the year of anxiety and emotional breakdowns
we asked our doctors for xanax
crying ourselves to sleep
waking up at ungodly hours
using study tips we found on the internet:
quizlet, kahoots,
khan academy
replacing lunch hours with study halls
desperate to get our projects done
on time
wondering why I haven’t had my period
in months
why I can’t ever seem
to relax
or how many more productive ways
I could have spent my time today
besides calculating the lowest score I could get
but still pass the class
watching movies on netflix
like the gospel,
hunched over in bed, clad in pajamas and tear stains,
crying over my math test marked with a B
because I only feel smart
when I get a perfect grade.
if you don’t get an A,
you are failing.
by the time I was sixteen, I had already experienced
being average, meeting expectations and failing
as a child, gifted was the first word
my teachers used to describe me
which didn’t haunt me
until I found out it was supposed to
when I passed pre-calculus, my dad was so proud
he started carrying my report cards
above the visor in his car
so relieved he could stop worrying
would I get into a good college?
he saw a program on the news
about the epidemic with depression
says he is just so glad to finally see me
taking care of myself
if you develop depression
when you are already broken to begin with
you go to the hospital
if you develop depression
when you are not already broken to begin with
you get told to “**** it up”
so when my grades started dropping,
everyone was disappointed in me
for being lazy
teachers who never spoke to me before
stopped me in the hall to ask if I’m okay
I say, I am sick
they say, No, you are
just incompetent
how could I not
hate myself?
with becoming the kind of mistake
people are supposed to learn from?
why would I ever want to
stop studying
when my intelligence was the most
interesting thing about me?
so, how lucky it is now,
to be boring
the way not going to guidance
is boring
the way looking at a 86%
and only seeing a B, not a failure
or fourteen points marked off
is boring
my story may not be as impressive as it used
to be, but at least there is nothing left
to count
the calculator in my head
finally stopped
I used to love the feeling of passing a hard test,
being the only one in the class to do so
not obsessed with being perfect
but afraid of being flawed
I used to take pride in being
top of the class
now, I am proud to have stopped
seeking revenge on this body
this was the year of accepting my grades
when they weren’t immaculate
without punishing myself
and I know it sounds ridiculous
but that is so hard
when I was little,
someone asked me
what I wanted to be
when I grew up
and I said,
smart
this is an imitation poem, writing in the style of Blythe Baird, my favorite poet ever. if she sees this, I hope she likes it