There was a "peer group" at my high school that was supposed to help other students who were struggling. A surprisingly progressive idea for a school that didn't even offer any gifted classes.
At the height of my desperation, I slipped a note into the locker, begging for help.
And then I waited.
By the third day I was numb.
Getting to the nearest quarry would have been as easy as cutting through the woods on my way home.
But I have a somewhat morbid curiosity. I kept putting it off, telling myself I'd do it on the weekend if no one came to talk to me. But when the weekend came, I got angry.
How dare they reject me?! How dare they ignore me?! It was just a good thing that I was alone when I started feeling this rage or I might have killed someone.
A fury like bile filled up the empty spaces. I hated Everyone. It made a comforting fire in my belly that burned away the pain and loneliness.
It was three weeks before a teacher pulled me aside in lunch to ask if I was alright. He apologized profusely, saying he had been on vacation and the students who were supposed to check the locker had failed to do so. I didn't even recognize him, which even then struck me as strange, but I didn't care. I stared him down and told him I was fine. I didn't need any help.