I knew that first day of class it was going to be a long year. As my eighth grade social studies teacher stood before us, she laughed and joked with the two students who had older siblings who had previously been her students. It was obvious already they were going to be favorites because of their brother and sister being in her class in prior years. She was flamboyant and loud, so much so I had to fight not to cringe at times. It was already obvious that a shy, quiet student like me with not older siblings who came before them was doomed in this class It was less than a month into class when she announced that if she didn't like you - forget ever getting a good grade in the class. For us, a good grade meant an A or a B since we were all in the school's gifted program. A C endangered our place in the program and all the teachers knew that. They would use the threat of a C if we disagreed with them on something or dared to misbehave. The depression I had suffered in seventh grade was even worse this year. Even paying attention in class was severely difficult, completing homework was almost impossible. From the day of that announcement in her class - I completely gave up. I knew she didn't like me so why bother? Even if I had tried to learn in that class, it would've been impossible. Class mainly consisted of us listening to her making personal phone calls to yell at people. Her chiropractor was a favorite target for these calls. Beyond that, we'd hear stories about her son or her childhood. The only actual 'learning' we did were these independent projects were were expected to complete. They all required expensive materials (which my mom always refused to buy me) and I always failed. I spent the entire year in class zoning out or writing in my diary. During this entire year, it was obvious I was a troubled student. I came to school often in the same dirty clothes and with unwashed hair. Despite being identified as gifted, I was often failing or just barely passing multiple classes. Sometimes I even arrived at school with odd bruises on my wrists or face. This social studies teacher was among the many who knew something was wrong. But, because a mental health issue was part of the problem no one ever asked. I was left to suffer in silence.» http://pixabay.com/en/girl-teenager-young-beautiful-teen-375114/ by Greyerbaby