So the ol’ laptop is out again, and it is now 04:28 – two hours and 32 minutes before I have to get up. What could I possibly have to talk about which is keeping me up all night? (Please, if you burst into song in the stylings of Robbie Williams, I may have to pull out a gun. I’m too tired for that). It is at these times of the morning that inspiration hits me, as I dodge sleep and cautiously await the undeniable moment which is my alarm telling me to get up for school.
There is something on my mind, people of the internet, which I can’t seem to rid myself of. Is it the up and coming UCAS forms I have to fill in? Or my AS Level results which will undoubtedly control my future ambitions? Although both are pressing ideas, I doubt that either hold enough weight to keep me from my slumber. No, the problem is something much simpler, much more average. You see, I strongly dislike school. Now I know. It’s not unusual for a child to hate school. Early mornings, boring teachers, tedious subjects, right? Wrong. As you can see I can live off very little sleep, my teachers are … sometimes funny and I actually like my subjects; why else would I have chosen them? You see, the problem lies with the reasons most people actually enjoy school. Lunchtime, breaktime, bus journeys, free lessons. In short, any time in which I’m expected to find a place to ‘mingle’.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an unsociable cretin. I’m invited places, I have friends, and I get on with people (well, sometimes). It’s the uncertainty which gets me. The people you know by name and not by nature. How much do they know me? What do they think of what I just said? I can’t help but over-analyse everything. It makes me paranoid, and frankly it makes socialising on a larger scale an absolute chore. I will admit that I do it well, and those who I make a good impression on have no idea that inside my face looks like this ‘D:’. I can be loud and rambunctious like the rest of ‘em, and those in my maths class who I’ve met most recently think that I’m something of a riot. However, I fear the day when they get to know me better, just as I fear the day that I have to start afresh in university and make friends from scratch once more.
First impressions can be easy when you get the gist of what your public wants, but keeping them up is the hard stuff. Not letting anyone see the writhing mess which you feel building inside as you struggle to hold your lunch down, and acting like everything is hunky dory. Then letting your guard down, allowing yourself to come out a little tiny bit, and WHAM, everyone thinks you’re a freak and leaves you on your way. That’s the fear anyway. That’s the thing keeping me up all night. I’ve had a six-day weekend, so going back to school is making me nervous. Sundays are the days I stay awake the longest, particularly after a holiday. I cannot stand the thought of accidentally saying something which could result in my social annihilation. If I get it wrong, my whole teen life could crumble as we know it! It’s dramatic but true. The life of the socially inept is a hard one, and you’d be surprised who has crippling self esteem. You ask anyone who has known me less than a year but talks to me on a regular basis and they will tell you that I’m the most confident person they will ever meet. What they don’t see is the moment before I go out to see them where I feel physically sick (and sometimes it is more than a feeling, if you catch my drift) or have mind-blowing headaches. I cannot help myself around large crowds; I get insta-ill and will only feel better after a good 30 minutes of solitude.
Why am I telling you this? I don’t know. It’s probably a combination of boredom and a great need to get it off my chest. I suppose there is a message in there somewhere that people aren’t always what they appear, or that you should cut the socially challenged a bit of slack. It’s pretty much up to you what message you find in this. It’s now 05:15, the sky is its usual shade of bright grey, and I think I’m going for a cup of tea.