Monday, August 13, 2007
The straight A student.
Now I'm running from classes.
Phenomenal.
Top of my class, top percentage in the form, heck even top in the country.
I was soaring through like nobody's business to the extent that I was thinking I couldn't fail.
I tried....deliberately not studying, writing utter crap. And passing with flying colours.
I was terrified I was going to get a B in the finals.
Even one.
I got into the best law schools the world could offer. I had a choice.
Then I came here and promptly failed in second semester, barely scraped through the first, had a meltdown in the second year.
I went from perfect student to 24 hr essay queen.
I can't bear to be in class. I like the subjects just fine, I even find them interesting. But it's my entire body is screaming at me to the point that I have to go home or I'm going to be sick. I can't even touch the books much less crank them open.
I sit here every night thinking, right, come on, you need to do something.
Right.
I have to calm down by resorting to things I can do.
Drawing.
Drawing takes time.
Just take a small break, keep at it, then try again.
Not going to happen.
What am I suppose to do.
The info in every reader says mental health is under disability. I'm not disabled.
Deaf, dumb, blind, physically impaired, intellectually challenged are disabled. They need help.
I have a choice.
Am I suppose to take a year off?
Maybe just take a rest, draw.
I know myself.
As if I'm ever coming back.
I'm the happiest when I'm drawing and coloring even arguing with the computer to make the lines straighter.
The unhappiness is behind me, resting, waiting, but I'm calm, I can handle this.
I can't keep doing this.
What am I suppose to do for my entire life?
Not even great at art. People always praise someone else, they are always better, more talented, oh that's so cute, wow your coloring is so pro.
I get a 'hm not bad, lines crooked tho' 'yeah better, still need to practice'.
So I get criticisms and they don't?
My dad pay 25k every year to send me to uni. Double that to cover living expenses.
And all I want to do is curl up with a book or do sketches or just poke my cat.
I don't know who I am, what I am, what to do.
I feel lost, and confused and everyday it's like they expect me to get better.
What happens if I don't?
Today I gave someone advice about going to see a therapist instead of hurting themselves. Suicide is never the answer I said because it hurts more when you believe you're not worth it.
I don't take my own advice.
Hm.
Reasons are often ridiculous. Things are too hard, it's too painful, can't do this anymore.
Just suck it in.
As if there are people who aren't really suffering, starving on the streets, getting shot, raped, dying for reasons outside their control.
You and I aren't suffering. We are just being selfish.
Attention seeking.
It kindda sucks more with the attention.
Just go away.
I don't want to have to smile to you every day.
Pretending.
Isn't my body, isn't my mind, isn't me.
What do I say when you call? It sucks? Yeah it sucks, deal with it. You already know it.
What more do you want.
I walk the streets talking to myself.
It doesn't even hurt anymore, it's just blah.
Have you any idea how distressing blah is.
I can't cry.
I can't be happy.
And it isn't even real panic attacks. Real panic attacks feel like my entire body is going through a sudden shock, and filled with nausea and clamminess and my mind just going into firealarm mode.
This is disgust. I have to get out of the room.
I can't sit there any more listening to the lecturer or writing or just being there.
Can't look at my books.
This is distress.
Mused by Sukunami Taka around 9:29 PM
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