December 10, 2001
In a world of ever changing schedules, it’s easy to become lost and confused in the chaos. Like right now, I’m wondering if I’m going to pass Biology 101 while frantically trying to come up with a decent thesis for the first draft of my final Composition II paper. Again, I’ve put it off when I knew that I could get it done Friday before I left to see my boyfriend for the weekend. By the way, he lives an hour away, so this was going to be a weekend trip. I have a week and a half left of school before I leave for Christmas. I’m worrying so bad that I’m not going to be admitted back for the spring term that it’s making my stomach hurt. I’m currently on academic probation, and would literally break if I found out that I had to leave for two semesters before I could try again. It would mean lost time, lost money, and lost energy looking for a job to support myself until I could go back. My parents say that I can always come home, but there would always be that heavy weight to bear knowing that I failed at something so simple…the art of going to class.
I don’t know when it really started, skipping classes…not caring. I was a pretty good student in high school. I usually got A’s and B’s, and was an above average student. I had a tremendous love for band, and the music I played, though not my own original works, I played with my whole soul. Music was a driving force in my life. So were my parents. They were always on top of me to do my homework and make sure that I was in bed at a decent hour. I guess I was that constant reminder that kept me on task with my homework. Now that I don’t have that constant parental supervision, I’ve slacked off terribly. I’ve chosen video games, crafts, and eating over doing my studies.
When I started this last semester’s classes, I told my Dad that these shouldn’t be any problem for me because they were all lecture and textbook classes that had right or wrong answers. Both of us knew that I was good enough at that to make the grades I needed to get off of academic probation in 2 semesters. Now, I can feel a crushing hand drawing nearer to me as the days grow fewer in number until the last day of finals for myself. I dread the look on my father’s face when we get notice of my grades. I can feel the shame and humiliation at failing my father’s trust and support. I feel the awful emptiness at not achieving my late great-grandmother’s wish: for me to get a good education and the grades to prove it. I feel the mistrust coming from my grandparents at knowing that they helped my so much with my financial needs, and I have thrown it away. I feel scared, terrified, helpless, and utterly alone. No one is going to take pity on me, no one will understand. They don’t need to understand or sympathize with me, because I made some stupid choices and I really have no place in college. It needs to go to someone who’s actually going to better themselves and earn a degree. Not someone who’s going to be an idiot and waste all their time and money. It’s not a place for someone who can’t get their head on straight or can’t grow up.
I don’t know what to do. I’m not prepared to go out into the world with what knowledge I have. I’m not ready to be flung out into life without a sense of direction. I’m scared and I feel like my parents are going to abandon me. Not to mention what my boyfriend is going to think. He’s always backing me up and telling me not to put myself down so much. I know I have that bad habit, and have had it since junior high school. I can’t escape the fact that I’ve made some terrible decisions during college, and I can’t help but call myself an idiot because of those choices.
So what the hell am I trying to say here? That I’ve wasted perfectly good time that someone could have out to better use, that I have become worse off each day I’m here, and that I’m afraid to face my family. This usually includes a long lecture from my parents, good and bad things said, and going through half a box of tissues because I’m extremely emotional about pride and achievement and I’m a crybaby.
I’ve had “fun” writing this because it wasn’t an assignment, it wasn’t demanded by anyone, and it’s not going to get graded. If I ever turned in something that came from the heart, someone would say, “Burn it, it’s pathetic.” So much for inspirational, from-the-heart writing. It’s the entries where I just spill my guts to the world and don’t give a damn what they think is when I feel free. It’s when I’ve lifted just enough weight off my chest so that I can take a breath and prepare for the next blow to the stomach. I’m not going to say “That’s just life,” because you can change it. I want to change mine, but I’m a lazy procrastinator, and will probably only do so at my own pace whenever I feel like it. In conclusion…I’m doomed. I’m going to crawl back into my little corner of the world and wait for it to come crashing down all around me.
~Kim (from the darker side)