Kernowfem
Member
New year, a time for making resolutions and plans for the future. But does any of you have any big regrets, things you wish you could go back and change?
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Your biggest regret?
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EM2
Established Member
Didn't revise hard enough for my 'O'-levels and didn't study hard enough for my 'A'-levels.
These two things have sent my life in this direction and it's what I most regret.
These two things have sent my life in this direction and it's what I most regret.
Last edited:
table38
Established Member
I'd probably have made a few choices of partner differently with hindsight, but I still think I did the right thing at the time knowing what I did then!
I always think that those choices got me where I am now, which on the whole isn't too bad (especially when I compare my life to the Jeremy Kyle show
)
I always think that those choices got me where I am now, which on the whole isn't too bad (especially when I compare my life to the Jeremy Kyle show
)
MidnightFlyer
Veteran Member
- Joined
- 16 May 2010
- Messages
- 12,856
I don't regret things. I learn from them and move forward.
martin2345uk
Established Member
In a way I regret letting people pressure me into following a certain career path when I originally wanted to join the railways...
But then if I had done that, who's to say it would have been the right thing at that time?
But then if I had done that, who's to say it would have been the right thing at that time?
deltic1989
Established Member
I take the view that life's to short for regrets or what if's. Everything happens for a reason and if you spend ages trying to work out the reason you'll wake up one day and find you wasted half your life, live for now and the future, not the past. Just my own personal opinion
YorkshireBear
Established Member
- Joined
- 23 Jul 2010
- Messages
- 9,664
Exactly, regretting thinks makes you sad, old and miserable. With you all the way on that statement.
Peter Mugridge
Veteran Member
I once managed top turn down, without realising it until the penny finally dropped over a decade later, a direct offer of employment from the late Lord Hanson himself...
Amen to that!
I took too many drugs, drank too much, was horrible to people I wish I wasn't and left jobs I wish I hadn't but it was all part of a learning experience.
I've still not fully learnt though!
martinsh
Established Member
No going to see Poco play at Oxford Polytechnic in 1976, on the pretext they were "the poor man's Eagles".
Took me another 29 years before I saw them live - by which time they had ruined some of their best songs !
Took me another 29 years before I saw them live - by which time they had ruined some of their best songs !
SS4
Established Member
Pretty much everything >.<
Tomonthetrain
Established Member
- Joined
- 12 Jul 2011
- Messages
- 1,290
I find it's best to look forewards, not backwards
Ivo
Established Member
I hope you guys are ready for a rant, because a rant is what you are about to get. But, seen as it will take quite a while to write, I'll say these little snippets first - and then get to work. Sorry to Kernowfem for potentially damaging the thread 
OK - see below. 85 minutes passed between submitting this post and submitting it...
Good answers. I just wish I could agree
[insert witty remark about playing Cupid here
]
Oh hold on - did I actually type that?
hock:
OK - see below. 85 minutes passed between submitting this post and submitting it...
Good answers. I just wish I could agree
Not meeting my guy earlier!
[insert witty remark about playing Cupid here
]Oh hold on - did I actually type that?
hock:
Last edited:
Temple Meads
Established Member
Seriously, not putting any effort into my GCSE's.
More light heartedly, not discovering the FoSS rover until recently.
More light heartedly, not discovering the FoSS rover until recently.
Not working harder at my A-Levels and going to a real top flight University. I went to visit a friend at Oxford recently and realised if I'd actually worked at it I probably could have gone to somewhere like that. T'was a rather depressing realisation.
Ivo
Established Member
This story dates back to the year 2000 - Saturday 15th January, to be precise. (Ouch - I was ten at the time, and yet I remember the exact date?! hock Before I go any further though, the critical regret will come out very quickly - but the story assocaited with it is a long and painful one. Indeed, had I documented this story this time last year, when falling deeper into the clutches of depression, for all we know I may have perished by now.
My mother entered me into the 11+ exam (yes, it still exists in Essex) - and I have long wished that I had spoken out against her doing so. This is the major regret - not speaking out against being entered into the 11+. It seemed like such a good idea all those years ago...
