Everything’s going to happen at break-neck speed, and there’s nothing I can do but hold onto the railings and hope I don’t fall off the goddamn train.
Let’s see. The day after tomorrow, I have to go to school to pick up my schedule. I think I’m also going to stay late and help the counselors, as doing that will count as doing volunteer service, and I don’t know if I’ll have any easy opportunities to get them during the school year, especially during the fall semester. On the fifteenth, I’ll have to go to school yet again to help my club with setting up posters and stuff like that, which is actually sort of cool, since I’ve never really done anything like it before.
On the 26th I’m taking the SAT again. I feel awful about it, even worse than the first time I took it. I’m terrified of not doing as well, or just not improving, and disappointing everyone.
The 28th is my first day of school. I’m scared about that, too. I feel sick when I think about it. I just feel really nauseous and exhausted already.
The 29th is my birthday. I’m turning 18, which I hate because I’m older than the majority of the people I know but probably half as mature.
National Merit Scholar candidates should be announced in September, I think. What if I don’t even qualify to be one? I’d disappoint the whole family. I’d be a failure. And then, if I do qualify, what if I don’t become a finalist? It’s too hideous and nauseating to think about.
Nauseated. That’s how I feel about my life right now. Applications have already opened for lots of colleges, and that terrifies me. It makes me feel so sick. I don’t want to… start doing anything. The more I think about things, the sicker I feel. Especially when I keep getting emails and letters reminding me to apply. I got sent two emails from West Point, which is a joke since I’ve never had any desire to join the military or have anything to do with it.
I can’t find it in me to cry or anything like that. I just feel queasy and tired.
My entire life is a trainwreck of nausea and terror. It’s times like these that make me wonder if taking medication would help with my anxious moments and allow me to concentrate on actually doing things.
My essay is being written in piecemeal because I can’t seem to write it all one paragraph after another. Summer vacation has made me revert to my natural state of stupidity. I’m writing all of the different points I want to make separately, and there’s a decent amount, so I feel like I should be able to join them together to make a coherent commentary. At least I hope so.