I wish for Time to Stop

It’s early night-time and I am going to make this quick.

My absence from my blog is frustrating, I am angry with myself for it, however I found myself bombarded with numerous pieces of work over the mock exam or prelim period and was rarely able to take a breath. Writing is not always an escape for me, I like things to be perfect and to submit a piece of writing that was not deemed good enough in my dreary states would pain me further.

It is a gentle time of night, not so late that your eyes burn and your head swims, and nobody is loud. Distant hums of voices and music project from TV sets in the other side of the house, the computer keys tap rhythmically in front of me. I am surrounded by books and worksheets, all muttering of philosophical principles and dilemmas. Fallacies and Philosophers. I am meant to be reading them but my guilt over abandoning my neglected blog lit my procrastination alight. If you’re reading this, it’s too late.

Fairly lights adorn nearly every inch of my room, and the glow they omit coats every surface and creates dancing shadows and shapes. The glare of my screen blinds. There are sprawling, thin lines of fallen strands of hair laying upon the philosophical sheets, my hair loss has hardly slowed down ever since it began. It only serves as a reminder of my stress and esteem. As I write I feel out of sorts, I am aware that what I am writing is hardly up to my usual standard. My writing feels alien and dulled slightly, the continuous onslaught of work proves to be more detrimental than I previously thought.

Tomorrow I have to do things I do not want to do. My urgent fear of confrontation is being forced aside and I feel exceedingly uncomfortable and I am usually always uncomfortable. I have to confront the most constant source of anxiety throughout the majority of my life and it sickens me, for something to unknowingly hold such a large control over me is unbearable and I loathe myself for being so weak. I do sound dramatic, I know, and if I were to explain this anxiety it would only be laughable. But social anxiety and general anxiety comes in often laughable forms, things that sound completely and utterly ridiculous to the capable. Something that can be so big and dictatorial in one mind can appear minute and meaningless in another.

I am going to write, and write and write and write a bit more. This is what I want to do in my life, this is my livelihood and it is being drained ever so slowly by the all-consuming drudgery of everyday school life. I want to preserve this passion in a bottle and weep, for I know it will not be here when I wake up tomorrow. I am going to write, and I am going to read and I am going to enjoy things. I have tired of the bad outweighing the good and I am tired of not voicing my opinions and allowing myself to be guided by a system that barely cares about the unnoticeable individual.

In this gentle night, I want to read stories and poetry, to absorb all the knowledge possible within my throes of passion before it leaves. I want the night to freeze, the clocks to stop, the passion to solidify. I need to see it before me, in a soft tangible form glowing against shadowed light. To stay this age, this person, this being; for more than a fleeting early night-time moment is all I desire. I want more, deep down I know I deserve it.

Eilidh.

 

when you start to say ‘no’

It is difficult.

For far, far too long I have nodded, smiled, replied with a positive hum or obeyed blandly. The list goes on.

I am trapped by my obligement, by my demure and people-pleasing manner. I am fully aware it is ingrained into my nature, to avoid confrontation and to follow the simplest path that would include the least amount of stammering justification, muttered tangents of explanation from a small, unsure voice. I decided this option was superior to any other in the way that I was made ‘easy’ for people, that they would talk kindly of my agreeable and similar personality, that I would laugh at their meaningless humour and that’s why they kept me around or even spoke to me at all.

A bland, giggling creature with no particular opinions other than whatever the person they accompanied at that moment believed.

My life is guided by the stories of others, expelled from the books I read, the films I view, the voices I hear. I soak up their characters and their individual voices, views and opinions. I stare dumbly as they stand up for what they believe in.

They argue and debate and protest and disagree. They say no.

Their personalities burn brightly and they become all the more noticeable, it colours peoples’ perspective upon them and makes them immensely interesting. They converse with strangers and share their views and do not exist to please others. They are entirely their own person. It can make one somewhat bitter when a fictional character has a significantly more complex personality than they (a living person) does.

They don’t laugh to fill the silences that seep in between conversations. They do not smile when they do not have to, they do when they genuinely want to encourage someone or when they are happy.

I smile far too much to stay what I thought to be polite, but I found it to be dumbed down obedience. A 2-D personality plastered on cardboard designed only to keep the other person happy. No controversy, no disagreements, no colour. There is no spark behind my agreeable words.

Last Tuesday I disagreed with my music teacher.

My heart thumped and skipped and went cold as she blanched and turned away, before I smiled at myself in the mirror adjacent. Only because I wanted to.

Eilidh.

 

 

 

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.