Sure enough, I passed the exam, and with room to spare. Something like 1,900 pupils passed it out of ~8,000; in spite of scoring a relatively poor 29/50 on the English side of things, I still managed a comfortable pass in 718th - helped in no small part by scoring 73/90 on Verbal Reasoning, the foundation of the 11+ exam, and a strong 38/40 in the mathematics section of the test. However, this was all very well, but then I think back to my brother, whose position was effectively twice as poor in a weaker year group overall - #1,437. In passing however, he was given a book by our grandmother, and £20 to do with as he pleased. Me? Nothing whatsoever. I know I have said previously about not being materialistic, but at the age of ten things are a bit different, and this is hardly fair. It was as though my mother had simply assumed I would pass without fail and that would be the end of it.
Anyway, along came September, and I started a the local "boffin school" - Southend High School for Boys. But something didn't feel quite right. Never mind the bias aspect from a parental perspective; from a schooling perspective it was an entirely different matter. Within weeks, it became apparent to me that I was an outcast. Someone who was there to make up the numbers in as unwelcoming a manner as is humanely possible. And, looking back now, I even wonder whether there was a air of homophobia among the school - and with it, possibly because of my apparently "posh" voice (by Estuary standards anyway), whether there was a belief that I was homosexual myself; in fact, this is the first time I have ever mentioned this to anyone. (You don't need telling that it isn't true, especially if you have been on here for more than nine to ten months...)
By the middle of Year 7, it seemed like every time something went wrong, it was my fault. And where I had apparently fallen foul of something courtesy of someone else's action, it would be me bearing the brunt of any sanctions. Of course, when you are caught on the grass when the field is off limits, fair enough, the staff should have a word with you to advise you to stay off it. But when you have been pushed on to it and seen several others get away with doing it of their own accord, you would expect an apology, right? Not in my case - detention.
Meanwhile, after about half of my first lesson (Science) on one Wednesday in February 2001 (the 14th?), I started to feel a bit faint. Before long, I asked for permission to go to the sickroom, and somewhat surprisingly the teacher gave her blessing. Just as well - by the time I reached the sickroom, I was ready to throw up, and it didn't take long to come through. Now, normally, there is only one option here, and that is to send the pupil home - and, sure enough, the second time it happened, the school did just that. But this first time I could not have picked a worse day - my mother had started a new job without telling me, so neither I nor the school could contact her. And as a result, after about two hours the school sent me back to lessons! Worse still, said lesson was a Design & Technology lesson - so not exactly an easy sitting-behind-the-desk scenario.
Things worsened after that experience. On more than on occasion, I had to write some lines - 100 of them - for not using a ruler. Pathetic. However, on one occasion, someone had the the bright idea of hiding my lines on top of the lockers, where I couldn't find them. This left me having to promise the teacher that I had indeed written them - she gave me until the end of the morning break period to find them. Fortunately I did - but this was a rare escape.
Towards the end in Year 7, it had become apparent that the most awkward teacher was my English teacher. On more than one occasion she summoned me to give me a sanction, for doing something that others had done without repurcussion. However, on one specific instance, she took things way too far. One of the other boys had the bright idea of copying a piece of homework I wrote - and, predictably, she believed him. So, as a result, you would expect me to have to fight my way out of this, and to demand an apology. And you would also expect a likely detention (to fight my way out of). And what did happen? None of that - instead, she dictated that I had to miss Sports Day and work! And when I submitted the extra piece, she rejected it for no good reason. An absolute disgrace - and an obvious sign of things to come.
And so began a long chain of the same drivel in which almost anyone would find a way to critique everything I did. And by the end of the Autumn Term in Year 9, the school has put me on some kind of Special Measures scheme, which involved staying behind for one hour after school EVERY DAY. And why? Because I was sliping and not doing things I should have been. And why? Because of how everyone at the school treated me! Worse still, my mother sided with them, and not her own son - a trend that will become far more prominent later on. The school had a 1-5 rating that had to be systematically applied to every session you attended, and perfect attendance was compulsory even through sickness (compare the 2001 note above). And before long I was consistently scoring 1s and 2s - no matter what happened in each lesson. I was showing serious signs of depression, which went completely unnoticed - and more seriously, would remain unnoticed for the whole time I was at school! (In spite of showing various different symptoms for prolonged periods, I would have to wait until late 2010 to finally receive a diagnosis of depression.)
