445: Finish Line
First, a post about me before I start to wander off.
9 days to go. I’m at the age where I’m legally allowed to drink and be served alcohol at bars. This is actually irrelevant to anything except for the fact that it also means I’m at the age where I would start to turn to alcohol as a way to escape from my responsibilities and to escape from the demands of life. I have thought about it a lot. See, the ironic thing is, am I brave enough to raid my parents’ liquor cabinet/s when one of them is in my room? I didn’t even notice beyond my eighteenth birthday except when my mum brought it up. Every time I walk into my room, I’m walking past it. Do I raid it or not?
I haven’t touched it except to clear some room in there to put away my old math notes. I don’t know what kind of liquor is in there. Of course I would make them feel disappointed if I were to drink now. But would I make myself disappointed? I don’t know. I look at those bottles and think, does it make any difference what’s inside them because I’m tricking myself into thinking that when I’m a lot older, alcohol is going to be my escape? What has been my escape from reality since the day I was born?
I’ve never been so terrified in my life, not even of a spider, and those are momentary shreds of terror that go away when the spider is no longer in a position to harm me. I asked my dad to drive me home from physics tutoring. This would be normal, but I never go home from tutoring with my parents. I always go somewhere else. Maybe to study, maybe to wander around and think about my life, but I never go home first. So going home first, sitting in that god-awful vehicle of his, panicking about my future, worried about my future…I cannot tell you how it felt to be sitting there not being able to do something about my future. Well, everything else had already been taken care of I guess. I’ve filled out all the forms I needed to. I did all the internal assessments. So here’s the finish line I have to cross. Three weeks of external exams and then I’ll be free for four months. And then I’ll have plenty of time to think about my life, to realise what I want, whatever. I don’t know what’s more terrifying, not doing well in externals or needing to turn my life around again. I guess I’m new to this, thinking that if at first I don’t succeed, I have to pack my bags.
I can tell you I was nervous, incredibly nervous. The prospect of flying up the country and living somewhere where it is pretty much summer all year round, cheap entertainment, new friends, independence, studying something I fell in love with when I was seven…it’s too much. It’s dangling right in front of me. The only way it gets snatched away at this point is if I didn’t do well enough in my external exams. I get angry thinking why I hadn’t done well the rest of the year, though. I could have done something to stop it. We could have agreed to be together November this year. When I think of him now, I think, “piece of shit”. Because while he might not be to the rest of the world, he is to me, and he hasn’t returned my diaries. That part of my soul I gave him thinking he would accept me when all he did was put them behind a cupboard and never give a word in there a read. So I guess I didn’t give him anything, in retrospect, if he hasn’t read any of it. Not that I can care now. I should’ve asked him to wait for me, because if he got tired of waiting, then at least I could’ve avoided the heartbreak. I don’t blame him directly, but maybe he was one of the factors for my on-and-off bouts of depression. I visited my mother’s GP. When she asked my mum why I was depressed, she said I had broken up with a boyfriend. Ah yeah, that’s tough as a teenager. It really is, when he’s technically your real first love. And you’ll always have a soft spot for him even though he’s a piece of shit, because he connected with you on a level you don’t know if someone else can. Not that he will care again, because apparently he’s seeing someone now. Well as soon as their formal is over, I can move on for good. I don’t have to know. A lot of us will see a lot of people in our lifetimes.
This is dragging into the next post, so I guess I’ll go there now.
For the record, I’m not drunk. The last time I drank was on a Wednesday before trials. I don’t remember the exact date, but it was great.