Depression.

Mar. 29, 2014

“I don’t know how I can be so ambitious and so lazy at the same time.”

“I’ll tell you how, soldier. It’s because you’re not ambitious. You’re just lazy.”

I’ve started reading a book. “It’s Kind of a Funny Story” by Ned Vizzini. I bought it after an article in TWLOHA.com, a website I usually visit, featured that the author had suicide. I only bought it because a theme in the book was depression; I didn’t expect to relate to the protagonist more, but I did.

The quote above is one eye-opener I got tonight. I stopped by Chapter 11. Maybe this whole time, I was too busy thinking that I AM ambitious and superior. Well I might be, but the fact that I reason out so well (even with myself) could be the reason why I just tend to get lazy: I RATIONALIZE so well.

Besides that conflict against self, I also saw the similarity with our dependence to friends. He had Aaron, and I had my college and high school friends.

The high school friends I lost were crucial; they were the support group I needed the most, but couldn’t be there because they were “too busy” with their own lives. Which I do not blame them for. The college friends, however, were both a disappointment and an after-effect for me. As the “last” semester of my college year started, I started to look at the 3 of them like the same HS friends I lost. So I moved away. Without them knowing why. One of them noticed and went to me, the two others drifted away. And so I became apathetic. I started reasoning out to myself about how useless and umimportant education was, if it was not enjoyed by the student, and if it meant losing people you cared about.

It’s true what the protagonist said. He wasn’t superior. I’m not too. I was just hardworking back then, like he was, and that’s why I SOUND smart: because I’ve learned how to articulate well.

I guess it was a good choice for me to have bought this book. I’ll continue writing after I’ve read more.

Tried.

Well, today I tried to join an appeal to allow us to join the graduation ceremony this 26th, even though we’ll be summer graduates.

All I could think of was I wanted to do it for my parents; so they’d at least see me go up the stage and get a diploma, even though it may be fake. 

But at least, even though the appeal was rejected, I know I tried to have that one last push for my parents. Now I just have to accept the truth, no matter how sad it is.

Dilemma.

March 18, 2014; 11:36 PM

Great, I’ve been asked if I wanted to dance this Friday for the graduating batch’s Baccalaureate Mass. How cute.

It was a plan way back; graduating students had to perform. Back then I was so excited to be a part of it; back then, I didn’t have the problems that pulled me down so badly.

I’m blogging right now to help me decide on this.

If I dance:

1. I’d have fun.
2. I’d perform for my batchmates, probably one last time.
3. I wouldn’t be able to go to tomorrow’s art fair.
4. It’s possible I’d feel embarrassed being seen by everyone, since they MIGHT talk about me and my story of not graduating this March.
5. I’d have this time to perform with the other graduating students from my crew.

If I don’t dance:

1. Nobody would mind me.
2. I’d be as okay as I am now.
3. I might regret it.
4. People might talk about me, since they’d know I’m from that crew and would wonder why I’m not part of the performance.

So this is basically a dead-end for me, and I’m starting to think that dancing would be a better option for me.

Sucks not being able to graduate. It really really sucks.

I just have to suck it up, I guess. Move on and stay strong. For my family, friends, and myself.

I’ll endure this.

Disappointment.

March 15, 2014. 12:05 AM

Today, I’m gonna tell my parents what happened.

I had a removals exam, and I still failed it. I’m not gonna go on stage and march to get my diploma.

I’ve realized that people really are optimism when they’re in a position when someone has to be; in this case, when they had to comfort me. But I’m glad that their relief is also helping me feel relieved whenever they hear from me that I’m gonna get my diploma this summer, not after another semester.

I do feel embarrassed and sad, but I’m happy that the people I’ve chosen to be around have been supporting and sweet. Even though I risked my 2nd semester trying to find who my true friends were, I guess, this is what made it worth it for the long run.

I’m sorry, Ma and Pa.

Ashamed.

March 10, 2014. 12:34 AM.

I still can’t say it. I still can’t tell my family I’ve failed to graduate.

I feel so ashamed. So useless. So stupid.

Well, I probably am, anyways. I’m a failure. And I’m blurting all this negativity out not to ask for pity from people, but because I have no other choice but to verbally slap myself in the face for being like this.

The timing was wrong. It was awful. I wonder, if I didn’t lose my friends, if I didn’t lose myself, if I kept the focus and the required concentration to do shit properly for my academics, would things be different?

If I told my professor before the deliberations all of the things I was going through, would he pity me and not fail me?

I can only regret. There’s nothing else to do, anyways. Sooner or later my family will find out the truth, whether or not it comes from me.

