I'm not usually one of those people who likes to put their thoughts or feelings out there on the internet. If I do, it's either because I'm being a fangirl and trying to be funny, or because it's all gotten too much and even an anonymous, immeasurable audience is better than keeping it in.
In this case, it's the latter.
As usual, I'm finding it difficult to organise my thoughts. I guess it's easiest to just try and start from the beginning, but I don't even really know where the beginning is. I guess my biggest concern right now is school. I'm hopeless at motivating myself to study, even for my favourite subjects. I get marks back for tests and think to myself, 'I know I can do better', but I just never do, because I never push myself any harder. I get excited about subjects whilst I'm at school, and I make all these plans for the work I'm going to do when I get home, and then when I'm sitting at my desk, all my drive just ... goes. I slump in my chair and try to crank out a few bits of whatever homework I have, but inevitably I go to bed feeling melancholy, like I've let myself down. I'm having some serious problems with my Extension 2 English major work, because I don't believe in my own abilities, and I manage to convince myself that the minimal amount of work I put into my research for it is somehow adequate. I know it's not - not even close - but that doesn't seem to matter to me. All I seem to care about is spending every spare minute of my time doing the most meaningless things and getting absolutely nowhere.
I'm also worried about what's going to happen when I finish school. I have no idea how I'm going to get the ATAR I need to do psychology, and I don't even know if I want to do psychology anymore. I've recently given more serious thought to joining the police force, but all I can think is that I don't even come close to having the level of motivation or physical fitness to achieving that. I'm horrible with confrontation, I sweat like a motherfucker even when I'm naked under a fan, and I already look enough like a guy without needing to dress in a bulky uniform with my hair pulled back. On the one hand, I'm excited to finish school, get a proper job, go to uni if that ends up happening, and just leave. I'm tired of living by everyone else's terms, I hate having to tell everyone where I'm going all the time, and I hate that the only time I truly have to myself is when everyone else happens to be out. I want to live in my own house, have my own stuff, and I want to be able to leave the dishes in the sink to be done in the morning. I want to sleep in during my holidays until stupid hours of the day without banging and crashing and yelling coming through the walls. I want to be able to walk around my own house without pants on, without a bra on, and without having to worry that someone has a friend over who won't appreciate my lack of dress code in my own house.
Most of all, I think I'm worried about how I'm even going to cope with being an adult in the real world. I hate looking at myself in the mirror. I really, truly do. I hate my hair, and my eyebrows, and the way my eyelashes clump together even without mascara. I hate that makeup only makes me look worse, and I hate the stupid neck fat I've never been able to kick, and I hate how all the weight I put on goes to my hips, and I hate that my upper arms are in a perpetual state of tonelessness, and I hate, more than anything, the fact that I don't think I'll ever be comfortable enough in my own body to truly enjoy having sex with someone. Even just being with someone, just laying next to them, or sitting on someone's lap or whatever it is. When I lay down even with my best friends, I'm always sucking in my gut and arranging myself into this ramrod-straight position to avoid getting too hot or lying on them too much and smothering them. I hate my big hands, and how much I sweat, and how my mouth is just that little bit too small. Most of all, I hate that I can't love any of it. I try. I tell myself that my hips are perfect for holding, and that my skin is nice and clear, and that the veins in my hands are fascinating, but it just doesn't work. I just can't convince myself that anything about myself is appealing, attractive, hell, even bearable.
I'm sick of walking around the shops and feeling as though everyone is looking at me. I'm sick of having this constant flutter in my stomach when there's even the slightest possibility of social interaction, and I'm especially sick of that little voice in my head that says 'Maybe you actually do have social anxiety' because what if I do? Who gives a shit? It's not like it's a good thing, to be that way, and it won't help anything on the off chance that I do, somewhere down the road, get diagnosed with it. Giving it a name doesn't make it go away, it's just one more chance for me to make excuses for myself. Every night, before I go to sleep, I fantasise about a different version of me. She's prettier than me, and she's so much more confident, and her hair always manages to sit nicely, and she actually gets male attention, and she's suave and comfortable and fun to be around. I'm none of those things. I can't even think about talking to guys without getting the shakes, and most of the time, even talking to girls is nerve-wracking enough. I tie my hair back all the time because it just doesn't look good out, and I'm always too sarcastic to be fun, and I'm not playful at all. I can hold a conversation, but I'm not a physical person at all, and everyone I know is that kind of playful person who likes to push and shove and joke around and I'm just not. I have no idea how to be close to people, I only hug those I love with all my heart, or people who just happen to be there when I'm in a rare mood. Even one of my best friends, whom I've known and loved for nearly 5 years - I could count on one hand the number of times we've hugged. It's crazy, how bad I am at being a social person, and I hate every second of it.
I think that's about it. I've written an essay for you, surely that's enough. Basically, my point is that I'm a 13-year-old child with no reason to feel sad or put-upon, and yet I make myself feel that way regardless. I'm not putting this up so people will feel sorry for me - I'd prefer it if nobody read it, really. I just need to put it somewhere. I needed to write this down, and this was one of those things where writing it just wasn't enough. I'm putting it out there as some kind of catharsis, I think. I really can't tell you, and I think I'm about to have some kind of panic attack, but it's out there. It's done.