Certain things have always come easy to me. Certain things still are. School, I don’t think, can fall into that category.
I have never had to try hard to achieve high in school, but that route is slowly coming to an end. As each week passes, since the beginning of this school year, every assignment becomes more impossible than the last. I think I persevered through my troubles, but my grades reflect the opposite.
As the grades deteriorate, so does my mentality. I am terrified of allowing myself to ask for help, for reasons I can’t explain to even myself. I know that it could never be a sign of weakness, but I think part of me views it that way. I could be on the edge of my seat, ready to stretch my legs and overcome my fears, by my nerves dishonor me. They don’t allow me to move more than a twitch of my pencil.
There are numerous times in my life when people have approached me on the subject of help and my lack of asking for it, but each time I find myself frozen to only my own assistance, instead of outside sources.
I roll down the constant declining slide of deterioration and reach a depth where every action and attempt gives the same disappointing result.
People think I don’t care, but I truly do. I wallow in the letters that are lower than I wished and try every option I can think of, but the results project no effort. I wish there were a word or way that I could explain how much I try, but everything I say twists to sound as if the word try isn’t even in the range of my vocabulary.
I understand that there will always be something more I can do, but sometimes I fall to a depth where it seems like I am doing all I can. It’s so incredibly hard to move from that point and find new techniques, along with the help-seeking difficulty.
My anxiety kicks in full force, and while the attempts get more serious, my mind gets more anxious. I now fall into a trench between relieving anxious thoughts and improvement. Neither of these is achievable simultaneously, and I feel like I’m climbing towards an anxious relief. I didn’t realize it until later but the results are clear. I push myself toward relaxation, enjoyment, and the farthest from anxiety as possible. It can lead to me getting distracted without even realizing I am. It happens in situations away from school as well, like cleaning. I am told, and vaguely notice my distraction to solve the anxiety, but it is seemingly unavoidable.
No matter the outcome, the grades lower, and the anxiety heightens. I avoid looking at the dooming letters sometimes in reluctance to accept that the straight A’s have a few curves in the line. The line becomes so curved there’s barely a recognizable point of straightness.
I promise I try, but each attempt has the same result.
I know my mistakes, and I am trying to fix them.
Everything has a result, and sometimes there is a consequence.
Sometimes the consequences motivate me to fix them, and other times they lead further to my gradual deterioration.
The medium is hard to find.
I am trying to find it, and all I can hope is that I someday do.
But the grades are a judging factor that, although they may be a minor point and not a full reflection of myself, truly do matter. Even as they resemble a straight line again, they have the wrinkles of imperfection that I can not, and will never fully bear.