Then I’d have to accept the fact that my friends from this batch will graduate and I won’t. That I wouldn’t be going up a stage to shake someone’s hand as I accept my diploma and feel so proud that I’ve successfully finished college for my parents.

I’m so embarrassed. I’m so ashamed. And if it wasn’t for my best friend and my girlfriend being there for me, I would’ve probably killed myself yesterday. I had it all planned, too. I hated what they did for me, but at the same time, I’m glad they reached out.

Confusions. Frustrations. Anger. Envy. Bitterness.

Perfect Downhill.

March 8, 2014.

It probably can’t get any worse than this, except if I die.

Losing friends. Losing motivation. Losing emotion. Total apathy.

I thought I was already at my worst that time, nobody to support me in class because I was like a ghost drifting away from people I was scared to be attached to. At the very least, I wasn’t wrong that they didn’t actually care for me; the Guidance Counselor told me that it’s a weakness of mine, actually, being easily attached to people.

And all I wanted was for everything to end. I didn’t care about anything else, really. I just wanted it to be over with.

Now I’m here, typing, because I can’t even “get it over with”. Why? Because I’m not graduating. I failed.

I failed.

I failed my parents. My girlfriend. The few close friends I have. Myself.

I failed myself, for fuck’s sake.

It was the least I could do for my parents to show that I was grateful for all their efforts; that even though I was a lazy-ass bummer in their eyes because they didn’t know the struggles I went through inside the classroom (which isn’t their fault because I didn’t say or show anything) I could still graduate on time. But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t make them proud and go up the stage to get my diploma. It was the only thing they wanted after giving me all the things I have now, but I couldn’t even do it. I just had to fuck things up one last time and ruin the only joy I’ve had left; to actually reach a tunnel’s end.

Ironic, really, how I tried to be honest and shit, not trying to cheat on this certain subject while most of my blockmates would try so hard to do so. Some of them got caught, but didn’t fail like I did. They made it. Should I be inspired? Should I feel like I should’ve copied shit too since it would give me a better future?

They keep on saying shit about how the grades don’t define you. It’s true. It doesn’t. But it enables people to easily judge you; you don’t graduate on time, you’re stupid. You’re a failure. You’re a flunk, below the average who could make it to the stage with the diploma.

This is great. Just great. I wonder how people laugh at me right now, knowing I fucked it up.

They’re probably celebrating, knowing that they’re finally done with school.

Me? I’m here. Typing. Failed a subject and wouldn’t graduate. Disappointing my parents, not knowing how to explain.

Failed to reach out. || Feb 26, 2014

I can’t do it.

I can’t do anything properly.

I couldn’t confront the best friend I lost; I was too scared to actually realize and accept that they are, actually, gone. I didn’t want to hear it even though I had to, so I could finally clarify things and ease my mind. But I couldn’t. Every time I try to, I remember the pain I’ve felt after losing the closest people I’ve once had: my high school best friends, and my first girlfriend. The pain of losing them and having to accept that I couldn’t do anything about it just makes me feel worse.

To add to that, the anxiety attacks I’ve been having has eaten me up, to the point that it’s been harder for me to pretend I’m happy. At worst cases, I’d find myself teary-eyed in public, just like that time when I just broke up with my ex.

I’ve come to the realization that the major burden I’ve brought up to this day to my life was regret: the build-up of not tying loose ends and just letting things fade away, even though I didn’t want to.

I tried to make a move, but I didn’t want to force it. I didn’t want to chase again, like I did to my old friends. I am tired, but I do know I did want to chase. I wanted to fight for it, thinking that this time around It might’ve been worth it. But no matter how much I say, I just couldn’t. The pain and exhaustion already dragged me down to this point; I’m too tired to go on.

I also had the chance to talk to an old blockmate, who decided to drop some subjects because he was “too lazy”. He was, in a way, like me. Wearing a mask of being strong and enduring, calm and cool. But I do know that he wasn’t. I asked his close friend if he had any problems, and he in fact did. He was mad at the block, our block, for some reason concerning his relationship with his girlfriend, which somehow was put into jeopardy by something the block probably did. He was mad about it, and decided to detach from us.

I wanted to reach out, to tell him that I was there if he needed someone to talk to, because I know I would’ve wanted that if I was in his position. But in the end, I couldn’t. His mask was still on, unlike mine, and I decided to tell myself that it’d be stupid to tell him something like that. He was stronger than me, I thought. To tell him I was there for him would be ironic, considering that I was the one who needed someone to be there.

So now, here I am, again, back to being alone, but worse. I’ve made a move, like I’ve always told myself not to, and now I face consequences. Now I feel worse, which clearly wouldn’t help my studying routine for the upcoming exams.

I wonder when this will end.