A time machine of sorts, a teleportation device – they say these things have yet to be made, but think they’re wrong, they’re looking in the wrong places, because the smell is home, the wind is a well-loved car, the lights are your first real kiss.
Before I rush into the destructive breakdown that has been sidling up to me inch by inch for the past few weeks of harrowing pre-review bullshit, I would like to tell myself one thing: You Tried, But Not Enough.
So between the idea of failing and the idea of passing but not passing because of missed requirements, it becomes increasingly clear to me that whatever disappointment I am about to face is no-one’s fault but mine. And although the ability to own up to it amazes me, because it is something I never expected to have, the thought makes my impending doom all the more tangible, all the more real for my acceptance of it. I cannot blame anyone but myself. I am not used to blaming myself. I am not used to blaming, in fact, and have been taught (well enough, I thought), to do something about what it is that bothers me.
I am not used to being so powerless against myself. There are days when all I do is stay in bed, sleep for hours on end — sometimes five, most days ten — and I hear voices in my head telling me what to do but they sound so far away, so muted and vague, that I often ignore them. It feels horrible how only a few months ago I thought I had a chance at being as happy as my peers, or at least as content with my suffering. It feels like chances constantly pass by me.
When I walk home I try to talk myself into submission. It doesn’t work, naturally, because even my own voice seems so distant to me now.
I was once told that I was smart.