Things eventually improved, and I was ultimately off the scheme. But it didn't matter. By now I had been placed into Set 2 for Geography at GCSE - my only blot among what was otherwise nothing but Set 1 through my entire academic career. And why? It wasn't academic - put it that way! Worse, for three straight years my persistent depression-related illnesses prevented me from taking part in cross-country - and you can imagine what that would feel like when I invariably felt better come the winter, resulting in running two miles in a vest and shorts with snow on the ground...
Thigns got even got worse at GCSE level. By now, all sorts of silly things were happening. No-one cared about me, including my mother for the most part. On an emotional level, I was a complete wreck. I couldn't go one day without crying, which was epitomised on [another exact date coming up] Monday 31st May 2004 - the day I returned from my second German Exchange. (If you want an idea, I am almost crying just thinking about this event.) During the week away I had become attached to a girl called April. She was shy, but also quite pretty. And by the end, another girl suggested that April and I had "chemistry", and as such should have started dating. After this statement I never said another word to April - and by the time we reached the Dartford tunnel, I was crying. It was that bad. Meanwhile, some of the other students had become extremely manipulative and conniving, and more, and in one case had even tried to seduce me, to the point that he sat on my lap and started bouncing up and down. (Apparently he even "presented himself" - but rather than me, one of the other boys saw him do it instead...)
Fianlly, the whole thing hit a pre- Sixth Form peak in late Year 10, at roughly the same time as the Exchange, when the Maths teacher gave me an after-school detention, which was said to have gone on any student's permanent record (needless to say, courtesy of the school's attitude towards me I had a few; I even had two on the same day a couple of times) - for not handing in a piece of homework I had handed in TWICE. This was the final straw, and after this I really couldn't care any more. I even went as far as to write a letter in my note book which was intended for the Head of Year, telling him that I wanted to leave - but I couldn't motivate myself to do so. Of all the times I received the after school detention, one other springs to mind - for forging my mother's signature. Utterly ridiculous. I easily proved that the school were wrong - to no avail. My mother had hurt her wrist the day before so it wasn't as tidy as it normally would be, and even with proof the school still refused to believe me.
Meanwhile, at home, my sister was playing up. She ran off to Coventry for a year, for no fair reason, and blamed all of us. My mother's attention was thus circulated on her, and on my brother when she could spare the time, leaving me with nothing. This situation was however eventually saved by the "Princess of the Piece" - the school's new Deputy Head, and my GCSE English teacher. She let me speak to her and air my problems during off periods - and, in time, we developed a relationship that at times was bordering on romantic. In fact, I once dreamt that she was pregnant - and I was the father! Of course, this wasn't the case, but we still did more than was considered decent for a teacher-pupil situation at the time - we cuddled. (And if it wasn't for a class of nosey Year 9s outside, said cuddle would almost certainly have been upgraded to a kiss.)
This was all very well - but it was only a small amount of help. I barely got through Year 11, but even it was a rough ride - at one point, the police came round after I was assaulted for no good reason (after which I refused to leave home for almost a week, which was one of the few things the school were actually supportive of) - and I effectively failed at GCSE level (technically I didn't, I did quite well - but I fell well short of expectations); as it turned out, I just qualified for the school Sixth Form. I now wish I hadn't...
Finally, at Sixth Form level, the whole story took a turn for the worse. Before long, I could tell they wanted me out, and they sanctioned me constantly. On one occasion I felt so unwell I wasn't even sure I could get home safely - but the school wouldn't even let me leave, even though it wasn't compulsory for me to be there (being post-16)! Their reason? My brother's attendance at Sixth Form had been poor and they didn't a reeat. Disgraceful to say the least - and also the biggest piece of **** they ever told me. They even prevented me from leaving after lunch time when I didn't have any lesson afterwards, wich is completely unreasonable at this level.
