Tag Archive | depression

The 5 Stages of Finals

impendingdoomAfter a certain amount of studying, you start to look decrepit, with dull eyes, terribly close to bursting into a fireball before ending up as a sad little pile of ashes. But once that last final is over, the last “TIME!” called by a bored, grumpy teacher, you rise from those ashes.

To those who got the Harry Potter reference to Fawkes, my supreme geekness commends you (yup, we’re back to making up words), although I’m not saying that I look like a half-plucked turkey or… um… whatever. I realize that I’m just digging a hole for myself but once you start it’s awfully hard to stop *sigh of resignation*

Having spent the last month on an TV, movie and blog hiatus; I am fully aware of the apocalyptic consequences that too much work can bring upon a person. In fact, now that I have a New Perspective (Panic! At the Disco reference! My, two references already, what is happening?) I can safely conclude that finals, or indeed any big test or series of tests resemble quite astonishingly the 5 stages of grief. I hereby elaborate.

STAGE #1: DENIAL AND ISOLATION

Finals? What finals? Oh those test things that we have soon? Those are still two weeks away though.. I have loads of time! Anyway they aren’t that important right? I mean who cares! Gosh, I do wish everyone would stop talking about them, it’s getting to be overbearing and stressful. I say implement the ‘zen-attitude’: [takes voice of a stoner] Life man… that’s what’s important… not some numbers on the top of a page that has been marked with the red blood of a teacher thirsty for revenge on innocent students because he/she failed to get their dream job of mixing cocktails in Tahiti. Chill dude, chill. Everything will be fine.

STAGE #2: ANGER

You know what? F*ck them. They have no right to come in like the monsters that they are and ruin our lives, especially around Christmas! We’re teenagers for crap’s sake, we should be out enjoying life, not studying in a crammed little space for hours on end only to end up with a shit*y grade anyway. And who on this planet wants to spend 4 non-stop hours trying to force yourself through math finals in a room underground with no artificial light and a heat so hot (please ignore the sentence structure, anger doesn’t bring out grammar skills) that you’re in a comatose state and come out looking like you’ve just served your 3rd tour in a war ridden country? You know what we should do? We should boycott finals. You heard me! If no one is there to take them then nothing will happen! They can’t fail us all, the school’s reputation is too important. Who’s with me? COME ON PEOPLE, RISE UP AGAINST THE ENEMY! No? No one? Oh fine. Chickens.

STAGE #3: BARGAINING

I’ve been at this for too long, my eyes are watering and my muscles are about to atrophy from lack of movement. I’ll just take a five minute break OK? Only five minutes… please, I’m on my knees here! *five minutes later* Oh dear apricot, what have I done? I needed those five minutes didn’t I. And now that I’ve wasted them doing completely irrelevant things like hydrating and breathing fresh air, I’m going to fail. Well, time to pray. O Great Cookie, please help me ace this final! You see it’s indispensable for my future and junk like that. If you can’t help me ace it, can you at least make sure that I don’t fail? I’ll give you anything if you do! That sounded so wrong. Let’s say, I’ll give you one of my most prized possessions: my signed David Wright baseball. AAAAH nope sorry can’t do it.

STAGE #4: DEPRESSION

What’s the point, I’m going to fail anyway. From there it’s just a simple chain reaction: once I’ve failed finals, that will inhibit my graduation and I’ll end up flunking out of high school. Goodbye sweet college dreams, goodbye nice house and comfortable salary. Hello winter, hello alcoholism and bridge that is my new home. I might as well just hunker down under my covers and watch the Patriots get beat by the frickin’ Dolphins. So close to #1 seed… The pain, oh the pain…

STAGE #5: ACCEPTANCE

I guess that at a certain point, whatever happens will happen. It is best, when presented with such a series of events, to go about things with an approach close to the philosophy of stoicism. Just purge yourself from all emotions and become a robot for a month. Nothing must affect you, you are a rock. Nope, not even the video of the cute kitten playing hide-and-seek. No, not the guy getting hit in the nuts by a little kid playing baseball. Oh man that is classic. NO, CT. ROBOT.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to The Mostly Confused Teenager.

Live long and prosper \V/
Yours sincerely,
The Mostly Confused Teenager.

