August 28 [journal entry]

My first Practicum meeting, and the realization that I bit off more than I can chew

Don’t be impressed if I sound cool right now. My exterior looks calm, cold even, but, inside I’m freaking out. I’m really scared of this semester at school. I just realized I’ve committed to way too much and I don’t think I’ll be able to do it. Fear of failure is probably the worst monster always hiding under my bed.

I just logged off of a summer of boredom. I’d wake up at eleven most days, tweet and tumble my way into the afternoon and at two thirty start running all over to go to work. I’d work until sixish, sometimes later (I’ll give myself that) and then watch TV until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore (usually around 2am). Now I’ve logged into fall semester, full time course with this one effing Practicum class that is going to take up three mornings of my week. On top of that I have an English and a Film class that meet twice a week and a lovely Speech class that is partially online (I know doesn’t make any sense to me either, but the saddled horse walked by me and I jumped on it. A speech class that only meets once a month is introvert heaven).

I know, I know, this is nothing. Most people work full time jobs and are full time students and still have to raise a family on the side. I really can’t complain, and my own life once was a lot crazier than this. And I’m sure I’m going to be ok (probably even better since my hyper brain won’t have time to overthink crazy stuff and I’ll be so tired at the end of the day that I’ll probably manage to overcome my ever hunting insomnia), but I cannot help but worry. I just can’t.

I’m really scared I won’t concentrate enough to do all of my assignments properly or at all and that the exhaustion is going to be too much on my fibromyalgic body. I worry that I won’t have time to do anything that I enjoy and I’ll end up having a nervous breakdown. I plainly worry that it will be too much English on my Portuguese brain, and it will all spiral out of my precious control, and I’ll start failing everything and I’ll finally, finally become the looser I always feared I would be.

Because I never cut myself any slack. I never tell myself it’s ok to not be perfect since I’m studying in a foreign language. Or that it’s ok to feel extremely exhausted and unable to concentrate since you do have fibromyalgia. I never let myself relax if there is still work to be done. And I worry so much about the work that is still queued that I end up not concentrating to do the work that needs to be done NOW. No I never give myself a tap on the back and say ‘It’s ok, we’ve been through this before and worse and you made it. And if you don’t make it, it’s not the end of the world. Maybe if you do stop worrying about it and start concentrating on it you might get it done faster and better and then you’ll have time to watch Fringe and Doctor Who and obsess about it on twitter.” I never do that, because even if I did, I still wouldn’t listen to myself.


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