And then we get to the start of 2006. Through the first couple of weeks of January, I developed a severe throat infection whcih left me struggling to breathe at times and at one point within hours of having my tonsils out. And after Tuesday 17th January (coincidentally the day I bought Trainz 2004), I didn't feel well enough to attend. And the pain got worse. But even worse than the pain was how my mother reacted to the situation. Even though I was clearly in pain, and even though she went to the doctor's surgery with me for a check-up, she refused to believe I was in pain and discomfort, and insisted I attend school no matter what!
Finally, on the 1st of February (a Wednesday of course), some mail for me. Effective from Wednesday 8th, I was not welcome at Southend High School for Boys. And that was it - I was expelled. For being ill.
The 8th came along, and at long last I felt well enough to attend... but wasn't allowed to. In stead, I went with my mother (an antagonist in all of this of course) to visit her mother. Five days later, my mother's mother was in hospital - a hospital that was five minutes' walk from my high school. In other words, easy for me to visit had I still been attending.
Five days later, on the morning of Saturday 18th, my last grandparent passed away. This was bad enough - but to learn it from MY SISTER? How disrespectful (to both me [and my brother] and Nan) was that? I was so emotional at the time that I couldn't even bring myself to say goodbye in the chapel - primarily because of the hospital's proximity to the school...
Another ten months would pass by the time my mother finally accepted that she was wrong, but by this time it didn't matter. And similarly, by this time I was having repeated (but differing) dreams about being in school, and then being forced out (almost akin to Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) - and would continue to do so on a regular basis until October 2009, by which time I wasn't even living in Southend any more. Even now, I still get them occasionally, and if anything their frequency has been increasing of late...
The whole time the only person who sided with me when he should have done so was my father - 50 miles away in Feltham. Even now, he and I still talk about the above story - and even now, my brother defends the school every time the subject comes up with all three of us resent. For this (and one other) reason, I will now no longer visit my father when my brother is present - if ever my brother signs in on this forum again, ask him about the discussion we had in Peterborough in 2007...
The above is a representation of the biggest regret of my life, and the almost infinite pain it has brought me ever since. But there is another side still - my lack of a diagnosis of Asperger Syndrome. In 65 months at Southend High School for Boys, not one whisper was made of me possibly having Special Educational Needs - even though a boy with Asperger Syndrome was in the year below, and we were in the same room on Monday and Thursday lunchtimes! This hurt as well - especially considering when I started at college I was put in for an Educational Psychologist's testing scheme after literally two weeks! And even worse, I had a preliminary diagnosis of "semantic-pragmatic tendencies" (look it up; I've said enough here), which would eventually evolve into a full diagnosis of Asperger Syndrome. Well, if the college could manage that in four weeks, why couldn't the school do so in 65 months...?
Now, even being at University can be considered a success on my part against these evil oppressors. But, no matter how spiteful or begrudging this may sound, I would love it if, one day, I could walk through the school front door and show them a PhD certificate. That would be a true victory in my life - and, just maybe, a wake-up call for them.
Not that I can see that last bit happening any time soon...
hock Before I go any further though, the critical regret will come out very quickly - but the story assocaited with it is a long and painful one. Indeed, had I documented this story this time last year, when falling deeper into the clutches of depression, for all we know I may have perished by now.My mother entered me into the 11+ exam (yes, it still exists in Essex) - and I have long wished that I had spoken out against her doing so. This is the major regret - not speaking out against being entered into the 11+. It seemed like such a good idea all those years ago...
Sure enough, I passed the exam, and with room to spare. Something like 1,900 pupils passed it out of ~8,000; in spite of scoring a relatively poor 29/50 on the English side of things, I still managed a comfortable pass in 718th - helped in no small part by scoring 73/90 on Verbal Reasoning, the foundation of the 11+ exam, and a strong 38/40 in the mathematics section of the test. However, this was all very well, but then I think back to my brother, whose position was effectively twice as poor in a weaker year group overall - #1,437. In passing however, he was given a book by our grandmother, and £20 to do with as he pleased. Me? Nothing whatsoever. I know I have said previously about not being materialistic, but at the age of ten things are a bit different, and this is hardly fair. It was as though my mother had simply assumed I would pass without fail and that would be the end of it.
