I leaned back in the rolling chair as it squeaked beneath me. I was tired of staring at the blinding light of the computer screen, it made my eyes sting. I could hear my mom talking on the phone with someone as she sat at the dining room table, still in her work clothes. Earlier that day, I had lied to her about how I had done most of my late work. Not too long after, she got my progress report and saw that I was failing half of my eighth grade classes. I could tell she was disappointed, though she didn’t say much. I thought that must have been what she was talking about.
None of the words stood out so I started to focus back on my English homework. At least I tried to. The loud noises of my dad’s TV in the living room echoed throughout the entire house. It made my head hurt even more than it already was.
I finally started to focus on my work despite how loud the background noise was. It finally started to click in my head, and I began typing up my answers to the questions. Words started to flow out of my brain like water rushing down a river. I couldn’t help but smile despite everything. I clung on to the tiniest bit of hope that maybe I could actually pass all of my classes.
For some reason, I paused for a moment and listened to the conversation my mom was having again. No words stood out again, except for a few of them that would break my heart.
“I wish he would be as good as Eli.”
Eli would have been my best friend at the time, but we hadn’t spoken much since COVID struck. Still, when I heard that my eyes went wide in shock. It felt like my heart had been shattered into pieces, and all the hope that I had moments earlier completely vanished. I felt my entire body grow hot as everything hit me at once. I felt extremely hurt to hear that from the person I thought I could trust the most.
Hot tears fell down my face and I wiped them away, but more trickled down after them. I decided that I needed to be alone. I walked as normally as I could back to my room, but my mom noticed me ugly crying. She asked me what was wrong. My dad also started to question me, but I ignored them both. I walked into my room and slammed the door behind me, making sure to lock it. I threw myself ungraciously onto my bed as I began to ugly cry into the sheets.
Moments later, my dad started banging out of the door. I thought maybe he was worried about me.“Open this damn door!” he shouted through the door.
The door sounded like it might fall off its hinges at that point, so I made the stupid decision to stand up and open the door. My dad pushed me to the floor and started yelling at me. I couldn’t even understand what for at the time. When everything was over I just felt so alone. I remember falling asleep that night not wanting to wake up the next day.
Nowadays, I struggle with taking criticism from others. It feels like a personal attack whenever someone points out an issue with my writing, even if they really are just trying to be helpful. However, I also can’t take compliments. No matter how genuine they might be, I just can’t imagine my work, and by extension myself, being good enough for others. It’s hard, but it hasn’t ever discouraged me from writing. If anything it only makes me write more. I want to improve and get better at writing, so that maybe one day I can look back and be proud of what I’ve accomplished.
