The Road Through Hell

 

I heard the distinctive beep of my watch, which could only mean one thing: time to get up. As always, I quickly stopped it from making that unpleasant sound. Just as quickly, the thought occurred to me that today was Tuesday, meaning nine lessons, two of which were Polish. Why was I so intolerant of this subject? I wouldn't care so much if it weren't for the fact that it was required for final exams. I always set my alarm so I could lie in bed for a while. Today I didn't wake up with a positive attitude. The prospect of nine lessons was simply killing me. I was haunted by thoughts that had been poisoning my mind so often lately. Why am I even alive? What's the point of all this? What is my purpose? Am I destined for higher things, or am I destined to function my entire life as an ordinary person, an ordinary person who is, in reality, a nobody? After following my standard morning routine, I left the house. Almost every day, I was a little late. Often, a single minute would require me to move at least a little too quickly. I ride a bus that ensures I get to school no earlier than five minutes before the bell. This forces me to nervously monitor the number on each bus that appears in my line of sight.

Since I got off a little later than I should, the bus, as if out of spite, ran on time. I got used to it. I made an instant assessment of how quickly it would reach the stop, how long it would be there (the number of people at the stop), and my running ability. I had to try. I took off as hard as I could. I moved efficiently, seeing people on the bus watching me. My goal was getting closer. Only about twenty meters left. Everyone had boarded, and I could already picture myself grabbing the pole at full speed and jumping onto the bus with great force. When the distance was reduced to ten meters, the doors closed, and the bus moved off as if nothing had happened. I was completely enraged. The driver hadn't seen me, or maybe he was enjoying it. Why must I always have such bad luck? Or maybe my brain filters reality so that I only see the misfortunes that befall me, which are actually trivial.

I arrived at school ten minutes after the bell. Along the way, I had the pleasure of exercising my forehead and cheek muscles to prevent the harsh sunlight from reaching my eyes. This caused a characteristic facial grimace, shared by all the passengers. The driver's behavior triggered a series of reflections on the hypocrisy, rudeness, and lack of understanding of some people.

My first lesson was math. Besides PE, it was my favorite subject. I walked into the classroom and said the standard formula. Just today, the teacher had the idea to give me a quiz. Everyone had probably been writing for a few minutes. I went to my seat, seeing my seatmate getting ready to ask me a question, while the one sitting in front of me had a blank piece of paper and would probably be systematically turning his head in fear and hope as he stared at my calculations. Before I could even start writing, I heard muffled voices. One of them was a girl's. I easily recognized whose voice it was. Agnieszka was one of those people who really got on my nerves. When she needed something, she treated me like I was her best friend. Otherwise, I was nothing to her. I looked at her with horror in my eyes. I guess she understood.

The quiz on sequences seemed like a piece of cake, and I didn't have much trouble solving the problems. As usual, my surroundings treated me like an infallible machine and solved the problems analogously. The person sitting in front of me, without offending anyone, demonstrated a complete lack of brainpower. Instead of looking at the paper and thinking logically, he turned around and mindlessly copied it. It's like multiplying 5 times 10 on a calculator.

After collecting the papers, the analysis began, and they questioned me on what had to be done and how. The questions overlapped or came one after another:

"How did you do the second one?

" "How did you get the first one?

" "Hey Kuba, did I do that right?

" "Kuba!... Kuba!..."

I felt like I was about to get hit. Why does being a so-called good student have to be so tiring? After analyzing it, it turned out, to my surprise, that I had done something wrong. Krzysiek, sitting in front of me, was quite likely to fail. So he started asking me:

"How could you do that wrong? Surely it wasn't that difficult? Because of you, I could get another bad grade and fail the exam." How could a genius like you make such a mistake? - he said with great resentment in his voice.

I didn't answer him, because my psyche was already severely damaged. I hated being called a genius or treated like a walking encyclopedia. I wanted to start yelling at him, making it clear how much I hated such behavior. Not only did he practically give a damn about math and almost completely fail to understand what was happening in class, and I shared my work with him, occasionally adding verbal comments at his insistence, but he also blamed me for the wrong answer. He probably should have included something like that in his expenses. If I'd had a knife in my pocket, he probably would have opened and folded several times. "Do the devil a favor, and he'll reward you with hell." My mouth slowly twisted into a grimace of hatred, my brow furrowed, my fists clenched, and my breathing became deeper and more rapid. Did these kinds of events have to affect me almost daily?