Anyway, along came September, and I started a the local "boffin school" - Southend High School for Boys. But something didn't feel quite right. Never mind the bias aspect from a parental perspective; from a schooling perspective it was an entirely different matter. Within weeks, it became apparent to me that I was an outcast. Someone who was there to make up the numbers in as unwelcoming a manner as is humanely possible. And, looking back now, I even wonder whether there was a air of homophobia among the school - and with it, possibly because of my apparently "posh" voice (by Estuary standards anyway), whether there was a belief that I was homosexual myself; in fact, this is the first time I have ever mentioned this to anyone. (You don't need telling that it isn't true, especially if you have been on here for more than nine to ten months...)
By the middle of Year 7, it seemed like every time something went wrong, it was my fault. And where I had apparently fallen foul of something courtesy of someone else's action, it would be me bearing the brunt of any sanctions. Of course, when you are caught on the grass when the field is off limits, fair enough, the staff should have a word with you to advise you to stay off it. But when you have been pushed on to it and seen several others get away with doing it of their own accord, you would expect an apology, right? Not in my case - detention.
Meanwhile, after about half of my first lesson (Science) on one Wednesday in February 2001 (the 14th?), I started to feel a bit faint. Before long, I asked for permission to go to the sickroom, and somewhat surprisingly the teacher gave her blessing. Just as well - by the time I reached the sickroom, I was ready to throw up, and it didn't take long to come through. Now, normally, there is only one option here, and that is to send the pupil home - and, sure enough, the second time it happened, the school did just that. But this first time I could not have picked a worse day - my mother had started a new job without telling me, so neither I nor the school could contact her. And as a result, after about two hours the school sent me back to lessons! Worse still, said lesson was a Design & Technology lesson - so not exactly an easy sitting-behind-the-desk scenario.
Things worsened after that experience. On more than on occasion, I had to write some lines - 100 of them - for not using a ruler. Pathetic. However, on one occasion, someone had the the bright idea of hiding my lines on top of the lockers, where I couldn't find them. This left me having to promise the teacher that I had indeed written them - she gave me until the end of the morning break period to find them. Fortunately I did - but this was a rare escape.
Towards the end in Year 7, it had become apparent that the most awkward teacher was my English teacher. On more than one occasion she summoned me to give me a sanction, for doing something that others had done without repurcussion. However, on one specific instance, she took things way too far. One of the other boys had the bright idea of copying a piece of homework I wrote - and, predictably, she believed him. So, as a result, you would expect me to have to fight my way out of this, and to demand an apology. And you would also expect a likely detention (to fight my way out of). And what did happen? None of that - instead, she dictated that I had to miss Sports Day and work! And when I submitted the extra piece, she rejected it for no good reason. An absolute disgrace - and an obvious sign of things to come.
And so began a long chain of the same drivel in which almost anyone would find a way to critique everything I did. And by the end of the Autumn Term in Year 9, the school has put me on some kind of Special Measures scheme, which involved staying behind for one hour after school EVERY DAY. And why? Because I was sliping and not doing things I should have been. And why? Because of how everyone at the school treated me! Worse still, my mother sided with them, and not her own son - a trend that will become far more prominent later on. The school had a 1-5 rating that had to be systematically applied to every session you attended, and perfect attendance was compulsory even through sickness (compare the 2001 note above). And before long I was consistently scoring 1s and 2s - no matter what happened in each lesson. I was showing serious signs of depression, which went completely unnoticed - and more seriously, would remain unnoticed for the whole time I was at school! (In spite of showing various different symptoms for prolonged periods, I would have to wait until late 2010 to finally receive a diagnosis of depression.)
