Worthy enough?

Sighing heavily, I stuff the last piece of toast into my mouth wondering when it would be over. I check my emails yet again-for what feels like the hundredth time today. Every time I open that blue mail app, my heartbeat travels to my throat and rests there till I exhale in a myriad of emotions when I see nothing. I decide a distraction would do me some good right about now. I get up and rinse my dishes, climb upstairs on all fours - I hadn’t seemed to grow out of that ritual - and lay on my bed, phone still in hand. Just as I open the calm app, a phone call comes through. The rate of my heartbeat fluctuates when I realise it’s only my friend Mary-Anne. Oh, Mary-Anne. Hers came through then. Hesitantly, I pick up with a shaky “Mary Anne?”

“Hey Isabel, has yours come through yet?”

I roll my eyes, “No, yours?”

“Yes! I got in!”

“Oh yay,” I say with fake excitement. “Good Job Mary.”

We talk superficially for a couple more minutes when at last I say I have to go - an utter lie for the record - and sigh yet again. It’s hard to decipher what I feel about Mary-Anne getting in. Although, I’m not sure what else I had expected for someone so ingenious and assertive with lots of accomplishments-of course she got in. But what does this mean for me? I feel moisture welling up in my eyes and my lip quivering in the midst of this heap of emotions. Feeling ashamed of showing emotions at something that shouldn’t define me, I sniff aggressively. All that hard work, the effort it had taken to be just trampled upon and thrown away like rubbish? Endeavoring to remind myself that I hadn’t received the email yet, I grab a kleenex and wipe my face. With a great heave, I look into the mirror and question whether I am worthy enough for this spot. I don’t like what I see. My black hair hangs limp around my shoulders and my eyes droop with bags just about holding them up, clear evidence of my insomnia. I pinch the fat that encases my upper arm like a shield from all the bullying and hate over the years. I can’t stop the tears now. They run down my cheeks as if in a marathon, one after the other. I start to count them as they pass my lips and enter in, the salty taste of it making my mouth salivate. Counting tears was easier than facing the monster before me. Deciding I’ve seen enough, I impulsively decide that the mirror in my room is doing me more harm than good. So I take it down. No, not enough. I eye the beautiful rock that I had stolen from a park. Edging towards it sluggishly, I pick it up and admire it for a few seconds before pulling my arm back, preparing to throw. With as much force as I can muster, I hurl the rock at the mirror. Time stands still for a couple of seconds. Then, the consequence of my derogatory action makes an appearance. Deep black cracks engrave themselves into the mirror - into me. I clutch my heart in agony as if these cracks are upon me. Unable to stand it any longer, I pick up the broken mirror and carry it into the garage. Removing it from my room eternally. I rub my eyes as I enter my bedroom, wondering what else could possibly go wrong. Well, thinking that was just like a taboo altogether. I decide to explore the site, and deeply envision myself getting in - maybe that way it will come true - they do say that the law of attraction really does work. I picture everything - from the great email that’ll come, to getting there in person. My phone dings! I pick it up, expecting a text from my mum, but instead, I received a text from Beth - or Bethany. Hurriedly, I read through the text and groan when I get to the part that says:

Sorry would’ve called, but I’m celebrating with my parents since I JUST GOT IN! 

I face-palm and start questioning why all my friends were such snobs. Speaking logically, them getting in should be a trigger for more hope for me getting in too, however, my mind was in no place to be logical about things at the moment. Another text. I groan again, wondering who else got in. I had avoided Instagram for the mere sake of my mental wellbeing, as it would be plastered all over that site. I exhale relief seeing as it’s only my mother who texted. It reads:

Good luck baby - your dad and I love you no matter what xo.

I smile and decide to respond after I’ve read the email. I pace around my room yet again, striving to find something to fill up my brain space. Nothing appealing meets my eye. My mind having an inner battle on whether I should check now or not, I concede and decide that I will. But before I do, a sudden inkling that the email has arrived hits me. My instinct was almost never wrong. I break out in a sweat and try to take deep breaths to slow my heartbeat down. I pull out my phone with a shaking, pale hand. My face must be a sheet of white. Opening the mail app, I gasp aloud when I see the email has come through. Impulsively, I cover the screen of my phone with my palm. I look upwards and pray that I got in. It doesn’t seem to cross my mind that no amount of praying could help me now. The results are in. Taking one last breath, I inch my sweaty fingers off the face of my screen and click on the email. My eyes skim-read. My hand roughly flies to my mouth. I’m in utter shock. I’ve got into Harvard University.