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Kiwi Crocus
05 October 2009 @ 04:02 am
I planned to go to sleep four hours ago, minimum two hours ago. 2 a.m., to wake up at 10 a.m. and go into uni for noontime. I will still push myself to do that. My alarm is set.

I was watching four episodes of Private Practice, but that isn't really what kept me up. I've been reading through old journal entries for a memoir novel I'll be writing. I read through freshman year. I read through the surgeries and the bad news. I thought that would be the hard part.

I've just started sophomore year. Suddenly, I sound so very close to me, current Kiwi, whatever. It's a comfort in a way to know that that emerged before Mrs. Cavanagh, it wasn't pulled out BECAUSE of her, but it reminds me... It reminds me that I'm about to see myself warped in my entries. Not by her, I mean, just.

Well. Freshman year, I was going under--dead hip, doctors, Stoicism, whatever. I faced a lot. I was under a lot of pressure, but it wasn't school pressure. It was life pressure. I may have been pretty depressed deep deep down, but at least I knew it was about the priorities. Quality of life. My identity shifting. My future and mobility. I wasn't sweating the small stuff. If I thought an assignment was ridiculous, I'd copy from a friend, I'd lend mine out. I'd stay home the day before a research paper was due and I'd do it grinning and groaning, pass it in, get it back and be pleased with getting a 94, even if I knew I could have done better. I gave it my all of the moment. I didn't stress it. I knew it MATTERED, so I did it well and on time, but I knew it wasn't the priority, so I didn't let myself drown in it. Morality? I had it. Copying someone's homework doesn't make someone amoral. Didn't mean I couldn't do it, that I wasn't bright, that I was ruining a system. So I sometimes thought the busy work was ridiculous. So what.

In the upcoming entries I'm going to witness the warp. Through sophomore year I went from a happy-go-lucky 15-year-old (the deep depression wasn't drowning me) to a panic-stricken 16 year old. Suddenly I wasn't doing homework but felt morally obliged not to copy--it was too much of a Big Deal. I stressed every deadline, agonised over every point, felt the world ending over every quiz grade below a 90. My priorities were skewed with my identity--from jock to fallen jock into creative-writing nerd with her sense of Self and Ability and Value tied into red numbers unthinkingly scribbled on papers by teachers.

The teachers cared. The teachers always cared. They noticed what my peers didn't. They saw me growing more crazed. I got approached by nearly all my teachers, or I was caught crying, or whatever else.

I said, "What are the symptoms of depression?" and she said, "Kiwi, are you alright?" and later, "Kiwi, what's really going on?" I didn't even make it out of the room before I was crying. She murmured, "Come on, Kiwi," and suddenly we were in the hall. I broke down in her arms like a crying baby. Just a history teacher asking a question and I was broken.

No one knew what to do when finally the question that broke through to me was uttered. I don't even remember who it was. Finally, I replied, "My hip is dying. Dead. I have to choose fusion or pain or hip replacement."


Yet I'm through the hip. I'm through the breaking down in halls because my hip is dead. My hip is very dead in a double-seal of Biohazard Bags under an altar in New England. My old hip. I have a new hip, I can walk, I can jog, I can be free most of the time.

What I am not free of is the warp. I am still attached to the grades, to the sense of self in the stupid red numbers and scribbled comments in black. Professors aren't commenting on ME, aren't judging ME, aren't telling ME my WORTH. Yet can I ever distinguish that in the moment? No. I am ashamed at the number of times professors have witnessed my tears over all things within the realm of School, Grades, Exams, Deadlines, Assignments...

Still, the teachers are caring. Bless the teaching souls, they always seem to care. I'm still ashamed. I am valued for something more important in life than grades, grade sheets, exam results, yearly marks. They know that, my friends know that, my family knows that. Seems the only one who can't remember or get that deep inside her head again is me.


I remember this because it is 4 a.m. and today I will be going into the university and I will be a second-year, basically a junior by American standards. There will be Freshers looking to me with apprehension, fear, excitement, whatever else. Third-years groaning over the projects they are to do yet excited to be with friends once more.

I will be a second-year. I want to be the person I've hoped to be. I've done most of it. I've followed my dream, I've landed in England, I've done well, I've made friends, I've made a good name for myself in a new place. My professors respect me and expect great things of me.

What I want is to find the middle ground between the 15-year-old who stayed home the day before a paper was due laughing and not caring and occasionally copying papers...and the 19-year-old-young-woman who stays up all night before an assignment is due agonising and crying over every missed concept and imagining the numbers that will soon be associated with her work. I don't want to be the panic-stricken person I've been since I was a sophomore in regards to school. I want to be better--not BY grades, but WITH grades...my ability to deal with them.

I want to finally break the link. 'A' is the first letter of the alphabet: it is not the end-all, be-all of my existence.
 
 
Current Mood: blahAshamed.
 
 
Kiwi Crocus
05 October 2009 @ 10:55 am
This produced a great combination of emotions for me. She was the first actress I ever showed actual interest in, as far as watching all her roles and the like. My first real celebrity interest.

I guess if I ever do write her fanmail, as I've hoped to since I was 14, it should be soon.

She's very real. I'll miss her. I hope she steps into joy or at least contentment with her future, as mysterious as it may be.

On regret:

“I don’t think you can. Let the cards fall the way they may. Things happen, don’t they?"

Thanks, Maggie. Have to be reminded of that sometimes.
 
 
 
Kiwi Crocus
05 October 2009 @ 11:16 am
It's raining. I love rain. Today it feels heavy.

I can do this. I can get myself out of bed, into the shower, downstairs for Cheerios and banana... I am not playing this afraid-to-leave-bed game again. I can do this.

What will be will be. Que sera sera.

I can only try my best.

Stares out behind her rainbow flag, then up through the window at a grey sky.

I couldn't sleep last night. It's customary for my first few days of school. At least I got SOME sleep. One year I didn't get a wink of sleep and had to take sleeping pills the first two weeks of school because I couldn't get myself to sleep.

Tonight I'm going to try to break that obnoxious tradition and fall asleep. I have lecture tomorrow at 2. I get to see my friends and one of my favourite professors. Butterflies should leave my tummy now, please.

There was a huge moon through my window last night, lighting me in my sleep. It was beautiful.
 
 
Current Mood: nervousNervous.
 
 
Kiwi Crocus
05 October 2009 @ 10:00 pm
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