A Day in the Life of an Anxiety Ridden English Student

I legitimately cried due to school stress for the first time today. I am still not entirely sure how or why that happened. Perhaps it’s best to go back to the start, retrace my steps, almost?

Walking to school with my brother, we sang Hamilton songs… nothing new in that, we are both very addicted. (I’ll eventually post about that addictive musical, along with, you know, the thousands of other people who are also blogging about how damn good that show it.0

Anyway… I got to school, sat in the Music Department and felt… weird. I felt cut off, almost disconnected from the people around me. Soon, my own bubble popped, and I went to assembly, like the good little girl I am.

Afterwards, I lay down on the floor, back in Music now, as I had no lessons till 5th period, and though about all the things I needed to be doing. No, you read that right. I though about doing them, rather than actually doing them.
See, when you (the plural you) have too much on your plate, you start to freak out about how much you have to do. This prevents you from getting work done, because it’s so worrying and you’re freaking out so much that all you want to do is read about gay Greeks or listen to Aaron Burr kill Alexander Hamilton for the 100th time.

Eventually, I pulled myself out of this (by banning myself from the music office till I had completed that bit of coursework – I am not kidding, this worked like a charm – before reading The Bloody Chamber for English. Our lesson was taken up with coursework discussion, so I felt like I had to do something towards the exam.

I think the main reason I was feeling really anxious all day was the talk going on in the afternoon. It was either about how much school work we have (a lot) or about university stuff (much stuff needed for that also) or about life after university (I don’t think I’m going to have one). I ended up getting so freaked out about not knowing what is going to happen, that I hid under a desk for half an hour. This was not productive or helpful, but the pain it caused in my back was enough to distract me from the inevitability of failure and the consequences brought by it.

The English coursework meeting went… well… ish. I knew there was going to be a huge amount to add, because this was my first draft, but I wish I had been alone for it. A friend came to wait with me for our next English lesson, which I guess was nice of her, but she is very good at essay writing and I am… getting better… so it was a little bit… not humiliating, but unfair that I had my essay shortcomings displayed; there were more shortcomings than positives, it felt like, but how would I improve if Miss told me just the positives?

At the end of the next English lesson I was ready to break down. It was not a bad lesson. It was actually a really good lesson, and I contributed and made some good points. I started thinking about how it must be really disheartening for teachers to get a degree in a subject they love, to them try and teach/encourage the same love of it in their pupils, only to be shut down by constant “I hate this subject.” Next thing I know I was thinking of all the work I had to do and how I would fail everything, people would know that I am actually much stupider than I appear and I would be in a job I hated for the rest of my life, having been unable to fulfil my dream of getting a degree in reading and writing stories.

Anxiety is weird. I very rarely have anxiety attacks, though I had one walking home from school today. The feeling is more constant, a persistent nagging in my head that “today, something will go horribly horribly wrong,” even though you know it probably won’t. It isn’t there everyday but it is there enough to prevent me from getting as much done as I need to.


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