Today, a student teacher said to you, "you make me smile, I like you! You're cute". This made you happy because you know that she genuinely meant it. But then it made you think, it made me think, am I going to be this person forever-- the cute, awkward one. I am awkward-- it's not just a hippy, bookish trait which I have appropriated-- there is a real awkwardness in my behaviour sometimes. That being said, I am always the first one to mention it and bring it up in conversation; I think it's because I don't want to be the kooky person who doesn't realise that they're kooky. In that moment today, I was pleased but I am sad now. I wonder when that time will end where I am constantly worrying. I wonder when I will not care as much anymore. It just feels heavy on my shoulders all the time. I am scared that I am going to be the person everyone mothers; what kind of a life is that?
I suspect that it comes down to age. The only problem with that is I am getting older and I'm not feeling it. I drove myself to school for the first time this week, and that made me feel like an adult for about five minutes. I wish there was a button. Beep and you're an adult. Enter phase 1. I'd pay, if that was an option. Alas, I am resigned to my fate. It sucks.
Maybe I'm holding on to my fears too tightly; I anticipate the worst and reminisce over the past constantly. This cannot be good for my mental health. Again, I know that this is an issue but I am not doing anything about it. Why am I not fixing it? And why am I writing to you-- to me -- when I could be fixing it? It's a vicious cycle.
The long and short of it, I suppose, is that I am confused about adulthood (like every other human on this planet. I am not under any illusions; I know that I am one of the masses in this instance). Pupils see me as an adult but I'm not as convinced and I worry that they will realise this and decide that I am not worth respecting.
Sidenote; I've been reading Sarah Kay's poetry collection "No matter the wreckage" and her poetry is honestly beautiful. I love it. I might do a review of it in the future.
I suspect that it comes down to age. The only problem with that is I am getting older and I'm not feeling it. I drove myself to school for the first time this week, and that made me feel like an adult for about five minutes. I wish there was a button. Beep and you're an adult. Enter phase 1. I'd pay, if that was an option. Alas, I am resigned to my fate. It sucks.
Maybe I'm holding on to my fears too tightly; I anticipate the worst and reminisce over the past constantly. This cannot be good for my mental health. Again, I know that this is an issue but I am not doing anything about it. Why am I not fixing it? And why am I writing to you-- to me -- when I could be fixing it? It's a vicious cycle.
The long and short of it, I suppose, is that I am confused about adulthood (like every other human on this planet. I am not under any illusions; I know that I am one of the masses in this instance). Pupils see me as an adult but I'm not as convinced and I worry that they will realise this and decide that I am not worth respecting.
Sidenote; I've been reading Sarah Kay's poetry collection "No matter the wreckage" and her poetry is honestly beautiful. I love it. I might do a review of it in the future.
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