Sigh. I should have known when my father said he'd give me a loan to pay my way through school it was too good to be true. Week before school and he backed out, taking what's left of my future with him. Of course I hadn't quite registered for classes, or sent over my transcripts from my other colleges, or remembered to submit my FAFSA to the right university. (FAFSA, that's the most important school financial aid form for those of you non-USA-ers)
The real problem however, is more subtle. My grades have been slowly slipping downward, in sort of a dampening wave, as I'll make a brief recovery for a few semesters and then have a jarring disappointment from which I haven't ever quite fully recovered. I find myself having trouble studying, experiencing regular bouts of mild depression, and most certainly getting addicted to the computer.
Trouble studying is a mild euphemism for my situation. This semester I discovered I was suddenly unable to write term papers. I had 3 classes with term papers (4 classes total) and in 2 of the classes I completely failed to do the term paper. I mean, how does that sort of thing happen?! I just walked into class one day, and the teacher said, "Be sure to put your term papers on the table before you leave," and later that day when I looked at the second assignment, determined not to let destiny outrun my timeless pace again, I realized with a bemused horror that it was due the day after my first term paper.
But that's still not quite the issue. I can't seem to motivate myself to apply myself towards important things. As long as it's not important, as in this journal entry, I find myself at ease writing and pouring out my most complex and philosophical abilities, but let it actually count toward something, actually represent an accomplishment, I have shown a pattern of failing utterly to do it. Heaven forbid I actually get credit for something.
I know it's a self esteem problem. I just don't know what to do about it. Any time I'm required to commit myself to something (not romantic commitment you word loaders) I can't seem to muster the effort. And when I do, oh boy. We're talking panic, fear, crushing despair, self hatred, hopelessness. It seems like I'm determined not to let myself succeed in anything, and I don't know why.
I really wish I knew something that was worthwhile. I try not to think about it, it hurts so much, but no matter what I do, all the evidence I have ever seen is that it's going to fall apart, that I'm going to die, and after that I'll never be able to enjoy the things that I once cared about so dearly. Nothing in the universe that I've found seems able to undo this terrible fate, and nothing outside the universe seems to care enough to make itself known. I feel like I'm trapped in a nightmare from which I'll never wake up, being watched by a staring and uncaring eye, a great cyclops who will not intervene, but watches nonetheless.
That's, by the way, why I never have nightmares. The real world is much more horrifying than anything I could ever dream up!
Motivation... discipline... it all escapes me. I'll sit there dreaming about a sunset for hours, then try to catch up on the homework I missed. My biggest problem is not in finding reward in being productive, but finding meaning in being productive. I go out and exercise--I confess--I love it! I love moving around, and becoming more in tune with my body. It's my philosophy that as long as I'm stuck with it, might as well use it right.
Here's where the hypocrisy strikes. I'm not exercising. I'm at the computer, typing. When I try to exercise, I get a few frantic gesticulations done, then lose track of myself. If I persist, the crushing, sourceless frustration sets in. The same thing goes for practicing my instrument, the clarinet. Or meditating. Or writing consistently. Or doing homework.
I'm not consistent, goodness no. Everything I do these days seems on impulse. When I try to keep to schedules, I end up skipping term papers, forgetting to exercise, forgetting to live. Deadlines scare me to death, because I know that every now and then, randomly, no matter how many times I write it down, no matter how closely I rehearse it, unless it's some cheap fun like candy I don't remember to do it. As long as it could result in my success, I never know if it's going to happen or not. Sometimes I don't even feel like I'm in control of my own actions.
That brings me to a point that would be good to bring up about now. Using 'I' is a terrible habit of mine, what with combining deep introspection and desperate need for self acceptance. For a while now, I have not really been I. We is a more accurate term. There are several personalities in this head, and we mostly hold about equal roles. Don't even know why I brought this up, just thought I'd mention how ironic it is that the persona in charge invariably gets caught up with saying 'I'. (That was just my scientist by the way.) Quiet you. The point is, we would be more accurate if we said 'we', not 'I', and therefore we shall. At least, I guess so, it's not easy to... oh he's gone.
It's not easy to break old habits, and I'm sure 'we' would be confusing to you. Tell you what, when only one persona is talking, I'll say I. When it's a group decision, we'll say we.
The computer really is an addictive tool. Like Marajuana, you can build the house and smoke it as well. I have been studying tough sociological and philosophical issues, and reading web comics. I have been learning sophisticated programming techniques, and spending countless, sleep and food deprived hours doing so, not to mention the repetitive spirals I keep getting stuck in. I have been blossoming socially, and playing on newsgroups. I have been learning valuable writing and story telling skills, especially on the most important, the intuitive level, and playing on MUCKs.
My mother says when (if...) I go to a university, I shouldn't bring the computer. She thinks if we don't have the computer to waste all our time on, our life will turn around and success and studying will come easy. When I think about it, I feel like that's wrong though, like treating the symptom but ignoring the cause. I really hope it's not just the presence of the computer, since such a valuable tool shouldn't be blamed for my own self-destructive behavior. I'm sure unless I find a way to be self motivated, hard working and precocious I'd just find another distraction to obsess over.
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