I came here for a good time and you're tearing me apart

Think back to high school.

Remember those days, the hard ones when you were stifled by your powerlessness. Parents made rules that seemed to be hatched from some delusion factory, teachers chose arbitrary moments to freak out on you for doing things you didn't think to be malicious. Sometimes you could trust the people around you to help you through it but they were as powerless as you were. Those days bred a feeling of hopelessness that stemmed from the inability to improve your situation. Education was compulsory, parents lived at the same place and couldn't be replaced, the money you brought in from some shit job was never enough to do much more than buy the occasional chocolate shake and bag of weed to help you cope with the mess. You didn't have a car, or a voice, or any recourse to fight against the forces that inhibited your life.

And college came one day. You finally turned 18 and were able to leave the house. You remember that feeling that gradually you were becoming powerful in your own life. It was an awakening.

It is hard for me to fully express my feelings about work at FIS but I feel the analogy of high school is a fairly accurate depiction of how fucked it is.

I guess I'm stuck somewhere in junior year of high school.

I have that same feeling of being powerless to establish myself as something or someone of worth. I am the Head of High School Mathematics at an International Baccalaureate Institution. You'd think that would mean something. Sadly it means nothing when your boss can lose his composure over something meaningless without fear of repercussion. He can belittle and threaten. You are as powerless as the kid in high school that gets grounded because his parent had a bad day.

I stood in the kitchen area at school in a state of shock cleaning my coffee cup under scalding water. Letting the water turn my skin red, trying to take my mind away as the drops ran off amongst a few rosy freckles. As I dried the cup I had an urge to hurl it through the window so that I would regain a bit of power. Power over something inanimate but still it was better than what I had.

I look to my peers for support but get no more than a shake of the head and the statement, "yeah, he's crazy isn't he." They've seen it before. They've been alone in that room waiting for the chemical composition in his brain to fluctuate. Waiting for the irrationality. Waiting for a pop. And they've gotten used to feeling powerless to better the situation. It has become something that is lived with and tolerated. Expected. They are the teenage friends that do all they can to live under their parents' thumbs without being squashed.

So I return to my apartment. Exhausted and lonely. Wondering if I can make it through this. Wondering if I can tell my boss that our meeting needs end because my class starts in 2 minutes without fear that he will raise his arm as if he's about to strike me.

All this because my class was starting and I had the nerve to say I needed to go.

You can keep telling me that I can't change the situation but that doesn't give me any power back. I am without a voice against the administration that is in place to support me. Please, keep telling me that I can't change the situation and watch how long it takes for me to stop listening.