Growing up, I was a reading kid. The stories told in the books I read would captivate me, bringing me into a fantasy of a world that felt magical to experience. Then, with a snap of the teacher’s fingers, my beautiful bubble in dreamland went *pop*. Another lecture, another complaint to my parents about how I didn’t pay attention in class; all I did was read. I did try to focus, I really did. But it was so boring. I kept reading; my books kept getting taken away, but I would bring more.
School was weird for me. College is, too. I’m smart, but sitting in a classroom just listening to someone talk at me for ages is one of the most agitating experiences to sit through. I engage with new information by asking questions- sometimes in the first week of a new semester, I will raise my hand in a new class to ask a question, and in turn recieve a curt, impatient answer from a professer who prefers to be the sole talker and I, the passive listener. And I can’t do that. So I check out. Going to class becomes something I dread, it becomes a painful moment in my day that takes so much energy out of me to not fidget, not move, and just sit still and listen.
I was in special ed in high school. I had one class period every day where I was with other kids who needed a break from the intense informational overload that we experienced constantly. In other classes, though, the non-special ed teachers would treat me with irritation or disdain for dawdling or getting up and pacing (in the back, not distracting others) while listening to them teach. I had an accomodation to be able to leave class 3 minutes early to avoid crowded hallways, and I got yelled at by teachers regularly in front of the entire classroom because they kept “forgetting”.
I identify as neurodivergent, but I don’t ruminate on all the different ways that the education system and the workplace have behavioral norms and expectations that don’t align with the way that I naturally show up. I would crumble. I do crumble. I experience burnout constantly from the fact that many of my responsiblilites that I need to show up for are not structured to accomodate my needs or my best interest. The reading “The normalisation agenda and the psycho-emotional disablement of autistic people” aligns with the social model of disability, though I like this article more because the social model still largely unacknowledges mental disability. I resonate with the biggest point made in the article- It isn’t someone’s inability to fit into society that makes them feel psychologically harmed, it is society’s inability to accomodate their needs as someone who naturally diverges from the norm.
Unruly Bodies 
I also grew up as a neurodivergent kid, and school was tough for me, especially because a lot of the friends I surrounded myself with were kids who excelled in school, and did not need accommodations in order to succeed in the classroom. I had a similar accommodation to your free period, where I tended to try to work on homework, before hanging out with friends after school. I remember one time after that free period I went to the library to study with friends, they ended up finishing the work before I did, and made some (lighthearted) jokes about me being slower academically, despite me having a “head start” in my free period.
I also was huge on reading as a kid, I read from when I was in kindergarten all the way up until freshman year of high school and all I took was a teacher trying to divert my focus to them in a harsh way and a few bullies to really make me just snap out of my little magical reality. And I feel the exact same way about classes especially if the class doesn’t speak on something I’m very passionate about it’s like they drain the energy out of me. And I’m so sorry that you have to deal with your needs not being met by the school system because you don’t deserve that.
I also got lost in books as a kid! Class was boring too, but because of how slow it was. It’s interesting seeing how similar coping mechiansms are reacted to if such different ways. Teachers loved me for being ‘easy’ (ie, getting A’s and staying quiet, even if i wasn’t mentally there in class). Hopefully, some of these systems start shifting around as we recoginze neurodivergent experiences, thank you for sharing!
I guess what resonates deep within me, and probably with many others, too, is how we try to fit into structures that were never made for us. The way you describe the love of reading and magic it brought you as a kid, then disrupted by a system that wanted to make all the kids look alike and bury their creativity, is just such a relatable and sad picture. It’s exhausting to exist in spaces that refuse to accommodate neurodivergent ways of being, especially since those ways of being are often so rich with curiosity, insight, and passion. The frustration of being treated like a problem instead of a person with valid needs is something so many neurodivergent folks experience, and it’s infuriating how little effort is made to adapt.
That point you drew from the article was the most spot on: people are not broken because they won’t fit into rigid systems; the systems are just broken because they are so inflexible to honor and make room for everyone. I want you to know that your burnout is not your fault and to keep finding spaces, people, and practices that give life to the brilliant, questioning, engaged person you are. Keep holding on to that love of learning in your own way; it’s a gift that rigid systems can’t take away from you.