Reflections on 8 Years

Okay, a personal post. Not particularly interesting to many people I imagine. In fact, this is perhaps more for myself than the entertainment or enjoyment of any reader.

Tomorrow (Friday 27th May 2011) marks the end of 8 years of Secondary Education. There are still exams to sit, but after tomorrow I will never have a true lesson again.

8 years. Let's take a look back.

September 2003. I, as an 11 year old, started as a Year 7 at South Hunsley school. I made other friends reasonably quickly and sufficiently strongly. This was punctuated by hellish trips on the bus every other morning. Overall rating: meh.

Year 8. A good year. I had firm friends. Bullying issues evaporated. I had good teachers, did well and generally enjoyed myself.

Year 9. A "meh" year. The system in the school meant that we were now divided into groups from all around the year. I was largely cut off from some friends except during lunchtimes. Did well in subjects but in fact found Science painfully slow-I knew literally everything they taught us already from my own casual interests.

Year 10. Cracks appeared. Some friends and acquaintances started behaving in less-friendly ways. A few did 180-degree turns and became openly hostile. Though this was punctuated by mini-fame brought by making a two-second long clip satirising a teacher (Bradsheep), the overall atmosphere came to a head in June or July with me snapping and punching one Adam Medforth in the head. Bad times followed.

Year 11. Near-ceaseless bullying campaigns throughout the year. Though I started the year predicted A*-B grades at GCSE, this slipped and my actual results ended up as 4 Bs and 6 Cs. I learned a useful but ultimately devastating method for dealing with the stress. I completely shut off emotions altogether except for at a few moments every day, when I allowed good feelings to emerge whilst still forcing negative ideas down. I became almost incapable of articulating myself and ended up having a very quiet emotional breakdown about March-April 2008 sort of time. Eventually one teacher did notice my decreasing drive and notified the head of year who coaxed me into letting it all out. The bullying ceased, but the paranoia I had picked up remained.

Year 12 (round 1). Though emotionally drained by the previous year, I nevertheless managed to get something at least resembling enjoyment out of this year. Except in Chemistry, which both piled work on and contained Adam Medforth in the class. Guess which subject I came out with a "U" in?

Year 12 was a crushing disaster. I came out with a D, two Es and a U. So I did it again.

Year 12 (round 2). I started again. Though it was a far better year than had been experienced the last 3 years, I nevertheless made the mistake of not making more of an effort to socialise with the people in my classes. I chose to hang around with people from my age year. Any kind of a social life simply did not exist.

Year 13. Probably the best year since year 8. My paranoia has evaporated. Whatever happens, I am effectively guaranteed a place at university. I have a large group to be around at lunchtimes. And though I'm perhaps still not the most social of people, I nevertheless get out more than I did the last 3 years. In terms of emotional recovery I certainly owe more than might be suspected to various people.

Although I enjoy this specific year, I will be very glad to see the back of secondary education.