I hate my teacher

I'm not thanking you because you tried to make me better. I had plenty of teachers that did, and you are not one of them. I'm thanking you because after what you put me through, I became better.

I don't hate you anymore. Don't get me wrong–it's not that I had some revelation that you're the best teacher I ever had–but it's that I can move past it all. We're both adults now, and I'm out of your class.

I'm not taking back anything I said about you before. They say hindsight is 20/20, and even when I look back, what you did was not fair. It was mean and uncalled for, and there is no excuse for that.

I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. I told myself that you weren't the first bad teacher I'd had and you wouldn't be the last, and halfway through college, that is absolutely true. But you're still the worst teacher I've had.

I want you to know that although you probably forgot me the day I walked out of your classroom, I haven't forgotten you. You showed me rock bottom, and that's not something you forget.

You taught me how to fight for a grade, and in a bigger sense, how to fight. I wanted more than anything to do well in your class and you did everything in your power to stop that from happening. But it taught me to scrap for anything I wanted, no matter how small. If you want an apology for those times I argued for a single point on a test, "Sorry, I'm not sorry" is the best I can offer.

My words might not mean anything to you, but they mean everything to me. I can't move forward while I'm looking back, so it's time to close that chapter of my life for good.

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