Dad asked me what class I had today. I told him. He asked me why I still study that same subject.
“Oh, I don’t fucking know, maybe because I didn’t pass it last year?”
Getting really tired of this kind of shit, dad. Maybe you should stop calling me a smart kid and start looking at the cold hard fact: I am not smart when it comes to the academics. There’s a reason I don’t fucking pass these classes. Stop telling me “I can do it” because sometimes, or many times, I just fucking can’t. And stop attributing this little insight to a monthly hormonal surge of emotions. The outburst might have been the product of hormones, but I only say things that have always been there. You just refuse to see it, all the bloody time.
They ask me what’s up in class. Well after five years you don’t really see anything new anymore, nope. All the same routine of flailing neck-deep in studies I don’t get and then failing. That’s okay. I’m used to it.
They say hope high. I say if you hope too high you might fall and break your neck. It won’t kill you. But what doesn’t kill you might not make you stronger. It might scar and maim you and cripple you. That’s why I don’t hope too high.
I don’t even get why I’m still here. You call it bravery that I stay and try to beat this shit. I call it cowardice, because I stayed not so I can defeat this, but because I was too scared to leave and find another path.
On another note, Girls With Slingshots is a hilarious webcomic that I recommend to y’all snarky girls out there. Sure helped me stop crying.