I realise that actually sounds a little sexual. That’s not what I was going for, but heck I’ll leave it that way –
I was thinking about how much I enjoy reading. How much time I spend reading. Whether it’s a blog, website, newspaper, novel, philosophy, script or poetry I enjoy every moment of it – until I have to do it. Until I have to do it and be tested on how well I understood it. Those moments I not only have to do it and be tested on it but I have to throw in my own input. Suddenly thinking and reading becomes the last things I want to do in the world. Suddenly I’d rather do nothing.
How does that make any sense? How can something I love so much one minute suddenly become a nightmare I’m trying to avoid? So I spend more time than I can afford telling myself I can’t do it or I don’t want to do it or not even thinking about it at all – until every so often I just suck it up and sit down to do it. Once I start it’s fine, it’s just getting myself to start that I have a lot of trouble with.
I think it’s ‘cause I’m scared of failing; of not being good enough. So I don’t want to try.
I don't want to think like this and I’m trying to push those thoughts away but it’s a bottom of my stomach kind of avoidance. The same sort of feeling I get if I have to tell someone something they don’t want to hear or ask to do something they might not want me doing.
Fear isn’t going to get me anywhere. Apart from left behind while the world speeds on by. It occurred to me that I’m actually scared of lots of little things. I’m not the sort of person that sees a mouse and screams or watches a horror movie and has nightmares, but I am the sort that see’s a microphone stand that’s too high and panics at the thought of having to be the person to fix it. The person that freaks out because she thinks she’s going to fail, but somehow can’t stop the freaking out and just get my head down to stop the failing. I’m getting better. I’m learning to organise my time better. But it's not like it's even enough.
It’s never been this hard before. School was a doddle, never had to work that hard; never had that much to do. For anyone that’s ever been part of the National Curriculum you know that they don’t want us thinking for ourselves or thinking outside of any boxes – school was just about memorising random crap to purge onto a page in an exam. Suddenly I’m learning, I’m thinking and I’m scared. Everyone around me (pretty much) went to private schools and read really fast and have been doing philosophy since they were little so they seem so much better at this than me (ok partial exaggeration going on but let it go). I chose philosophy on a whim. I was going to take law and realised it would be a nightmare and there was no way I could be a lawyer. I’m not emotionally strong enough to send people to prison, or to help murderers walk free.
I did some work experience with the CPS when I was 15 and went to a bunch of trials in the crown court and there was at least one occasion I started to cry. There was this black guy who was being done for assault and the police officers were giving their evidence. 10 white guys who were all reading notes from their little black note pads which they all sat down in the cafeteria and wrote together. Of course their stories are going to fit together, they can draft out what they’re going to say and compare notes. Of course this one man’s word isn’t going to be able to stand up to the word of 10 policemen. And I felt sorry for him, I could see in his eyes that they were screwing him over (maybe I’m just naïve).
But living off Old Kent Road in S.London for a year I saw the police take advantage of a fair few black boys from the council flats across the road, so I have little faith in their policing ability and think British Police are more like bullies.
Again I’ve gone off on a tangent. Now to suck it up and get this bloody essay out of the way.