The Girl That I Have Not yet Met
I'm terrified of failure.
Ever since I was little, I've been a star student.
I always got top grades.
I always a favorite student.
I had always been a quiet child.
School used to be easy.
I'd finish homework at school,
and come home and play.
Once I started 6th Grade, things changed.
Homework piled up.
Hours a night.
Little time to complete it.
I started staying up late.
I started developing the roots of what would later morph into full-blown insomnia.
6th Grade was the year that I started panicking.
Before, I was fairly relaxed about my grades.
Me dedicating as much time as I did to my homework forced me to reflect upon my personality and who I was.
I started changing.
What before then was simply me being shy morphed into a fear of socialization.
What I stood for changed.
I needed to excel in everything I did.
I couldn't bring home any grade worse than a B- out of shame.
I was an achiever.
I rose and I strived and I achieved.
But at what cost?
My goal was first honors for everything.
My goal is still first honors for everything.
I was smart, and I knew it.
I hated demonstrating it.
I wanted to achieve, but I wanted to achieve quietly.
When called up to present my awards, I'd do so but unhappily.
I'd never shy away from it, but only not to cause a scene.
Causing a scene was the last thing that I wanted to do.
I didn't want the attention.
I tried to stay within the crowd with my acievements.
I continued passing, with flying colors, until math got hard.
I hate math.
Before, everything was easy.
Math destroyed that.
Math was the first thing that I truly struggled with.
It wasn't that I didn't understand it, it was that I made tiny mistakes that ruined everything.
I started getting bad grades in that one subject.
I started failing myself.
I put more effort in.
I sacrificed hours of sleep, God knows how much of my sanity.
I poured it all into those grades.
They're literally just marks on paper.
We've elevated them to such a standard, put them on such a pedastal.
In a way, those poor math grades were what made me the most terrified of failure.
They are what really forced me to up my game.
They taught me my flaws.
They made me terrified of asking for help, because I'd have to come to terms in front of other people with my failure.
School went on, and I spent more time on it.
I developed more flaws.
My fears developed into anxiety.
Math remained a demon to deal with.
My flaws ate me alive, while I struggled to get out of their mouths, to escape their sharp, gnawing teeth.
Always silently screaming, but no one hearing the whole stanza.
I scream, and scream, and scream.
And I panic.
The anxiety builds up.
It combines with the stress,
with the lack of will,
with the internal battle,
and a panic attack ensues.
It's being trapped in a small box
with enough air not to die,
but not enough air to breath.
It's being weighted upon by all of your flaws, your failures, and your squashing mental state
and slowly being pressed to death
except you never die.
Dying is not a mercy that you are granted during a panic attack.
I almost want to die, if only so that this feeling stops.
But it never does.
The monster grabs me further, and swallows me whole.
I can't breath normally.
Not the quiet, soft kind, but the ugly, loud, screeching, terrifying kind that sounds like a dying wail of a wounded animal.
In a way, I am a wounded animal.
I pull and tear at your hair until some of it pulls out, and I scratch at your arms and legs until blood draws.
I envision myself crushed and weighted upon by my own inevitable sins.
I am drowing in a vat,
at the bottom of an ocean,
in my own blood.
It's not real,
but that doesn't mean that it doesn't seem like it.
I can't think straight.
What does it mean to think anymore?
I don't know if I can truly think anymore.
School has conditioned me to believe that my own well-being is relative,
compared to a grade.
What does this mean?
I stare at a blank page,
I spend too much time questioning myself
until I don't even know who I am anymore.
Does this mean that I failed?
I don't know who I am anymore.
Will I ever live up to my expectations?
Will I ever live up to other's expectations?
Will I ever live up to my potential?
As the bar gets set higher and higher,
it's harder to shatter,
and when I fall again,
I don't have the will to pull myself up again,
and it hurts more and more and more..
Conflicted by the things that I used to love,
the things that I used to need,
the things that I gave up,
the very air that I breath.
This isn't healthy.
This is a sick state intertwined with the parasites of self-hatred,
masked with a pretty smile
and a few lies.
And no one can tell the difference.
This is a constant search for desired approval,
and a search that ends in suffocation by refusal,
and this is devouring yourself,
but never satisfying yourself,
and changing until you don't even recognize who you are anymore.
My thoughts are toxic and in a state of fever.
Do you even know the fear?
The fear that one day, you will fail hugely, and be deserted by the people you hold dear?
Do I even exist?
There are words to describe my mental state,
but they are "taboo."
I have destroyed myself.
I have burned myself out.
I have criticized myself to the point of creative paralysis, and have participated in so much self-sabotage that I find it hard to to see the point of doing anything because I'm just going to ruin it for myself.
I am tired.
I am done.
I am human.
I deserve my sanity.
I want to be okay.
I want to be normal.
I deserve to be alright.
I deserve to be myself.
But I will never get to meet
the one person that I want to meet
the one person that I don't know anymore.
if this cycle continues.
I will never get to meet.
A/N: I needed to vent.
Also, when I say sixth grade, I'm referring to sixth grade in the U.S. In Britian, I think the equivalent is Year 7 and in France I think the equivalent is 6th Grade... and I'm not sure about the rest of the world so I'd prefer not to say. For reference sakes, let's just say that it's the grade where you're eleven or twelve-ish.