Things eventually improved, and I was ultimately off the scheme. But it didn't matter. By now I had been placed into Set 2 for Geography at GCSE - my only blot among what was otherwise nothing but Set 1 through my entire academic career. And why? It wasn't academic - put it that way! Worse, for three straight years my persistent depression-related illnesses prevented me from taking part in cross-country - and you can imagine what that would feel like when I invariably felt better come the winter, resulting in running two miles in a vest and shorts with snow on the ground...
Thigns got even got worse at GCSE level. By now, all sorts of silly things were happening. No-one cared about me, including my mother for the most part. On an emotional level, I was a complete wreck. I couldn't go one day without crying, which was epitomised on [another exact date coming up] Monday 31st May 2004 - the day I returned from my second German Exchange. (If you want an idea, I am almost crying just thinking about this event.) During the week away I had become attached to a girl called April. She was shy, but also quite pretty. And by the end, another girl suggested that April and I had "chemistry", and as such should have started dating. After this statement I never said another word to April - and by the time we reached the Dartford tunnel, I was crying. It was that bad. Meanwhile, some of the other students had become extremely manipulative and conniving, and more, and in one case had even tried to seduce me, to the point that he sat on my lap and started bouncing up and down. (Apparently he even "presented himself" - but rather than me, one of the other boys saw him do it instead...)
Fianlly, the whole thing hit a pre- Sixth Form peak in late Year 10, at roughly the same time as the Exchange, when the Maths teacher gave me an after-school detention, which was said to have gone on any student's permanent record (needless to say, courtesy of the school's attitude towards me I had a few; I even had two on the same day a couple of times) - for not handing in a piece of homework I had handed in TWICE. This was the final straw, and after this I really couldn't care any more. I even went as far as to write a letter in my note book which was intended for the Head of Year, telling him that I wanted to leave - but I couldn't motivate myself to do so. Of all the times I received the after school detention, one other springs to mind - for forging my mother's signature. Utterly ridiculous. I easily proved that the school were wrong - to no avail. My mother had hurt her wrist the day before so it wasn't as tidy as it normally would be, and even with proof the school still refused to believe me.
Meanwhile, at home, my sister was playing up. She ran off to Coventry for a year, for no fair reason, and blamed all of us. My mother's attention was thus circulated on her, and on my brother when she could spare the time, leaving me with nothing. This situation was however eventually saved by the "Princess of the Piece" - the school's new Deputy Head, and my GCSE English teacher. She let me speak to her and air my problems during off periods - and, in time, we developed a relationship that at times was bordering on romantic. In fact, I once dreamt that she was pregnant - and I was the father! Of course, this wasn't the case, but we still did more than was considered decent for a teacher-pupil situation at the time - we cuddled. (And if it wasn't for a class of nosey Year 9s outside, said cuddle would almost certainly have been upgraded to a kiss.)
This was all very well - but it was only a small amount of help. I barely got through Year 11, but even it was a rough ride - at one point, the police came round after I was assaulted for no good reason (after which I refused to leave home for almost a week, which was one of the few things the school were actually supportive of) - and I effectively failed at GCSE level (technically I didn't, I did quite well - but I fell well short of expectations); as it turned out, I just qualified for the school Sixth Form. I now wish I hadn't...
Finally, at Sixth Form level, the whole story took a turn for the worse. Before long, I could tell they wanted me out, and they sanctioned me constantly. On one occasion I felt so unwell I wasn't even sure I could get home safely - but the school wouldn't even let me leave, even though it wasn't compulsory for me to be there (being post-16)! Their reason? My brother's attendance at Sixth Form had been poor and they didn't a reeat. Disgraceful to say the least - and also the biggest piece of **** they ever told me. They even prevented me from leaving after lunch time when I didn't have any lesson afterwards, wich is completely unreasonable at this level.
And then we get to the start of 2006. Through the first couple of weeks of January, I developed a severe throat infection whcih left me struggling to breathe at times and at one point within hours of having my tonsils out. And after Tuesday 17th January (coincidentally the day I bought Trainz 2004), I didn't feel well enough to attend. And the pain got worse. But even worse than the pain was how my mother reacted to the situation. Even though I was clearly in pain, and even though she went to the doctor's surgery with me for a check-up, she refused to believe I was in pain and discomfort, and insisted I attend school no matter what!
