It's 11:58 pm, I've done none of the homework that was assigned to me over the weekend, and at this rate, I don't think I'm going to. Another part of me holds out hope for no fucking reason other than to torture me, I guess.
I spent the last few hours sitting at my computer staring at it and trying to will myself into doing homework while scrolling on YouTube. I don't want to watch any of the videos, but occasionally I will click on one and watch the first few seconds before clicking off, disgusted with myself. Sometimes I would feel so helpless that I'd sink into my seat and then end up on the floor on TikTok, scrolling again. I'd try to srcunch up under my desk, despite being 6 ft tall and not fitting without putting myself into a position that would cause permanent neck damage. I'd resign to lying on the floor with my hand under me, uncomfortably, wishing I had some floor pillows. Sometimes I'd go onto my bed. The tenses and perspective of this paragraph are all sorts of messed up, probably, but I'm not fixing it
I don't know why I do this but it seems like it happens every night. I don't know how to prevent it from happening. I feel like if I were to ask someone, they'd just tell me some dumb crap like "just do your homework earlier" or "try giving yourself rewards/using the pomodoro technique/yoga/whatever the fuck people suggest nowadays for time management." I've been suffering through high school for three years and not a single one of these things have worked.
The bad way to deal with it would be to blame myself, calling myself lazy or incompetent or unfit for the place I put myself in. And yeah, I do that a bunch. I know plenty of people, people who do well in school, who if they knew what I was going through would jump straight to that conclusion.
That's so stupid, though. How could it possibly be my fault? What is different about me versus someone who is doing well? If I were to swap places with that person right now, keeping my mind and body and ideas but having their workload and life and vice versa, would I still suffer? Would they start suffering?
I would much rather blame the problems I'm going through on the life around me. It's because I'm trans. It's because I have an undiagnosed mental disorder. It's because capitalism. It's because individualism. It's because society. It's because competition. It's because of how I was raised. It's because of how my parents were raised.
I won't say what ticked it off, for various reasons. Whatever it was, it was enough for my parents and I to both agree that I needed therapy. It had nothing to do with sexuality or ADHD/autism/whatever symptoms.
This section isn't about why, it's about what happened. And what happened was awful. I'd go once a week for about a year. From the beginning, I didn't trust the guy---I even told my mom about it. That didn't stop anything. He was an awful therapist. I don't have anyone to compare him to, but based on the expectations I had from the internet and whatever, he was nowhere near competent.
I don't want to go into stories from therapy, because I'm paranoid someone who knows me will find this crap. Most sessions were one of two occurences. Either I'd just sit in silence, answering his questions with one word answers and refusing to let anything out about myself. That was the most common. Every once in a while, I would spill about an occurence that had hurt me emotionally. It would scratch the surface of what I considered was important material for a therapist to know about me, but I would usually start crying anyway. He did not offer any help. I don't even remember what he said. I think one of the times he fell asleep.
I didn't know I was trans then, but I did know that I was bi. He was also an old cishet white man who I didn't trust. I don't know, I guess I should be blaming myself since I never let him know about anything. Then again, any time I did spill, his responses were completely unhelpful.
It just fucking hurts because it feels like that was my shot at therapy. Had a bad therapist, wasn't good at talking to therapists, whatever, but I shot my shot and I blew it. It feels like now I can't ask my parents to send me to therapy again because they'll probably send me back to that guy. Then again, what good is therapy gonna do, especially if I'm not out. That's an extra 2 hours (hour sessions plus commute) of time taken out of each week, time that could be better spent procrastinating on doing other stuff that doesn't really matter. And it's not my parents would understand, because despite their placid neo-liberalness they are immigrants who came from a much more conservative culture and still seem to hold much of that culture's ideas.
Not that it matters, anyway. It was mostly just a rehash of what I said on the 7th. But whatever, it's 12:22 pm, I "have" time. I'm not going to get enough sleep again, despite missing all of my homework, and will start my week on a low note that will slowly deepen as it progresses and will force me to relive the pain I'm experiencing right now for many more hours. Just an average week
Well, I started writing, and realised what I actually wanted to say was just what I said last time. The whole no future spiel. I'm just gonna stop. Maybe I'll go to sleep. I'll probably do my German homework, since my grades in that subject have started tanking because I keep missing homeworks. I also missed my physics lab. I also need to redo some CS homework. Fuck me.