Stages of Desperation

Every time I want something, something I cannot readily reach in my resources to get, something that my getting depends on someone else’s feelings or emotions or mood or choice, I have these mini panic attacks in phases.

I. Hate. It.

Say for example, I wanted to get an A in a particular course (for some highly unnecessary reason in retrospect, and this was always the case when I was in school), I’d calculate how many marks I needed to hit the grade, then I’d look at the questions and choose the ones I knew I could attempt exceptionally well and then I’d give it my best shot.

But, as with everything else in life, my best shot being a best shot is still dependent on someone’s state of existence. If he just had the perfect date with his girlfriend, all the letters in my paper would be singing a melodious song to his ears; I get that damned A!

However, if it was a bad date or an itch he can’t reach to scratch, or even worse, his lunch was not palatable; the plausibility of getting that A starts to shake like this. Like that.

So then – amongst many other things that I pray for – I’d need to pray that my script gets into the marker’s hands when he’s in high spirits and of cheerful character. I have to go further and pray for every one he comes in contact with, that they make him extra happy.

I. Do. Not. Like. This.

It was a lot easier to deal with these panic attacks and disappointment as a student, as a mini-adult, trying damn hard to be a real adult, it’s different. It’s hard. It shakes the foundations of all the good things your parents told you growing up!

“You’re smart. You’re bright. Everyone who comes in contact with you would want you! You write so well. Your dreams are big, they’ll take you places…”

– Yes mom, so why didn’t I get a chance?! –

After a few rejections, my mind – of its own accord – started to build easier ways to deal with it.

I. Hate. It.

Try.
First, I take a chance. While I’m at it, I’m like; no harm in trying. I get called or not, it’s not a big deal. It could work out, you never know till you try. Tra la la. *lowkey noting the day to expect a response*

Stay Positive.
*One week to the day to get a response*
Don’t think about it, you’ll get called, you’ll get in. Remember, you’re smart, you talk intelligently, you write well! What’s not to love? You’ll get it. Stay positive. Trust God. If you don’t get in, no biggie, God has better plans! But, but, God, I’d like to get it…get called…

Negotiate.
*Three days to the day to get a response *
God see, I know I’ve been forming low key, but you know I need to get this. It’s in sync with my aspirations. It’s a chance to do this and that. I promise I’d use it to help other people. I wouldn’t waste the opportunity. Oh please let it be your will too. Hay God, I really want this *mini weeping*.

Fart.

*One day to the day to get a response*

My stomach is on auto pilot. It’s rumbling a lot and I’m not even sure why. Suddenly, I’m farting a lot – airy odorless farts. I say I ate something. I know it’s anxiety :(

Resolute.
*Hours to the response*
God if you’ll give it to me, it’s mine, if you won’t, I know it’s not your will. I’ll understand. *weeps a little more than expected*

*Response time comes, passes, I don’t get an acceptance email or a courtesy sorry email! They just leave me hanging like this. Like that!*

I. Just. Can’t.

I’ve started farting.

Again.

Sweet Imperfections

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It was on a day like this one I found my biggest flaw and even finding it was a flaw in itself.

How can a flaw be so hard to find? It’s a flaw, it should be glaring! But it wasn’t. We’d combed through all the little imperfections and considered them not big enough till we’d found this.

In truth, “we” didn’t find this, you did, and it took at least thirty minutes of talking and arguing and practically negotiating before I came down to it.

I’m sorry.

See what I just realized? For every time I said my biggest fear was failure or oblivion, I lied.

I cannot fail; that’s as much a positive declaration as it is an assurance, plus, what’s oblivion anyway? If I do not fail (and I cannot), I’d have enough scribbles flying around for centuries – soon enough.

My biggest fear is being vulnerable. To let you see me for me, no defences, no shields, bare and uncovered. That you can see how I really feel without me having the first hand privilege of rewriting the way you see it, so I have the upper hand.

I don’t know what is scarier than that and my heart is literally thumping as I type this.

In my defence to shield me from this great fear of mine, I’ve carved and painted this picture of me, that is so pretty, so perfect. And it’s all you see. It’s fed to you over and again, till it reached the greatest heights and now it’s a yoke on our necks.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I only show you my strengths and not my weaknesses and now what you see is this tower of strength who has it figured out, not the confused 20 something year old I really am.

And how I’m so body conscious, it’s all we live and breathe! I never tell you about how long it took for me to actually be comfortable in my own skin, or how I ensure everything fits snug around the waist because it is my confidence booster, or how I’m actually lying when I say I’m “lowkey” insecure about the shape of my head and my bom. It’s not lowkey.

Most of all, I’m sorry I always come out as Miss Goody-two-shoes, who’s always happy and has a planned out existence.

I would always talk about how Jesus is the best way to solve every issue, and how if you talked to Him, you’d feel all the difference but I’d never tell you about the days I feel so gone, I can’t mutter a line to Him or make it to church for weeks, even when I know it’s all I need.

I’d gracefully let you see my plans book and the lists outlined with timelines but hide when I have to tear the page out and rewrite it because I NEVER meet any timelines I set for myself.

I’m the perfect goof with the wise chatter, the endless chuckles and chuckle-worthy retorts; just so you never see my woes or the pain around the edges of these eyes that know tears oh-so-often.

Every time I tell you we are on the same ship and you grunt in disbelief, I’ll tear off another guarded layer in hope that one day, some day, I’d be one with my fear – vulnerable, open – and you’d see through all of this, see me as I really am, with all my imperfections bubbling up, and then we’d sit in the warmth that only a fusion of our sweet imperfections can bring.

I hope you see it.