Nobody likes to ask for help. Especially little boys who are below 10 and need assistance in the bathroom – please, do not ask me for your sake and my dignity. If it does not tragically end with your urine all over yourself and the floor (as it may or may not have before), I hope the next time you are still at least hovering above the toilet bowl instead of falling through as I had fear.
Plus, I’m sure if your mother had known she’d have sue my bad ass baby sitter skills and recommended me to the next house wife she
But in general, nobody likes to ask for help. Not the little 14 year olds in my peer tutoring class certainly, their reply to my every inquiry is a flat out ‘No’. I’m sure after this plentiful experience I’ll have the courage to ask out any guy I want and not even falter when this two lettered death punch comes along…Even that super cute bartender I surreptitiously gawked at during my first experience at a bar. Granted, I cheated a little, as the walls were decorated by glow in the dark boo’s, whom I suspect are from mario. And dozens of tv screens playing demos of games. And a menu that featured drinks from pokemon..and many more… But I didn’t take one sip cause a whiff of Jack Daniel just killed any longing I had for my first shot.
And people (me) always had a predetermined unsettlement for
bars things that they have no idea about.
In some sense I am learning a completely invaluable lesson for life here.
Though, walking around the class I wonder why is it that they refuse my help when that is the exact reason I have placed myself into this position. Do they worry that their questions are stupid? Or afraid that some
jackass classmate will make fun of them if they had gotten the answer instead? Simply at unease to admit that you need help?
Hell, I am.
I don’t like asking for help. In many ways, I’d much rather torture myself and believe stubbornly that staring at that piece of paper in distress will somehow help me get the answer…Of course, those rare moments do occur..for the most part however, I just plain think I should not be asking for anything. Considering my life as a whole, there’s no reason for me to ask for help.
Granted, I hope you know I am no longer talking about classroom activities .and that I am not simply failing through in every aspect .. Just the part about willfully forcing the answer to appear.
It’ll simply never happen. If ever, it’ll be in great delay.
On the last few days of my winter break, I had not meant it to happen, but those bastard faeries likes to throw dust in my face and I had cried to a friend. I dislike answers where people justify certain (hurtful) actions because someone is jealous of you. I don’t believe first hand that that’s any correct way to go about things. And hardly about the part that anyone would be jealous of me. Maybe my metabolism. And my fat ass cat. Not actual qualities or intellect. Talking to him, I discovered tedious reasons that compile to make up my destructive thoughts.
Much as I hate it, somehow, some days, in some way, we all fall for the dogma of our society ( If not, you are my living god ) A society certainly not made to make us feel good about ourselves unless you comply to theirs. With no reason I’d feel inferior to many, inferior so that I feel I am not good enough to live up to their lifestyle. Or be apart of it. And certainly not something as atrocious as reaching out for them in plead. Theirs – so extravagant and ostentatious, while mine is content being their background wall flower.
And yet, to add further to my own judgment I’d participate in (promiscuous) activities that I’d surely, and still at times do, judge another for. Being on either side of the bridge has not really helped with the battles against my childish and everlasting cinderella fantasy. However, now at least, I know. I understand the perspective in which people walk into these situations with. Though having been greatly
advised lectured by my friend, I felt small all over again.
The obvious truth that I am only 16 I can fathom. Perhaps subconsciously, or innately, I begun to put on myself to adopt the role of an adult around the household. The idea of independence rung in my head with the resonance of burden. With the incredible stronghold to not cry. Simply because I should not have any reason to be upset. According to people my age, it is the life to be left home alone at your leisure, and whilst they say that, that very night they might go home to a mother who might chastise them and harry them to do homework or chores, and sit with less than grateful ideals in their head to eat a dinner. But they do not worry about those things. And even worse to hear from people that have less than fortunate situations than myself.
Having cried that night, letting go. I did not have that wrenching nauseating feeling as I had that entire day, and that which inevitably brings me back to the period when I had thrown up and not been able to eat at all. The doctor said it had been stress, and look at me being all stubborn and not giving a shit about his degree to go and hold everything like a bomb.
I exploded. I felt amazing.
Much like the feeling you get when you finally get to pee after holding it in for a very long time.
And I saw what other people saw. I saw beauty in the very places I felt phantom fears.
So I survived my first day of back to school today.