Failing

I never turn them in. I think about it for weeks in advance and I’ve done it a dozen times before, but I still put it off and stay up all night not writing them, until I finally crash-land into bed knowing that I will not wake up on time.

I can’t keep my hands still when I walk down the street. They keep checking my hair, checking my phone, checking the time, anything to give me an excuse to look down, to look away from the faces in the crowd, the approaching eyes. I can’t know if it’s safe, I can’t know who might recognize me.

I skip class. I mean irreverently. I mean nothing feels relevant. So instead I sit at home and isolate myself because avoiding these problems has become my new obsession.

This is my confession. I owe a debt now to society, to the friends I’ve let become strangers, to the promises I made myself but never meant to keep. They’ve been calling me at night and now I can’t get any sleep. The ringing is starting to be too much. I’ve been talking to myself to find out why I’m losing touch. There is no answer yet; if you’d like to keep trying, please hang up and try again.