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Music and Me

musicThe setting… CT’s horribly long and difficult math test:
“The distance in between two points in a plane is V(X2-X1)+(Y2-PRINCE ALI, MIGHTY IS HE-Y1). Crap, what’s the question again?”
The result of my best friend putting Prince Ali in my head right before a math exam… An F.
Ok so maybe I would have still gotten an F without having a extraordinarily repetitive song playing over and over again, turning  my cognitive functions (aaaaah, functions! They’re following me everywhere!) to mush, but the idea is there! Thanks Washington, love you tons. And no, I’m not criticizing the government (although I risked not getting my passport on time to go do a college tour in the States on Wednesday because you couldn’t get your shit together about Obamacare), I call my best friend Washington. Deal with it.

I started listening to music when I was a little girl and my parents would put on CDs of classical music during dinner. Yes, CDs! I feel so old. On special days we would get to listen to a jazz record, at which point my brother and I always got super excited and would run around the house as if we were on drugs. The unfortunate corollary of this jazz disk was the fact that we couldn’t actually sit still while we ate; we were obliged to dance around in our chairs, shouting the words to Ella Fitzgerald’s “Let’s do it” (um..) at the top of our lungs.

For a long time, jazz and classical were the only kinds of music that I knew. The only other novelty came from the numerous musicals that we watched after dinners on weekends (I know Annie’s Tomorrow by heart. HA. You don’t feel bad that I do and you don’t? Oh, well, I stand corrected). Then came the era of the boom box. When we got it for Christmas one year, it was like a gift from a higher power. It could play CDs, tapes and the radio. We were over the moon. and that’s how I got my introduction to pop music. Actually, the first song that we ever heard on the radio was a Lady Gaga song. Harmless, say you? Think again. It was one of her more… um… ribald pieces. I’ll let you imagine my mom’s face when we ran up to her, two little kids, and yelled “I WANNA TAKE A RIDE ON YOUR DISCO STICK”. Yeah, it was that bad. From then to basically today I have avoided talking about music with my parents.

Since that awkward time, I’ve branched out into other types of music. For a while I listened to only music from the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s because I had to supply it for my mom to sing to in the car. I have over three hours of Queen, the Rolling Stones and the Beatles (among others) on my phone, and I still listen to them fairly regularly. I’ve discovered the genius of Tom Lehrer, the awesomeness of Imagine Dragons and the Artic Monkeys, the catchiness (made up word alert!) of Coldplay and Green Day… And I can only hope that my horizons will keep expanding. Isn’t that a weird turn of phrase?

Music is something that lets me escape, transfer my thoughts to the song and/or melody instead of concentrating on the depressing details of my teenage life. This being said, I oftentimes find that a song is directly applicable to something that I’m going through. Ah yes, the “I am the centre of the Universe and everything is about me” syndrome. But nonetheless, if I’m feeling sad I may be unable to listen to a happy song and vice versa, it really all depends on my mood.
I sense that I’m hitting a writer’s wall here so I’ll stop while whatever shred of dignity I have left is still intact.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

DANGER WILL ROBINSON *faints in horror*

panicMy parents have discovered that I have a blog [shudders uncontrollably]. What will happen to the world? What will happen to the Mostly Confused Teenager? What am I to do? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

And so I sit here, at my computer, desperately wringing my hands, wondering how in Holy Hell they found out. Did someone tell them? Did I leave the page open without meaning too? Why, o lordly cookie, why? I saw that they knew when I was standing next to my Dad’s computer looking at pictures of Mets’ rookies in dresses (please, don’t ask) when my eyes inadvertently widened and a wave of ice washed over me as the pink background of my own special hiding place appeared in his most visited sites. I stared in horror as I realized that this was practically the end of the world for me. Well, not really, but nearly.

I held out a month and a half without them knowing. That’s not very good is it? I’d like to point out that there are some things on The Mostly Confused Teenager that are inappropriate enough that I would never say them in front of my parents.  I mean as far as I know, no parent would want to read a piece their daughter wrote about erectile dysfunction. And might I also mention that I swear, say weird things and swoon over boys on here. This blog contains my secrets, it’s a place where I can say whatever the f*ck I want without repercussions. Well, within reason (I’m sure that if I wrote that koalas are sweeter than pandas some of you would come forward and yell at me). Now, just writing the word “f*ck”, even though I’m hiding a letter, makes me feel all guilty, knowing that my parents are going to read it.