Once again, I couldn't bear to think how sick this world could be. How could some people be so brazen? Will there be someone who can understand me, who has similar problems?

A break. I can finally calm down a bit. It would be all the more appropriate, since I now have two Polish classes. Dawid reigned supreme in these classes. I once thought he would be my soulmate, but since he had a girlfriend, he'd drifted off into the vortex of the ordinary world. I moved to the front of the classroom and sat down on one of the desks lining the hallway. Of course, only a few people were in a similar situation. Most of the class needed to "refresh themselves." Why did so many people fall into one of the most idiotic addictions? Many try to quit. Of course, unsuccessfully. Why did you start smoking? What did you need it for? Incredible stupidity. Why does it bother me so much? Why do I try so hard to understand others and myself?

I sat there, knowing it wouldn't take much for me to explode. Unfortunately, the fun was just beginning. I couldn't bear to look at the smiling faces of those whose jokes were simply pathetic, and whose utterances were constantly laced with vulgarity. As the monk who taught us religion in second grade once said, "Cursing isn't a sin, it's just an expression of vulgarity." What a multitude of vulgar people there are in this world.

I endured two Polish lessons in immense pain and suffering. I can only describe the classroom where we have these lessons as a vestibule to hell. It's not true to say I don't like this subject. I simply hate it with all my heart. I looked from teacher to Dawid, unsure what they were saying. I could hear the words, but the information couldn't reach my brain and be processed. By the end of the second lesson, I thought I was going to die. Everyone waited wearily for the bell, glancing at their watches repeatedly. Finally, we heard that pleasant sound, which sometimes signaled the beginning of 45 minutes of agony.

The next lesson was history. This subject could be very interesting, and at other times it tried to rival Polish. We entered the classroom and took our positions. The teacher began asking some students to answer questions, or at least she tried. Many gave up at the very beginning. Someone tried to excuse themselves by missing the last lesson. What's the point of that, since teachers don't recognize it anyway? And what's the point of being unprepared? Of course, to take advantage of them when you simply didn't feel like preparing. Why do so many people try to maximize their skills at all costs, while resorting to a broadly defined hypocrisy? Perhaps it's high time you learned to accept the consequences of your actions?!

While one of the students was "answering," I saw a note tacked to the wall with the words: "A cheerful person has a constant feast, while for a sad person, all days are bad." I knew better: "A pessimist is a well-informed optimist."

After the lesson proper began, the teacher said:

"So, who will remind us what we said about the political situation in Poland in 1923-25?... No one?... Well, maybe Kuba. Tell me what you remember from the last lesson.

Sure. Standard procedure. If there are no takers, there always has to be a theoretically good student. This happens in almost every subject. The result is that, whether I want to or not, I have to be prepared, or my ignorance will be exposed." Whenever I stumble, the teacher remembers when I was at my worst. This time was no exception. My speech was quite good until the teacher began demanding more and more detailed information. When I failed, the teacher said,

"Oh, Kuba, you've been slacking off lately. If you don't know that, who should?

" "It wasn't me who slacked off, it was my learning," I said jokingly, although in reality, my body temperature was rising by the minute.

I simply couldn't take it anymore. After history, two religions. Phew. If only the catechist hadn't come up with some unpleasant idea. Before the lesson began, however, I had a twenty-minute, so-called long, break to get through. Everything proceeded as usual. I took out my breakfast and calmly ate. Why are these breaks so long? A needless waste of time. Teaching in them is quite ineffective.

In religion class, we watched a film about Satanism. Of course, most people did everything they could to keep the truly interested ones from hearing too much. Despite numerous admonitions from the teacher and others, the noise level wouldn't drop below a certain level, nor did my blood pressure. I should congratulate Dawid, who, during the annoying, loud laughter of one student, said to another,

"Find something hard and hit it with it as hard as you can, maybe it'll shut up!"

After religion class, as usual, we were faced with a hopelessly planned lesson plan. Lessons 7, 8, and 9 were math. While the first lesson proceeded like a standard one, and the second one was a struggle, they were not exactly divided on the last sentence: Hell couldn't devise a more brutal ordeal. On a nine-lesson day, with attractions like two Polish lessons and then religions that leave you wanting nothing, testing our endurance with three calculus exams at the end was a bit much.

The teacher for this subject was adamant. She made the most of the lessons. Everything went "properly" until the last few seconds.

