I know you’re just a diary. I know no one will ever read you. But did you ever suddenly realise it’s coming to the end of the month, and you have a whole bunch of exams coming up in a couple of weeks?
I threw up this morning. I thought about the Mock Exams, and I threw up. I was in the bathroom, so I think I was okay. I don’t think my parents heard me, but I don’t think they’d say anything if they did. Just as well. I don’t think they’d want to see what scrambled egg and toast looks like when it comes back up.
Spoiler alert: it’s not pleasant.
Our tutor class this morning – the bane of my existence – consisted of ten minutes of being told that the Mock Exams aren’t really that important, but they’re also really important, and we should be treating them like the real Leaving Cert. Someone asked if it matters if we fail. I think I blacked out the answer, because now I can’t remember what we were told and it made me nervous enough to throw up again. I wasn’t even sure I had anything left in my stomach. Turns out that’s not even necessary. Fun for Andrew!
Let’s look at the Mock Exams this way: I haven’t studied. I tried, but every time I sit down to do some work, I think about how I don’t even know what I want to do with my life. That gets me kind of panicky and scared and I shut down completely. I think I must have drawn about three hundred doodles this year, which would be great if I actually did Art. But I don’t know anything about Organic Chemistry, or about Consumer Rights, or the conditional tense in Irish. I don’t know anything about quadratic equations.
I think the only thing I can do is write a diary entry for the English paper. But I don’t know anything about the poets or the books we read or how to properly answer a Reading Comprehension question, because apparently there’s a right way to do that and I haven’t been doing that.
So I have like two or three weeks to learn something about everything, and I have to figure out what I want to do with my life in the meantime. I’m thinking something along the lines of hiding under my covers for the rest of my life.
Is that a career option?
I really wish that could be a career option. If there was a way I could hide under my covers in my bed for the rest of my life and not have to talk to anybody or do Mock Exams or make decisions about my life, that would be awesome. I would love a life that didn’t involve me thinking too much about all the shit that I have to deal with.
Newsflash: I’m eighteen years old. I’ve never lived alone. I haven’t been brought up in a “professional” house. I didn’t grow up with aspirations for the future. I wasn’t told I should be anything, or shouldn’t be anything, unless you count the people in my school saying I shouldn’t be a – and I quote – “whiny little bitch about everything”.
I’m eighteen years old, and I’m still getting beaten up outside the school gates because I don’t get along with other people. I’m still hiding bruises from my parents, and pretending that I’m just tired when I just can’t stop myself feeling like I’m going to cry.
I’m eighteen years old, and the only thing I want from college is to make a friend. I told the counsellor about that, and she smiled for about three seconds. Then she just frowned at me, and asked me about my friends in the school. But I didn’t tell her about them. I stopped looking at her, even though she hates when I don’t look at her, and I told her about what I think about when I think about college.
See, I have this dream sometimes. Well, not a dream. I guess it’s just an idea, and I like to think about it a lot because it’s the only thing that seems really happy. Anyway, I’m lying on some grass, and it’s really sunny out. It feels weird to think of myself as suddenly being the lie-on-the-grass type of person, but I guess when I go to college I have a chance to change a bit. I kind of like that.
Beside me, there’s this guy. On the other side of me, there’s this girl. I don’t really know what they look like. I just know that they’re male and female and my best friends. I think I cried the first time I realised that, but I wasn’t sad thinking about it. I don’t have many friends. Or, well, any friends. So this was a nice idea, and I liked that it was mine, and it was in college, and I knew I just needed to survive school, first.
My counsellor just stared at me for a long time when I told her that, and I was worried that I might start crying if she didn’t stop. Eventually, after like five minutes, she said she’d find some colleges that have good grassy areas where I could lie down with my friends, and I think she was entirely serious. I wanted to hug her, but I didn’t. I just said thank you and blushed and said I needed to go to the toilet.
I didn’t tell her that I was thinking about the Mock Exams again, because suddenly I’d made going to college a real thing that I needed to do, and that meant passing exams, and that meant I threw up again.
So that sucked.