So the title of this post is a reference to a poem we read in my English class by Louise Gluck. She is a really good poet if your into that kinda thing. It’s about things falling, breaking, becoming useless. That’s kinda how I feel right now. I’m breaking apart, fracturing into an infinite yet insignificant number of pieces.
I’m over halfway through my Senior year of high school and I feel like I’m finally giving up. It doesn’t feel like I am, but when I look at all the deadlines fast approaching I just kinda sit down and accept my fate of procrastination and not turning things in. Tomorrow I have a part of a HUGE mega-important paper due, but I have forgotten about it for the past week and now I have no want to write it because I know I won’t have it finished. I feel like I’m no longer good enough to go to this school, like I’ve reached my peak academically. That is a terrifying though because I still have four months left till graduation and after that four more years of education. I feel like I’m not fit to continue. I keep comparing myself to other students at my school and thinking that they deserve to be here and go all the places they want to in life, but I am a lazy poser who doesn’t deserve to continue. I am literally procrastinating 5 separate assignments for my classes right now because I have no control over what I do. No will power whatsoever. I am incapable of controlling myself to schedule my workload or my health in any way. I want to be healthy and go to the gym and not eat veggie sticks on the couch till i feel like I’ll puke. I don’t want to feel bad about myself or disassociate, but I can’t control myself.
My mom doesn’t seem to understand that I have these feelings. Whenever I touch on them, she tries to fix it or tell me that everyone feels this way. She tries to soothe, but she only sees the parts I let her see. The parts that I carefully present to see if I can get help. Even right now as she sits at the other end of the couch, thinking I’m doing homework like a good student, like her daughter, focusing on trying to fix her flailing relationship, she doesn’t even see the tears in my eyes as I write this.
At least I have control over that. I can compartmentalize my thoughts and feelings to the point that I don’t even notice it until it’s too late. I put up walls without even knowing anymore. I think that I’m sharing with my friends to the point that I overshare, but they don’t even know half of my pain. I haven’t cried for the last four family deaths and I was really close to all of them. They passed and I never cried. My mom says that it’s me “being the strong family anchor”. But I honestly just don’t feel anything. I forget about it or think of a way I could bring it up to gain support with out looking like I need it. I act as if they were never actually there. That scares me a lot.
I don’t know why I’m posting this here. Maybe it fits my need to be fulfilled and loved and I can pretend that someone out there cares in the quiet and watches as I slowly deteriorate. I know that I use this as a way to share without feeling like I need to hide a part of myself. I can imagine that no one will ever read this just like I can imagine that everyone will read this. So I can feel free to say what I can and need to on my soap box while still having that sense of comfort and well being. The internet is funny like that.
I’d always hoped that somehow, someway, I could reach someone out there that feels like I do, that feels the weight of the world on their smile, that has to fill the cracks in their persona everyday because new ones always seem to show up. Someone that understands my pain without suffocating me.
I suppose I should fake being done with my homework now because a good cry seem to be in order. I don’t like crying, but sometimes it helps and I already feel like I’m about to, so why not?