It turned out she had finally marked the quizzes. Most of them had terrible grades. Three-quarters of them got the least desirable grade. My paper had the number 5 on it. Of course, this was met with appropriate comments like "go away, you nerd." Why are they doing this to me? Why are they calling me a nerd when they don't know I actually spend little time studying? Do they have to clip my wings like this and ratchet up my anxiety and hatred?

Suddenly, I saw a female figure approaching me. She probably wanted to ask me something or take my job. Whatever she wanted to do, it was welcome. She approached, stood behind my right shoulder, leaned in, and said,

"Can I see how you did the second one?" she said in a pleasant voice.

As she spoke, I felt something strange. I felt it very well. With each passing moment, it filled me more and more, until I realized what I was dealing with. I no longer had any doubt that what was affecting me was the incredible, negatively charged, highly processed, and repulsive stench emanating from her mouth, the result of "oxygenation." This was too much. I silently handed her the note, restraining myself from a full-blown outburst. I rested my forehead on my hand and began to make small side-to-side head movements, looking dispassionately at the bench.

I sat through the break with my face buried in my hands. I felt a risk of crying. Some people couldn't resist patting me on the back or making comments like, "Quiet, Kuba's meditating," "Ooh, Kuba's concentrating." People! I'm suffering here! However, I couldn't and didn't want to utter any words. Here you go. Live in your sick and happy world.

After exhausting the remaining lessons, I started moving towards the exit as quickly as possible, checking my watch as I went. After a short distance, I saw a bus moving, my bus. I had to avenge my morning's failure. Unfortunately, I didn't make it this time either. It happens very rarely, and that was the second time that day. But... there was a traffic jam on the street. The driver hadn't beaten me yet. With tremendous effort, I caught the same bus at the next stop. Finally, some pleasure in this hopeless day.

After entering the house, I moved as quickly as possible to my room, grumbling to my parents along the way. I dropped my backpack and furiously started pounding my fist on the dresser. After reaching the appropriate level of pain, I stopped. I threw myself on the couch, and immediately one thought came to mind... suicide. Why keep pushing this cart? I'd had these kinds of thoughts so many times before, but I always postponed the fulfillment of my plans. This whole world and its realities were tormenting me beyond belief. Because of my academic performance, I bear a stigma. A stigma that condemns me to being an outcast.

The questions I asked myself this morning came back to me. What's the point of it all? Why am I even alive? What is my destiny? Do I have to suffer like this every day?

It's now or never. It's time to commit suicide. I just wonder if even worse experiences await me after death. The ones I deal with daily might turn out to be nothing. I had to try. Hopefully, this would solve my problems. I opened the window as wide as possible. My heart began to beat faster and faster, and I felt sweat on my palms. I looked down. I saw my destination. It was the asphalt sidewalk. I asked myself if I really wanted this. The answer was yes, because I knew my life was truly a path through hell. I left a note saying: "I leave the reason to your speculations." I climbed onto the windowsill. I could hear my heartbeat perfectly. There was no point in waiting. I jumped...

I woke up and discovered more facts. The first was very unpleasant: I was still alive. Was this just one of the many unusual dreams I often experienced? No... I wasn't home after all. Suddenly, I heard a voice in the distance:

"Doctor! He's awake!"

My head was so filled with thoughts that I couldn't even move, frozen in thought, staring at the ceiling. A moment later, a doctor entered the room and said,

"My name is Sławomir Wasilewski. I'm a doctor. You're in the hospital. You were incredibly lucky. You survived a fall from the fifth floor. However, I have some very bad news for you. You're... you're..." The words seemed to escape the doctor's throat. "...we did everything we could, but unfortunately...

" "What's wrong with me?!" I interrupted the doctor in horror.

"Not to mention the numerous fractures... you're paralyzed from the neck down..." he said with a grave expression. "...unfortunately, you won't regain any mobility.

Indeed. I couldn't move any of my limbs. The doctor's eyes could see the tragic scene. With tense facial muscles and a grimace, I tried to move. To no avail. Involuntarily, tears began to well up in my eyes. I wanted to be alone at that moment. As the room emptied, I began to sob incredibly loudly.

If my life so far had been exhausting and hopeless, what would it be like now? I was searching for meaning and purpose in my life. I wanted to know my destiny. Now I knew it. My goal and destiny was to survive the next few thousand days, functioning like a plant, being nothing but a giant hump to my family. What had I done? After all, my life so far hadn't been that bad. I began to sob even louder, because I knew that now my true journey through hell began...