Finally, on the 1st of February (a Wednesday of course), some mail for me. Effective from Wednesday 8th, I was not welcome at Southend High School for Boys. And that was it - I was expelled. For being ill.
The 8th came along, and at long last I felt well enough to attend... but wasn't allowed to. In stead, I went with my mother (an antagonist in all of this of course) to visit her mother. Five days later, my mother's mother was in hospital - a hospital that was five minutes' walk from my high school. In other words, easy for me to visit had I still been attending.
Five days later, on the morning of Saturday 18th, my last grandparent passed away. This was bad enough - but to learn it from MY SISTER? How disrespectful (to both me [and my brother] and Nan) was that? I was so emotional at the time that I couldn't even bring myself to say goodbye in the chapel - primarily because of the hospital's proximity to the school...
Another ten months would pass by the time my mother finally accepted that she was wrong, but by this time it didn't matter. And similarly, by this time I was having repeated (but differing) dreams about being in school, and then being forced out (almost akin to Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) - and would continue to do so on a regular basis until October 2009, by which time I wasn't even living in Southend any more. Even now, I still get them occasionally, and if anything their frequency has been increasing of late...
The whole time the only person who sided with me when he should have done so was my father - 50 miles away in Feltham. Even now, he and I still talk about the above story - and even now, my brother defends the school every time the subject comes up with all three of us resent. For this (and one other) reason, I will now no longer visit my father when my brother is present - if ever my brother signs in on this forum again, ask him about the discussion we had in Peterborough in 2007...
The above is a representation of the biggest regret of my life, and the almost infinite pain it has brought me ever since. But there is another side still - my lack of a diagnosis of Asperger Syndrome. In 65 months at Southend High School for Boys, not one whisper was made of me possibly having Special Educational Needs - even though a boy with Asperger Syndrome was in the year below, and we were in the same room on Monday and Thursday lunchtimes! This hurt as well - especially considering when I started at college I was put in for an Educational Psychologist's testing scheme after literally two weeks! And even worse, I had a preliminary diagnosis of "semantic-pragmatic tendencies" (look it up; I've said enough here), which would eventually evolve into a full diagnosis of Asperger Syndrome. Well, if the college could manage that in four weeks, why couldn't the school do so in 65 months...?
Now, even being at University can be considered a success on my part against these evil oppressors. But, no matter how spiteful or begrudging this may sound, I would love it if, one day, I could walk through the school front door and show them a PhD certificate. That would be a true victory in my life - and, just maybe, a wake-up call for them.
Not that I can see that last bit happening any time soon...
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Hi Ivo, a tough post for you to write I imagine. Lots of thoughts going through my head but what I WOULD like to say is that people can achieve what they want with hard work and dedication, so if you want to get that PhD go for it!
On a separate note, regrets? I have many, but I just have to put it down to experience, understand that these experiences have made me who I am now and move on. Life's too short to lament what you could have had or should have done. You only live once, so LIVE IT!
On a separate note, regrets? I have many, but I just have to put it down to experience, understand that these experiences have made me who I am now and move on. Life's too short to lament what you could have had or should have done. You only live once, so LIVE IT!
I have few regrets. In fact I can't call to mind any significant regrets at all. I did once miss a penalty in the FA Youth Cup when I played for Watford's academy. Should have put it right, but I went left and I scuffed it horribly. Bah.
My motto is "take responsibility, man up and stop moaning". Your life will be happier and more fruitful for it.
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I think you need professional help. Also, try not to blame literally everything that goes wrong in your life on someone else.
My motto is "take responsibility, man up and stop moaning". Your life will be happier and more fruitful for it.
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I think you need professional help. Also, try not to blame literally everything that goes wrong in your life on someone else.
Xenophon PCDGS
Veteran Member
Deciding not to go to visit New Zealand in 1966 with some fellow graduates from Manchester University who were offered a special package. I started in my first position instead.
