@JustAnotherOrdinaryGirl - Wow can't believe you're back! I missed you so much. And I could never be mad don't be silly. And - it's actually a Waterhouse, The Lady Of Shallot. But he ripped off Millais.
This is going to be long, so either brace yourselves and grab a 20 calorie cup of coffee with creamer and sweetener to wake you up through all the boring parts, or run, run just as fast as you're able - in the words of Morphine.
Last night was hell. I was up until 3 crying. In fact, seeing as I don't remember stopping crying, I probably cried myself to sleep. Usually when I get upset like that, there's always something to make me feel better eventually. A film or phonecall. But these things just made me bawl my eyes out even more. I found my phone and tried to call my dad as he can usually sort me out in a jiffy... and he didn't pick up. Instead he sent me a text saying, 'Darling it's too late to talk, we'll speak tomorrow morning'. This made me cry harder, because I noticed from my missed call list that he'd been trying to phone me all day. It was too late to phone anyone else I cared about, and my mum was picking up her boyfriend from the airport - she didn't want to be bothered with it. So feeling, irrationally, like neither of my parents wanted to know, I began to watch 'Poor Little Rich Girl' - the Warhol film, with Sedgwick, the one where half is out of focus. It's just some blurry footage of Edie going about her business, talking mindless crap about nothing in particular, which goes on for ages and in front of which you can sort of numb out to. But I was crying (get this) over the tragedy of the whole thing - how she had died before she'd even turned thirty.So Edie couldn't make me feel better, it was too late to call anyone and pour my heart and soul out to some unfortunate recipient on the other end of the line, and it was also too late to start playing music (I'd lost my headphones). And I just kept thinking about everything, over and over again, playing it on a loop, torturing myself, until I guess I fell asleep from exhaustion.
So, you'll probably all want to hear what I was crying my eyes out about (or perhaps you won't... but the assumption's been made, considering you've read up until this point). As some less recent readers will know, I've been in a bit of a predicament with my work, due to being in hospital earlier this year and therefore missing a LOT of school. The first part of my predicament goes like this:
1. I got sick and had to leave school 'temporarily' (or, rather, indefinitely) to recuperate and get better after an emergency admission to hospital.
2. I was a vegetable for about two months before I could bring myself to contemplate working, or seeing my friends, or actually even going down the road to buy a can of coke.
3. It was discussed that perhaps my A Levels should be put on hold until next year, when I was 'myself' again and had regained the mental energy required to take any exams.
4. Then I got an interview at my top university. I went to the interview, absolutely killed it, and got offered a place.
5. Motivated by the prospect of going off to uni this Autumn and studying, I decided (stubbornly, and against advice, might I add) to take all 3 of my exams this year with the slim chance that I might be able to succeed.
6. I received my 'Easter bundle' of work a month ago from my teachers, who were all supportive, albeit a little horrified, of my decision to take the exams in the first place. 2 large pieces of English coursework, a ton of reading and close text analysis, and I was handed an empty art book, expected to fill at least half of it on my own. Of course, this was all my decision, so I thought I could just take responsibility and do it if there might be a chance I succeeded.
7. Today, I sit here 3 days before the beginning of the summer term, during which I am expected to attend school IF I INTEND TO SIT MY EXAMS AND PASS. I have written only half of my English literature coursework essay, and a minute fraction of my language essay. (Both these essays are due on Tuesday, and this is a final, external deadline). I haven't read my texts as I was supposed to. I hardly even know the stories so I can't rely on that. I haven't - touched - my art book. Not even opened it. It is still 60 plain pages of impeccable white-ness. I don't even have a subject for it. You know what my mind makes of this? - A big, fat, whopping great failure.
8. ... When in reality, I haven't been able to work as efficiently because my work brain is out of practice, I haven't been in school since January, I'm still not physically up to scratch and I haven't had an ounce of tuition or guidance over Easter. I'm TIRED.
The second part goes like this:
1. My dad says 'I can do it if I just put my mind to it', which is great and encouraging and stuff, and makes me feel I DO have a chance at going away this year, as it's only a case of 'putting my mind to it'. But what he doesn't understand is how it just translates to pressure in my head. Like when he says, 'I know you'll go this year, you'll absolutely love it, it'll be such a great experience for you', I think, 'Well what the hell if I don't bloody get in, which, let's face it, is an 80% chance... I bet you'll be disappointed then. Hooray. As if my own disappointment in myself isn't enough'.
2. While I feel like my father can sometimes overestimate my capabilities, my mother, it seems, underestimates them. Every time I break down over my work, she tells me I shouldn't bother with this, that I'm not up to sitting a single exam this year, or at least not all 3, and that 'she had to go through exactly the same thing when she was eighteen' and blah blah blah, and that I should seriously consider re-considering. On one hand, she is very right. She sees that I am struggling, that my physical health is still not the greatest, and believes it is the 'right thing' to discourage me from trying to take three, very difficult, exams this June. But on the other hand, even contemplating the idea that I might not get to go to university until I'm 20, along with the idea of that meaning having to re-apply and re-interview and all of the other crap that goes along with the whole ordeal, is fucking miserable. And so I hate her every time she tells me this isn't a good idea.
3. And, therefore, I am faced with this permanent ambivalence, both in my own head, and in the minds of others - my teachers, my mother, my father. My friends. Everyone has two fucking opinions about it. No one knows what is best for me. I don't even know what's best for me - or whether what's 'best' for me is even important or relevant in this situation.
The numbers game helps. 140.8 this morning, only .2 of a lb down from yesterday even though I busted my fat ass exercising and eating healthily. Better than a gain at any rate. 1000 calories today and get as near to finishing my literature essay as possible. Things will seem better in the morning.
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