put me and that when I was in their care, they decided.  Also that she was getting excited.

I laughed and thought the whole thing hilarious.

Finally, I thought, she’s met her match.  Someone is standing up to her bossy antics.

All the other support workers, Mrs M, Mr B and some one were all very good and encouraging especially Mr B.

We went swimming in year eight and he threatened me with the `Hand of fate.` as we called it.  If I didn’t go under water, the hand of fate, his hand would push my head under.

Although in year nine, we had some laughs.  Waterfights were a big feature in the pool.  Me and Mrs B  plotted everyday What shall we do to Mr B? we’ll push him under.` only one day, our plots were foiled.  Mr B, unknown to us had learned braille! I wrote a note to Mrs B, telling her what our plot entailed.  She promised she would put it somewhere safe, but not safe enough.

Mr B came in and found the piece of braille on the table.  What’s this? What’s this? Talk casually to Mr B.  then push him under? We both turned round and said No No! it wasn’t like that.

We weren’t going to do that? why would we?

He is the best teacher out of them all.

When I was stressed, he consoled me telling me to be calm and collective and if they gave me a hard time in the morning to politely ignore them saying I had an examination and that I didn’t want to be stressed.

At the end of every back-up lesson he’d let me listen to some Spanish music or him talking Spanish.  He would also teach me a bit.

He is very good at explaining things to me in mathematics or science.  Now I’ve got to hope that with everybody’s help, I will pass my GCSEs.  I’m sure I will.

I will put my grades on the end of the document.

I never did put the grades at the end of this document, nor did I show it to anyone, I don’t think.

But finding this document brings back some memories that I had completely forgotten about. I’d forgotten about the walks I used to go on, although I can remember going past houses with little doors on them that stuck out of the walls. Can remember the smell of the trees by the local bowling green. I can also remember Mrs O’s perfume. Cherevienne.

It made me twitch nervously as her steps grew nearer as I got to year 6 and older. Her rapid clip-clopping shoes, or her small sandals she used to wear. You knew she was coming. The room would go colder. What mood was she in? What was I in for today

 Where was I going to end up with my ears close to the bell? On purpose. Was there going to be another shouting match with only the coldness and echoes of the stairwell for company?  Or the room disappearing from warmth to ice cold in seconds? Or my heart racing and the shaking or twitching of anxiety? Which lasted almost the whole day? Or the constant edgy feeling, when ever she would walk into the lessons to read things to me off the white boards, or watch me like a hawk while I was typing or writing. I was never free. Only when she wasn’t in.

Afterwards, there was the college experience. When I was asked, Can we have a word? The familiar anxiety would creep in, with the preparation to be yelled at. And the tears being prepared.

There was also the isolation from people. The isolation from my music, from my languages, from being able to allow the teachers to see my potentials. One time, she told me the teachers only gave me merets to feel sorry for me. I am glad now, that I can show off. I can finish my degree. I wonder what she would say now, when eventually she sees my BSC (Hons) in psychology. Well, all as I can say, is no thanks to you. But well done to others.