I think I fear men.

…No, I’m entirely serious. I really think I have a fear of men. Men only – not boys, not women, not girls.

As I was growing up, my mother drilled into my head that all males are evil, with the exception of my dad. I never took her words seriously, but I think it’s beginning to affect me now. I can’t relax if I know there’s a man in the same room, even if I’m surrounded by other people. I’ve only just begun to realize this, after years of being lectured about the evils of the male species by mommy dearest.

If I’m ever alone in a place, any place, with a man, my breath goes shallow, my heart threatens to burst through my ribs, my body becomes rigid, and my eyes look at anything but the man. This happens with any man, especially if I don’t know him. It even happens with my own dad, but only slightly. Still, that’s not normal, is it, being afraid of your dear, loving father?

Every day, as I get ready to leave school, I have to walk past my Algebra II teacher’s classroom. He’s a, uh, friendly guy, but kind of harsh during class. Once school ends, he steps out into the very narrow, very crowded hallway (there’s about six feet of walking space between the lockers and the wall, and sixty-five of us crammed into that space) and talks to his students. Other times he’d just watch us. If he’s not doing anything, he’d catch me as I’m leaving and would say goodbye for the day. Nothing wrong with that, right? Normal students would respond enthusiastically, but not me. I’d reply meekly and quickly, and without looking at him. Then I’d dash down the stairs and out the door.

But my fear around him is mild compared to my fear for this other teacher.

I don’t know him at all. He’s never taught me, he’s never once spoken to me, and I avoid him as if he has an infectious disease. He’s kind of, ahem, hot, for an old guy. He’s either in his late twenties or early thirties. But that’s not why he creeps me out. Whenever I see him, it feels as if he’s always watching me.

(Heh, reminds me of that song by Paramore: I got a lot to say to you/ Yeah, I got a lot to say/ I noticed your eyes are always glued to me/ Keeping them here and it makes no sense at all)

I am completely terrified of him. There was a club I wanted to join but didn’t because he runs it. I don’t like the way he looks at me when we pass in the halls or on the stairs. His looks says, “I know what you did last summer.” It creeps me out.

He’s notorious for being a pervert, and all the girls know it. That doesn’t help my paranoia. He once told his entire class to close their eyes. God knows what he could possibly be doing/looking at during that time. Whenever he walks up the stairs and I’m somewhere above him, I can see, out of my peripheral vision, that his eyes are looking directly up. Many of the girls in my school wear their uniform skirt at least five inches above the knee.

You do the math.

A close friend of mine experienced his pervyness first-hand. No, he didn’t touch her. It happened to be a dress down day at school, and she’d chosen to wear a tank top under a zip-up hoodie, which she left unzipped. She told me that he was looking down her shirt as she talked to him. She was like this the whole time: “Uh, my eyes are up here, sir.”

It’s not only pervy men I’m afraid of. I’m scared of all of them. I really don’t understand why.

Dear God, I hope he never stumbles upon this journal.

I ate too much on Thanksgiving Day.

Until next time,

~ Mimi :(

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