Minilad
Established Member
The only one I have is not taking a trip on a sleeper. Never done it and always wished I had. Something very romantic about sleepers I think. Not that I am a romantic
Kernowfem
Member
Teeny bit harsh in my opinion. Sometimes a good moan does us all good
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Wouldn't be that like a busmans holiday for a driver like you??
Minilad
Established Member
Wouldn't be that like a busmans holiday for a driver like you??
I live on trains. Sad I know. Trains and sport and thats it
YorkshireBear
Established Member
- Joined
- 23 Jul 2010
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People have crumbled under less much less.
But as you say you are now at university and under the circumstances i would be proud of yourself.
Ivo
Established Member
AlterEgo, that is all long-gone now. Soemone will always disagree and I accept that - all I would ask is that people don't take it too far without knowing the full background. A friend of mine from the same school once told me that people will defend it regardless - because they didn't go through the "nitty-gritty".
P.S.: Already had "professional help", and it achieved very little. I recovered on my own (well, technically that isn't true
).
It shows the difference between this time this year and this time last year. If I had attempted to write that in January 2011 it would have gone horribly wrong and I'd be writing another depression thread instead
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I somehow managed to omit two other important events in my above rant! So, here they are (they will be slotted in as appropriate as well)...
The word count is now up to 2,803.
Towards the end in Year 7, it had become apparent that the most awkward teacher was my English teacher. On more than one occasion she summoned me to give me a sanction, for doing something that others had done without repurcussion. However, on one specific instance, she took things way too far. One of the other boys had the bright idea of copying a piece of homework I wrote - and, predictably, she believed him. So, as a result, you would expect me to have to fight my way out of this, and to demand an apology. And you would also expect a likely detention (to fight my way out of). And what did happen? None of that - instead, she dictated that I had to miss Sports Day and work! And when I submitted the extra piece, she rejected it for no good reason. An absolute disgrace - and an obvious sign of things to come.
Of all the times I received the after school detention, one other springs to mind - for forging my mother's signature. Utterly ridiculous. I easily proved that the school were wrong - to no avail. My mother had hurt her wrist the day before so it wasn't as tidy as it normally would be, and even with proof the school still refused to believe me.
P.S.: Already had "professional help", and it achieved very little. I recovered on my own (well, technically that isn't true
).It shows the difference between this time this year and this time last year. If I had attempted to write that in January 2011 it would have gone horribly wrong and I'd be writing another depression thread instead
----------------------
I somehow managed to omit two other important events in my above rant!
So, here they are (they will be slotted in as appropriate as well)...The word count is now up to 2,803.
Towards the end in Year 7, it had become apparent that the most awkward teacher was my English teacher. On more than one occasion she summoned me to give me a sanction, for doing something that others had done without repurcussion. However, on one specific instance, she took things way too far. One of the other boys had the bright idea of copying a piece of homework I wrote - and, predictably, she believed him. So, as a result, you would expect me to have to fight my way out of this, and to demand an apology. And you would also expect a likely detention (to fight my way out of). And what did happen? None of that - instead, she dictated that I had to miss Sports Day and work! And when I submitted the extra piece, she rejected it for no good reason. An absolute disgrace - and an obvious sign of things to come.
Of all the times I received the after school detention, one other springs to mind - for forging my mother's signature. Utterly ridiculous. I easily proved that the school were wrong - to no avail. My mother had hurt her wrist the day before so it wasn't as tidy as it normally would be, and even with proof the school still refused to believe me.
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I found the same thing. Acutally one of the worst feelings I have ever had was when opening up about my self harm to a professional. She looked at it, looked at me in the face, her own face a picture of disgust then shot back across the room on her chair and head down "I'm going to refer you". She was a mental health specialist I had been refered to see.
Sometimes desipite all their training a mental health specialist cannot compare to the support and love that your friends can give you to help drag you out of the darkest depths of yourself.
My biggest regret changes day to day. Somedays it is not killing myself when I have tried. Others it is trying to do just that. And days like today - it is not working hard enough on my degree.
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