I spent the last 4 days with Robin: a girl who is pretty much my best friend. Every New Year’s, she comes round to mine and has done for the last 6 years; I met her on blind camp and we see each other at least three times a year. Despite that, we’re just as close as ever, and every time we see each other we have a ‘catch-up session’ that lasts for literally hours, in which she tells me of all the adventures at her college and I update heron my life.
This year was no exception. We spent my birthday and the days after that talking, constantly, in between bouts of me reading Jane Eyre and doing various other bits of homework. She’s incredibly clever, scarily so, and gave me the motivation to work. We went for a speedboat ride yesterday which was amazing; we spent New Year’s with Poppy’s family; we stayed up until 2 o’clock each night chatting.
She’s just left, and now, I’ve been gripped with this awful fear that I can’t shake. I just read another chapter of Jane Eyre, feeling sick and ill throughout, unable to think so I shut my thoughts down until the end of the chapter, so that I’d be able to take in Bronte’s words properly.
If you’ve read my posts over the last two months, you’ll know that my mental health has been less than what it used to be. By that, I mean I’ve been a visible wreck which annoys me slightly: I’ve cried, felt rather too morbid for my own good, but held onto the belief that I blame nobody. All of this I told Robin; she knows everything that happened in the S and Pansy situation and after calling me a bit of an idiot beacause of my tendency to shove my own happiness to the back, she gave me her thoughts on everything. That helped, but then I started to question myself: have I been using my shitty mental health as an excuse to not do work?
This might seem absolutely ridiculous of me to say, but I’ve noticed – how could I not? – that my work ethic has been, for lack of a better word, bullshit. The thing is, I didn’t exactly do anything to improve it; I didn’t try hard enough and was just in this fog of “oooh no, I’m sad, let’s not do work!” It went round in a circle, which meant that I got panicky and couldn’t work, etc. That’s resulted in the situation I’m in now.
To put it frankly, I haven’t done enough work over the holidays. I know that I always say this, but this time, I really mean it; I still haven’t read Othelo and the fact is, I should have. I haven’t completed my French mindmaps, or done what I wanted to do and read more of my French book, or even improved that essay for History. I’m half-disgusted now, and just asking myself – why didn’t you?
Now, I have no good reason, because I could have done it but chose not to. I’ve been so miserable recently, to the point where I wished I could stop existing for a second, and felt – and feel – more worthless than I can explain in this post. That doesn’t mean that I should neglect my work; it doesn’t mean I should just not do it because I can’t be bothered because I’m ‘tired’.
In fact, I’m very tired of myself. I’m so exhausted when I think of the work I haven’t done, and so so scared because I’m behind in everything. I feel irresponsible, childish even, because I let this get the better of me. Is it irrational of me to say that? Perhaps, but it’s how I feel.
I need to get my act together, and it’s quite funny how I’ve come to that conclusion two days before school starts. Come on, Elm, REALLY?
I have to finish reading Jane Eyre; I only have a few chapters left. Then, I need to read Othelo – I skim-read it before, but didn’t take it in as much as I could. After that, or during all of that, I need to learn french vocab WHICH I DON’t EVEN THINK I HAVE BEEN GIVEN, and if I say it now I’ll get screamed at, and I also have to do extra work for French. Oh, god.
Hey, I have a lesson for you. Never, ever, ever leave things to the last minute. More importantly, don’t get caught in the trap of thinking your mental health is bad enough for you to not do work. I’m eternally convinced that I’m exaggerating everything, that I’m 100 percent fine and that if I just tried hard enough then I’d be able to stop feeling this awful, but don’t take that advice. I’m a very, very bad example.
Excuse me while I go and cry in a corner. I’m pretty sure there’ll be no blog-reading for pleasure any more this holiday, or any reading or writing for fun. Bloody hell.
Luckily, Robin now knows everything, and I’m on the road to recovery (that makes it sound worse than it is). I’m more or less always scared, but I can cope.
Crap, we have a French test on Thursday! I think I need to calm down.
From Elm 🙂