So what am I supposed to do? Suggestions are greatly appreciated, because here I’m at a loss here. Should I ask them to respect my privacy? I don’t think they’d go for that, since apparently they can already be qualified as snoops. Or hey, here’s a wild idea! Mama, Daddy, since you now know the secret identity of a certain CT, why don’t you say something?

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Very Panicked Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: this is a very celebratory 50th post isn’t it?

Why so tired?

Great, now I have the Joker’s creepy face stuck in my head. The answer; ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, is quite simple: having done nothing for the past two months, the littlest thing that I do tires me out, and going around in a whirlwind of classes and birthday activities, I am thourougly exhausted. Yes, my laziness has doomed mes, and that’s why when it was ten of one last night, I felt as if it was four.

Going back to school or to work is like going through jetlag all over again. Of course if you’re smart you’ll go to sleep early even when you have nowhere to be the next morning, but that’s not my thing. Not the being smart part, the going to bed early. YOU UNDERSTAND! Sorry if I’m yelling and not making much sense, I’m incredibly tired. And so, without further ado, I will sayyyffdxxzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz (oops, fell asleep on the keyboard, sorry) have a good sleepy time –> I can’t say nighttime because it might be 11 am when you read this, in which case I apologize for any depression you may encounter after having read this post and thought about sleep.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: thanks to all of you who wished me a happy birthday, it means a lot!

Losing, Winning, and Helping

What’s so important to us about sports, and personally, baseball? I’ve never really watched it before, mostly because I live in France and it’s on at 2 am here. I mean, I followed the scores, standings and such but apart from watching the occasional Mets tragedy with my dad, I never set out to sit through a whole 9 innings staring fixedly at a screen, willing Ike Davis’ ERA up a few notches (yeah I know, not so effective). And before I had someone to watch the games with me that late, I never really found the conviction to force my eyes to stay open and down enough comfort food so that that could happen (if my body isn’t exactly bikini ready, I blame baseball).

But starting, well, last year, it suddenly felt really important to actually watch the games live. Let me explain. In September of 2012, my sophomore year of high school, I changed schools so that my parents would be pleased (did I mention; ugh?) While I’d never felt academically challenged before, always top of my class, the EABJM posed new problems that I was utterly unprepared to deal with. See the EABJM is a bilingual school in Paris with an extraordinarily hard curriculum. Going into a place with all these genius kids made me feel, frankly, stupid. The things they deemed easy I struggled on for hours. I slowly sunk into a quiet depression. And so, in my despair, I turned to the thing I knew the best: baseball. It’s funny that a Mets fan would turn to them for comfort right? It’s also funny, no, let me rephrase that; ironically stupid, that a teenage girl in a difficult situation who needed as much sleep as she could get started watching games at 2 am (that is, when she wasn’t pulling all nighters).

But while I was floundering like a distressed child in a sea of future PhD candidates, so were the Mets. It’s a rather simple metaphor: the Mets are, well, me (involuntary shudder) and my classmates are every other team. Except maybe the Cubbies, Astros and Marlins.They just suck (sorry to all the fans out there, I know what it feels like to have my team continually suck, believe me). But what was important to me wasn’t that they were losing, it’s that they were there, unchanging, like I’d always known them to be. After a particularly hard day, which was, to be honest, everyday, I had a game to look forward to. Save off days, but you get my point.

I guess what I’m trying to say is: life is a social experiment. No matter how much you try to convince yourself that you’re the only thing that’s important and that you don’t need any other people, it’s not true. Smiling at someone’s accomplishment, jumping up and down ecstatically because the Mets walked off until your dad tells you to shut up and go to sleep (yeah, my dad values his snoozing time), those are the things that make life worth while for me.

And so, with a foolish grin on my face because we won, I’m going to sleep a happy, idiotic, crazy girl. Because when you get accustomed to losing, whether in sports or in life, a victory is just that much sweeter.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.