I’ve always been the lazy one. It was fine at first, and some people found it a bit endearing. But now, being in highschool, I find that things have changed a lot. I think a part of me knows it’s my fault. The beginning of 2020 seemed fine to me. Lockdown was imminent, but everything was still alright—I had my family, and I even got my first drawing tablet to make art with on clip studio, which made me a bunch of friends along the way. However, the first snowball came. I didn’t do an assignment for my English class, and my mom came in my room and yelled at me for an hour straight. I just sat in my chair and cried. I really thought I would do better from that. The push came when my second year started. My mom certainly didn’t trust me to do online school (which was fair) so I participated in the new class agenda at my highschool. In this agenda, you have the same amount of classes, but you only do two for a total of one and a half months. After that, the class is done for that semester. I was fine with the speed—Catholic studies was easy, and I loved AP English class. Needless to say, I got too confident. I handed in less things because I thought I could hand them in later. I never did do it later, and soon I came out of Catholic Studies with a 72%. My normal grades were 80’s, and last year I had honour roll, so this was a bit demoralizing to say the least. But I still thought I could do better. Well, if I did do better, I wouldn’t be here right now. I broke down a couple of weeks after, not being able to hand in an English assignment, and not even trying to fix it. Hell, at some point I was thinking of escaping my house for a bit without leaving a message, but my dog woke my house up. Along with this, my hobby knife I kept to sharpen my watercolour pencils started looking scary to me, so I asked my dad to take it. Later in the week, my teacher called me over and made me stand there, asking me to explain myself. My dad drove me home, and I’m pretty sure he asked me what was wrong because he saw me holding back tears from behind my mask. I came out of AP English with a 60%. I was upset with myself, but I was excited for gym class because after that would be band. But along with gym came math class. Hoo boy. It would be selfish of me to blame my problems on having the worst math teacher (dubbed by students in my school I swear) and to blame it on the pace of each class. But I really struggled with this class. I started losing sleep, skipping meals (technically I was doing that at the beginning of the year already, but I digress) going to tutoring lessons to help myself, getting less than ideal marks on my tests....but I stayed optimistic, or at least in denial. The weeks passed, and math class was over...but not without a price. I was at home, drawing. I was so proud; I had finally figured out my art style, and went to play a video game (with a little session of watching Haikyuu) to celebrate. All of a sudden, my mom came into my room with a stern but slightly upset looking face. I felt like the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife, and I shakily asked what was wrong. She said that she got a call. I failed Math class. I really thought if I worked hard, if I went to tutoring sessions, if I stayed determined...but I really broke myself. I cried so hard that night. And the days after that. I would lie in bed, I wouldn’t eat downstairs because my brother would snicker at me and brag about his law classes and his fake trials and how amazing he was. I just broke. Entering the new year, I really don’t believe in myself anymore. I give up easily with a lot of things, and I seclude myself, and I become lazy....I even get yelled at for not eating. I really fucked myself, and I have nothing to blame but myself. The worst part about all of this is not the fact that I’m not even trying anymore, nor is it the fact I look to video games and anime as an escape. It’s all the stares from my family—the disappointed stares from my mom and dad, the mocking grins from my brother, and the worst of all: the oblivious, joyful stares from my relatives back in the Philippines. They still don’t know I failed, and they still see me as the golden girl of the family when I’m nothing but a shell of my former self. I was never something to be proud of. I let this happen, and I have nobody to blame but myself. This is all my fault, and I’m not even doing anything about it. I just want to sleep for a very long time.

I’ve always been the lazy one. It was fine at first, and some people found it a bit endearing. But now, being in highschool, I find that things have changed a lot. I think a part of me knows it’s my fault.The beginning of 2020 seemed fine to me. Lockdown was imminent, but everything was still alright—I had my family, and I even got my first drawing tablet to make art with on clip studio, which made me a bunch of friends along the way.However, the first snowball came. I didn’t do an assignment for my English class, and my mom came in my room and yelled at me for an hour straight. I just sat in my chair and cried. I really thought I would do better from that.The push came when my second year started. My mom certainly didn’t trust me to do online school (which was fair) so I participated in the new class agenda at my highschool. In this agenda, you have the same amount of classes, but you only do two for a total of one and a half months. After that, the class is done for that semester. I was fine with the speed—Catholic studies was easy, and I loved AP English class. Needless to say, I got too confident. I handed in less things because I thought I could hand them in later. I never did do it later, and soon I came out of Catholic Studies with a 72%. My normal grades were 80’s, and last year I had honour roll, so this was a bit demoralizing to say the least. But I still thought I could do better.Well, if I did do better, I wouldn’t be here right now.I broke down a couple of weeks after, not being able to hand in an English assignment, and not even trying to fix it. Hell, at some point I was thinking of escaping my house for a bit without leaving a message, but my dog woke my house up. Along with this, my hobby knife I kept to sharpen my watercolour pencils started looking scary to me, so I asked my dad to take it. Later in the week, my teacher called me over and made me stand there, asking me to explain myself. My dad drove me home, and I’m pretty sure he asked me what was wrong because he saw me holding back tears from behind my mask. I came out of AP English with a 60%. I was upset with myself, but I was excited for gym class because after that would be band. But along with gym came math class. Hoo boy.It would be selfish of me to blame my problems on having the worst math teacher (dubbed by students in my school I swear) and to blame it on the pace of each class. But I really struggled with this class. I started losing sleep, skipping meals (technically I was doing that at the beginning of the year already, but I digress) going to tutoring lessons to help myself, getting less than ideal marks on my tests....but I stayed optimistic, or at least in denial. The weeks passed, and math class was over...but not without a price.I was at home, drawing. I was so proud; I had finally figured out my art style, and went to play a video game (with a little session of watching Haikyuu) to celebrate. All of a sudden, my mom came into my room with a stern but slightly upset looking face. I felt like the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife, and I shakily asked what was wrong. She said that she got a call.I failed Math class.I really thought if I worked hard, if I went to tutoring sessions, if I stayed determined...but I really broke myself.I cried so hard that night. And the days after that. I would lie in bed, I wouldn’t eat downstairs because my brother would snicker at me and brag about his law classes and his fake trials and how amazing he was. I just broke.Entering the new year, I really don’t believe in myself anymore. I give up easily with a lot of things, and I seclude myself, and I become lazy....I even get yelled at for not eating. I really fucked myself, and I have nothing to blame but myself. The worst part about all of this is not the fact that I’m not even trying anymore, nor is it the fact I look to video games and anime as an escape. It’s all the stares from my family—the disappointed stares from my mom and dad, the mocking grins from my brother, and the worst of all: the oblivious, joyful stares from my relatives back in the Philippines. They still don’t know I failed, and they still see me as the golden girl of the family when I’m nothing but a shell of my former self. I was never something to be proud of.I let this happen, and I have nobody to blame but myself. This is all my fault, and I’m not even doing anything about it.I just want to sleep for a very long time.