Simone

The only bad part about being grounded is waking up. Those first few moments of the new day, birds chirping outside, sun shining through a cracked window, the blissful ignorance of sleep coming to an end, in which you quickly rediscover your circumstances. In my case, why is my hair wet? Why do sodden towels surround me? Why am I not in my room? Where are my friends who were supposed to sleep over after the party? Why is my mom sitting across from me, staring me down with overwhelming disgust and steady rage? Oh yeah…hah.

For the sake of my own integrity, I won’t get into why exactly I am grounded for the next two and a half months, but I will say that the other parts of being grounded are not so bad. Isolation, separation, monotony, they all seem pretty sucky, at least objectively. And yes, being confined to your room forces you to think about all the things you leave your room to escape, but it also gives you time to read the books you’ve never had the time to, and watch the films that’ve been in your Netflix queue for months, and realize that thinking about the things you leave your room not to think about prompts you to asses your underlying feelings, and possibly, discover faults within yourself.

Boy, did I discover a lot.

Thanks to the Annual New Jersey Teacher’s Convention and my teenage idiocy, I have spent the past four days reevaluating my life, as I will spend the next ten weeks. I have realized that I used the distraction of partying, and boys, and lying, and gossiping, to escape certain realities. For example, the reality of my academic work. The fact is, I am truly struggling to maintain motivation and to put in effort this year, and because of my slacking work ethic, my desire and ability to produce, educate myself, and be creative has declined.

My laziness and carelessness have also led to poor choices, with worse outcomes. The deepest-rooted of my issues is the self-loathing. Oh, the self-loathing. For too long have I allowed my personal value be determined by my peers. When made to feel small, I acted accordingly. People took advantage of my weakness, and the vicious cycle repeated. But ultimately, to paraphrase something Freddie Highmore once said in a really pretentious film I watched when I was 12: I was born, and I will die, alone. And thus, who do I have to impress? Who determines who I am, and how I’m seen, and what I do? That’s right. Me, me, me, and only me. And me. And, also me.

I’ve decided that somewhere inside of me, exists a Simone with the potential to have her shit together. I’ll spend some time looking for her. ♦