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I'm screwed!
11 years ago
As most of you know, I'm not a fan of blogging. I don't like writing about myself, it's why I barely post anything and sometimes I still have an "End of the Year" post in May.
So imagine me being told by my uni tutors that my "Summer Project" is a 3000 word essay in which essentially I'm writing the "Tell me about yourself" section of a CV. You don't need to imagine actually, that actually happened. And this "project" was given to me 3 months ago, and I'm still staring at a word document with 1/15 of the word count. I'm screwed. I'm really fucked, since the hand in is in 2 days.
That's not to say I haven't tried, believe me I have. And there has been legitimate things that have stopped me from doing so, such as an out-of-nowhere camping holiday to the south of England, my grandfather going to hospital for open-heart surgery, a job my older sister asked me to do and was paid for. But for those times in between them, I haven't been able to write anything for this insult of a "Summer Project" (seriously, they should of just called it a Summer Essay, calling it a Project makes it sound like theirs an end product that needs to be built as well as some writing.) not because I don't understand what they want, but because I don't know what to tell them and my brain begins to hurt. Writing this now makes my brain feel like a cage is wrapping tightly around it, to a point where every pulse made is numbing.
And because of that, i cannot do anything else. I have ideas for drawings, let's plays, even plan to finally talk to someone professionally to tell me if I'm actually depressed or not. But every time I look at my sketchbook, or plan to leave the house, I hear my brain giving me examples of other people would say to me, like "If you think you have the energy to do that, why ain't you using it for that essay you should be writing?" to which I respond to myself "Help me then, what is great about our self that we can write in this personal statement section?" and I responded with silences, followed by the throbbing of my brain. Then I can't do anything, just be glad there isn't a gun in the house, but then if there was, I might of off'd myself years ago.
"If you think you're depressed, why don't you talk to someone like your parents?" I can hear some of you say, believe me I've attempted, gave them hints and just stated it. They don't believe me, the only people who do are friends I trust but can't do much to help me on the other side of the country/continent/planet. I think only written evidence from a doctor would be what would change my parent's minds about the matter.
"So you can't write an essay, but you can write this blog?" Fair enough, I'll give you that. I think it's evidenced from my Frozen review that I can complain about things better than talk about myself, so complaining about myself isn't what my essay is about, since I can only talk positive about myself in that. But I'd better get on that now, you don't have to response to this, it's just a rant about myself.
So imagine me being told by my uni tutors that my "Summer Project" is a 3000 word essay in which essentially I'm writing the "Tell me about yourself" section of a CV. You don't need to imagine actually, that actually happened. And this "project" was given to me 3 months ago, and I'm still staring at a word document with 1/15 of the word count. I'm screwed. I'm really fucked, since the hand in is in 2 days.
That's not to say I haven't tried, believe me I have. And there has been legitimate things that have stopped me from doing so, such as an out-of-nowhere camping holiday to the south of England, my grandfather going to hospital for open-heart surgery, a job my older sister asked me to do and was paid for. But for those times in between them, I haven't been able to write anything for this insult of a "Summer Project" (seriously, they should of just called it a Summer Essay, calling it a Project makes it sound like theirs an end product that needs to be built as well as some writing.) not because I don't understand what they want, but because I don't know what to tell them and my brain begins to hurt. Writing this now makes my brain feel like a cage is wrapping tightly around it, to a point where every pulse made is numbing.
And because of that, i cannot do anything else. I have ideas for drawings, let's plays, even plan to finally talk to someone professionally to tell me if I'm actually depressed or not. But every time I look at my sketchbook, or plan to leave the house, I hear my brain giving me examples of other people would say to me, like "If you think you have the energy to do that, why ain't you using it for that essay you should be writing?" to which I respond to myself "Help me then, what is great about our self that we can write in this personal statement section?" and I responded with silences, followed by the throbbing of my brain. Then I can't do anything, just be glad there isn't a gun in the house, but then if there was, I might of off'd myself years ago.
"If you think you're depressed, why don't you talk to someone like your parents?" I can hear some of you say, believe me I've attempted, gave them hints and just stated it. They don't believe me, the only people who do are friends I trust but can't do much to help me on the other side of the country/continent/planet. I think only written evidence from a doctor would be what would change my parent's minds about the matter.
"So you can't write an essay, but you can write this blog?" Fair enough, I'll give you that. I think it's evidenced from my Frozen review that I can complain about things better than talk about myself, so complaining about myself isn't what my essay is about, since I can only talk positive about myself in that. But I'd better get on that now, you don't have to response to this, it's just a rant about myself.
