I usually don't do posts like this one, but I'm getting rather desperate. If you rather read something more cheerful, please do. Maybe try reading The Meanest Mom's blog, her posts always make your day lighter.
See, Reader, I have been raining on and off for the past three days.
I didn't want anybody to know why, I don't even think I wanted myself to know, but yesterday Rosetta Stone (my home-bound teacher) came and she got it out of me. My cards were on the table, and they were all blank.
I'm very thankful to Rosetta Stone, because I needed what she did for me. However, now that I openly talked about and thought about the reason for my tears, I can't seem to turn them off very long. My thoughts plague me. I'm starting to become something I'm not and something I never want to be, miserable. Maybe you don't realize this, but it is impossible to be miserable for anybody but yourself. You can be sad for others, cry your eyes out because of other people's pain, you can even pain for their pain for a while, but you can't be miserable for them.
Not to insult people or make anyone feel bad (I don't want any Emo people to go and kill themselves) but being miserable is selfish. That is the truth.
I don't want to be miserable in anyway. So this is why I am desperate. I need help. I can not be miserable.
The storm came three days ago in the form of an IB application. I know, that is predictable, but just wait. I was nervous about it, so my mom read it. I had worked hard on it, it was my third application essay, and what I wanted to be my last. Mom gave me some suggestions about it, and I just started crying.
For your information, I don't like doing this. I do not like crying in front of people, especially when it is because they are telling me that I could do something better. I should be able to take that, I'm not a wimp, so I shouldn't act like one.
I'm the only one in my immediate family that cries much. My parents don't cry, if you catch my mom crying, somebody probably died, and my dad? If my dad is crying then either Brother, Myself or Mom is considerably close to death (in his eyes, which means you are way closer than comfortable) or dead. If Brother cries, then he does it in his room because I don't see him doing it either. I'm the odd one out.
Usually when I cry, I try to cry for other people. Though I do cry for myself way more than I like to, and usually Mom is around so somebody does see me. When I cry for others it is usually in my room at night during prayers. Only God sees me then.
I'm telling you this because I'm desperate, just so you don't forget.
So anyway, Mom gave me her suggestions and I cried. Well, we fix things like that in my family. So I tried to figure out why I had done that to her, apologized, told her the reason, and done. She wasn't mad at me or anything, it was just bothering me so I had to take care of it. That is how I am and how I've been taught, if something is bothering you do something about it. No. Don't just do "something" do the right thing, fix it with the person whom it concerns.
So, I did that. The problem was, I was still bothered.
I woke up Friday, and my aura still wasn't its usual happy pink.
I distracted myself as much as I could. I went back to bed after I woke up, when I woke up again I read a distracting book, I busied myself with errands, tried to get distracted with a Geography text book (it worked better than I thought), and then was making dinner. Everything was alright now, I was distracted. Then Rosetta Stone arrived.
Everything was fine and dandy the first few minutes, until my essay for the IB program came up. I had sent her a copy.
Rosetta Stone asked me if was happy with my work, and I told her I was. So she said, "Are you sure?" and I said, "Yep!" She told me that she had shown it to one of my ex-teachers (the gifted teacher at the middle school) who had told her that she'd seen much better work from me than that essay.
So then we started talking about what was wrong with it. Well, there wasn't anything wrong with it, it just wasn't my best work. There wasn't much of *me* in it, it was written like I had tried to give them what they wanted when I didn't know what they really wanted.
Maybe you should see my prompt for it, so I can tell the story better. PIBS stands for "Pre-IB". Here it is:
"Starting a new program like PIBS can present challenges to anyone. Please answer the following questions to the best of your ability. - What challenges do you foresee if you are accepted as a PIBS student; what strengths do you have to meet these challenges; and what will you as a person be able to add to High School and the PIBS program?"
So we started with the first question, what challenges do I foresee. In the essay I had basically put that the challenges I see are the challenges of the unknown, and that I would do whatever to deal with them when they came up. So we talked about that, I guess I could have given a better answer....
We talked about challenges, we got to thinking out loud about high school and what would be challenges for me. She asked me what I thought high school was like.
So that is when my guts started to spill out. What is high school like? What kind of question is that? How should I know? High school is a product of my imagination, a dream. What is Atlantis like? What is it like to visit a land with unicorns, rainbows, flying pigs with wings, and leprechauns? High school?!
So I started talking. I didn't want to think about high school, I'll keep my memories of middle school locked up and safe, but I don't want any ideas about high school in there. I don't want to think about what my challenges will be if I get accepted to PIBS or if I even get to go to school because I don't want to think about going to school at all. I can't think going is even a real possibility because if I do that and I don't get to go...... "I will die a little." doesn't describe it well enough.
If I keep my brain not thinking about high school, not really considering it as a possibility or anything, just not thinking about it, then I am safe. I can't be disappointed. I can only be happily surprised if I do get to go. If I don't get to go, well then it would be okay because I wasn't expecting to get to go anyway. I can't help but protect myself.
However now with me filling out this application, and the deadline being in 6 days, I can't keep playing my "let's not think about it" game. My mind can't keep me safe anymore.
Maybe if I do all my crying, and drown myself in self-pitty now, then I won't do it later. I will be able to be happy for Brother when he gets to start his first year of high school while I am at home doing the 10th grade with Florida Virtual School. There won't be any sadness left in me any more by then, no more misery.
So I'm asking for help. I'm desperate. I would ask for prayers, but I don't know how much they can help anymore. God knows that I want to go to school, and I think He's doing what He can. I don't know what I need, and I just feel so awful wanting something like this. I shouldn't act like this or think this way. I don't want to. When I do, I think about Polly and Prayer, and I think about Iron Man and his legs, and I know there are way more important things, things so much more worthy of wanting. I get so disgusted with myself, and then I get even more disgusted when I think of asking for help when I'm not even worthy of it because I want something so silly. Iron Man wanted his legs to work, and Polly just wanted Prayer. She just wanted her daughter, and Prayer couldn't stay here.
I'm sorry. I don't know what to do.
I hope you have a great day, and I'm sorry if I made you feel bad. My posts are usually more perky than this. I don't mean to disappoint you.
Love, Miss E.