I know we haven't talked, like, ever. I know you probably don't even know my name. In fact, I know for a fact that we've had about two interactions. Both times, we were in Colonel Sanders's class, and he had posed a discussion question for the class. I said that answer, like I always do, and you nodded in agreement.
I also know you're dead, courtesy of our professor revealing that your name was William and not Cletus. But please, I need to talk to you.
I just need to know that you're struggling too. Because I'm struggling. Remember that class that I was the best in?--that physics class I was in with you? I'm failing it, and it's been the talk of the town in my household. Like, if I were famous for one thing, it wouldn't be my music or books or drawings but my grade in one class. Of course, I'm not doing too hot in my other classes, either. It used to take me two hours to do a day's worth of schoolwork and now it takes me three hours to do one class's assignment.
It's like everyone in the world is judging me for it. Like I'm the only one struggling, sitting here crying alone, confined to my room while everyone else is doing fine. Like everyone else in the world has perfect grades and is going to graduate this quarantine with a 4.0 while I'm sitting here understanding nothing and acting like a failing student.
I just need to know...
Do you cry too? Have you watched yourself go from a stellar student to the type that teachers give up on since there's no hope for them? Has all your scholarly autonomy been taken from you, so you're no more than just another perfectly-packaged student being shipped towards a diploma? Do you find yourself afraid of every footstep you hear coming down this hallway, because you know that it precedes someone who's furious with you, or bitterly disappointed in you?
Have your anxieties come to life, manifesting themselves in the voices of people who used to be your safe haven? Do you find yourself uncontrollably enraged, to the point where you break your own personal belongings, just to contain yourself and stop from yelling at the personified insecurities to shut the hell up? Do you find yourself hiding behind a screen, unable to do anything really productive because you know that it's the wrong thing, and you should be doing schoolwork anyways, so you're stuck paralyzed, not wanting to do the schoolwork but unable to disobey the powerful anxieties that critique your every move and watch carefully in the darkness, waiting for you to slip so they can take you down?
I bet you don't, Cletus. I bet you're doing just fine. In fact, you're probably just like the rest of them. You're probably doing better than ever before, cheating like a pro and passing all your classes with flying colors. If you saw me, you'd laugh in my face. Then your big heart would take pity on me and give me some pointers on how to stop messing up, since how can I not see all the things I'm doing that lead to my own failure?
