Cora Beels

Maybe with more motivation I wouldn’t be in this mess.

I really, really try. I can tell by the anxious knee bouncing and the constant cracking of my knuckles. I can tell by the panic that blankets me like a cold sweat when I close my eyes at night. I really do try.

But do I? When I think of someone who tries, I think of someone bent over studying late into the night. I think of someone who tutors or who gets tutored. I envision the perfect student; someone who gives it their all.

I am most definitely not that. I don’t ask for help when I need it, and I don’t have a hired tutor. I don’t stay up until the crack of dawn bent over homework—most of the time I don’t even do it until class is about to start. When I see the test deadline, I just accept my fate; I don’t study. So how can I say I try? I don’t.

I act as though weights are strapped to my feet, and no matter how hard I push, I can’t seem to get any traction. Even under a landslide, I stand still. I accept my fate. There’s always nervous laughter before one takes a test, mostly joking about how they know they’ll fail. I know I’ll fail. I know that when I need to move my feet most, they’ll stay anchored to the ground.

But I don’t fail. I’m just sinking into the ground. I’d get an A, an A-, a spare B. Now I have a C, a C-, a D. I’m panicking; I can’t fix it. I dread looking at my grades, yet I check every hour. I see them dwindling after grade after grade goes in. I see my grades sinking with me, but I can’t stop it.

Yes, I really do try. I try to move my feet, but it’s too heavy. How can I run from an avalanche when I’m stuck in place? If not run, the least I can do is walk: do my homework, ask for help when I need it. But I’ve accepted my fate. Why walk from the avalanche when only running can avoid it?

I know when the avalanche hits me, it’ll hurt. So why is that not motivation enough to run? I am trying. But I’m trying to prepare myself for the pain I know is coming, not to avoid it. If I could just get these weights off my feet, I could run. I should focus on that. But that’s hard, and I’m weak. It seems easier to just accept it. I’d rather be eroded by the rushing river than be swept away. Although maybe if I’m swept away, the water will stop relentlessly carving away at me.

I really, really try. I can tell by the panic and fear at night. I really try to prepare myself for the situation I put myself in. I’m trying to run with weighted shoes when I can just take them off.