holidays

The occasional holidays throughout the school year are simultaneously a gift and a curse.

A break is always very much required, to be removed from the repetitive and somewhat pressurised environment and be left to one’s own devices. It reassures my introverted mind into a sense of temporary safety from the constant up-playing of personality; you see, a quiet demeanour, I was taught from a very young age, was a negative thing. If you were not confidant and sociable, extroverted and loud then you were not a successfully well-rounded person. As I have grown older, I have now seen this not to be the case however I am unable to break free from this fake mannerism, the flipped switch stuck. I am envious of those who have been able to maintain the solitary quietness, the kind where they look so sure and gently confidant in their silence.

However, aside from the positive effect a break brings, a brief period of isolation rings true.

I am not good at arranging things with friends, the first issue being my brain constantly second-guessing itself and whether my friends actually like me or not. The motivation to leave the house, a solid comfort-zone of mine, is not within reach. I barely possess said motivation for extremely important things such as revising for exams. The majority of my holidays have been spent inside the safety of my room, through no one’s fault but my own being and rubbish brain. Other than that, it has been walking through fields such as the one above with my earless dog and unknown music.

This sudden blog post arrives on the last day, the Sunday before the Monday. I am aware I am terrible with consistency in posting and I will try to improve, however the build-up towards prelims (mock exams) may prove challenging within my endeavour.

My work for school piles up rapidly through procrastination : I have art pieces that are disgustingly unrefined and of a bad quality that I wish to burn into ashes before my teacher even catches sight of them, unedited English portfolio pieces, unrevised  Philosophy and Biology notes and I haven’t touched a single History sheet since the Friday two weeks ago. I despise myself intensely. My violin is severely under-practised and I am dropping out a music group I was forced to be a part of which will only end in lecturing.

At the end of it all, I am taking control back over my life, in terms of interest and happiness, enjoyment and living.

Ever so slightly,

little by little,

Eilidh.

Consistently Inconsistant

Well, it’s been a short while. I have a cold, one of those ones many get in between the transition between Summer and Autumn. The ones that are a nuisance and a depressing notion. Burning incense may or may not be wiping ash up my window, it smells of roses and smoke from what I can smell through my limited airways.

The new school year has properly started and I am anxious. Anxious because I have to start new things, that I have to ask new questions, that I have to take hold and guide my life down the correct pathway with my meagre knowledge. My anxiety is very much centred within my struggle to socialise: Social Anxiety. I attempted to pull all my courage together to attend a book club in a Waterstone’s in a close-by city; I had read the book thoroughly, I watched the newly released film and prepared. However, my effort was rendered unrequired as a friends’ birthday meal interrupted my plans, I decided I had better strengthen my friendships in my school in order to improve my fifth and sixth years there. I had an Italian meal and saw a film about a prehistoric shark, full of jumpscares. I did not jump nor scare once but laughed.

A Facebook notification, two weeks after, told me the book club would no longer run.

I hope to study English at University and in order to make up for requirement grades that I will most likely not receive, I have to show how much I like English to convince them. Merely reading books and writing short stories that I never show anyone apparently will not suffice. Thus resulting in my attempts to join a book club. And to start a blog, well, I’m here now aren’t I? I have still much to go, there are ‘to-be-confirmed’ writing classes on in the city theatre that I am still to look into, and a Creative Writing Group in my school that I will have to venture into alone as my friends are nowhere near interesting in writing through their lunchtime. I am scared, not of the group, but in general. In a very general way.

These things are new, these are things that I don’t know anyone else doing. It is as if I am paving a very extremely mundane path, hindered by insecurity and doubt. My specialities. I feel as though normal, everyday things effect me more than things that really should make me sob into my pillow, like friends with cancer and family members dying and suicide. I feel selfish but I am unsure how to stop. I recently submitted my creative piece for my English portfolio for fifth year, I love writing but I have no friends who are as equally enthused.

I suppose that is why I so willingly turned to blogging.

Maybe someone who reads this may reach out, may talk, discuss, debate. I have long since been yearning for someone with similar interest in the art of words and writing to reply. To respond. As well as someone who blogs similar content, I do often struggle with blogs and computers etc.

I also struggle with not talking like a robot online,

but please, talk to me,

Eilidh.

Exam Results

I receive my exam results tomorrow.  On the general idea I am not completely worried but when I really think about each individual subject and memory of experience when sitting the exam, my heart freezes up a bit.

It doesn’t help that my mum is frantically searching for her purse containing all of her bank cards and asking whether or not it is too late to drive to the police station.

I feel frustrated when I think about how much control these measly pieces of paper hold over my near and far futures, to be judged and given a grade solely upon one single performance. It is not reliable, countless analysis of biology experiments which I have preformed in class and written about in my actual exam say so. How hypocritical.

Thinking about my subjects feels all too daunting. A mixture of English (first, foremost and favourite), History, Gaelic (Scottish not Irish), Biology, Art and lastly Maths. Mathematics and I live in a tumultuous and bittersweet relationship. I see the attraction to Maths quite clearly, the unchangeable logic and satisfying motions from rules giving you a correct answer at the end of the rainbow is a feeling of upmost relief. It is rare this occurs for me but when it does, the appeal rings clear. However, I am often left in severe frustration and spitting poison at the never ending rule book of equations. I cannot, for the life of me, seem to wrap my head around them all. But this may be due to the fact I hardly ever revised for maths, except for the last five days leading up to the exam itself.

I am my own worst enemy.

I am one of those people who was a constant over-achiever throughout primary years and early secondary years, one who didn’t need to revise due to being able to withdraw the knowledge from my conscience. Yet as the years progressed and the knowledge required became increasingly more in-depth and obscure, my bad habits dug their heels down and stuck. I have been distractedly bashing at those habits with a blunt stick for a while now. They have one heel somewhat unstuck. I digress.

Whatever results I receive tomorrow, I will force myself to smile and joke. Frown then accept. Think deeply then carry on. I want to do good, I do. And I will.

Eventually.

Eilidh x