The Wandering Mind

October 18, 2024

I am in the 9th grade and am 15 years old. School has been in session for over a month, and I am already struggling. Every day, I return home, holding back the instinct to break out in tears and crawl into a ball on the floor. I control this urge; I do not like anyone to see me weak, much less crying on the floor. How is this possible? Am I stupid? Is there something mentally wrong with me? These questions keep me up at night. I lay in my bed as a pool of cold, wet tears begins to fill up my bed. My mind drifts to my smug, conceited brother. I imagine him sitting in his bed in nowhere Connecticut with a big grin on his face as he watches me wallow in pain. Ever since we were little, he treated every minor situation as a competition. He always had to win. This situation was no different. He looked to get higher grades than me to improve his confidence, no matter the result. The more my imagination grows with constant what-if questions, the angrier I become. I do not want to be thinking about this, and I want to go to bed. However, my mind continues to return to the thought of my disorder. I do not fall asleep until 2 hours; my body has become too weak to continue fighting with my brain. After 2 hours of pure back and forth, however, I was just happy to be asleep and finally get a brain break.

October 19, 2024

It is 9:13 am on a Saturday, and I am heading to a squash tournament. My first match is against a classmate of mine, Poppy. Poppy is known for being vicious and ruthless on the squash court. She will do anything to win, anything. I can hear my heart rapidly beating in my chest. I look to my left, where my mom is seated. As our eyes lock, a smile grows on her face as she utters the words I love you. The next thing I know, my heartbeat returns to normal, and a smile forms on my face. 

It’s 10:00 now, and I have arrived at the tournament. I sign in, get a tournament shirt, and prepare for my match starting in 40 minutes. I prepare by running back and forth around the bathroom, as there is no other open space. The more I warm up, the more my heart rate increases: bump, bump, bump. I can hear my heart beating in my chest as butterflies flutter throughout. The tournament director screams, “honey, you need to start your match.” I hop on the court and try to calm myself down. Poppy serves the starting ball, but my return goes out. My face starts to turn into a pinky-red shade. 

Even when I return the serve, I hit the shots right to her instead of in a more strategic place. Poppy stands next to me in an arrogant way; she knows she will win. The more the points increase in her benefit, the more Poppy begins to strut around the court with her chin held high. My brain starts to fog up. It is as if all my practice is disappearing into thin air. Instead of encouraging myself, I end up screaming, which makes me play worse. The match was over; I lost three games, losing the whole match. As I reach to shake Poppy’s hand, my face meets with her snarky facial expression, which sends me into a further pit of rage. It was not even close. I am a failure; I am constantly losing. I think about my parents, who are typically so encouraging and supportive. They must be embarrassed, yet they smile and tell me I played well. Jamal, my squash coach, reassures me that improvement takes time. My breath returns to normal; I begin to feel calm.

October 20, 2024

I enter the last day of the squash tournament, out of two. I have one final match today. I have no prior knowledge of the girl I am playing, Emerson. As the match starts, my hands start to shake. If I lose this match then I lose the whole tournament. I place twelve out of twelve. As I think about this fact, I begin to hit all my shots into the tin, which is out of bounds. I know I am playing to my fullest potential and that makes me angry. I try to take breaths to calm myself. It unfortunately does not work and stresses me out more. I end up losing the match. My coach has a disappointed look on his face. He advises that I do some “soul searching”, his words, to figure out why I play so poorly at tournaments but not practice. I think and think and think, yetNothing comes to mind. I thought it was normal to think about the larger picture while playing. I mean that I think about the result of losing or winning and the larger effect of the tournament. I guess that trips me up without me fully realizing. It is not as if I am thinking about the larger picture as I am playing but, it is in the back of my mind.

October 21, 2024



My phone dings. It is an email notification. Ms. Smith has left six comments on a document named Physics 9 lab, and my heart drops. I begin to open the document and review the comments. The words "not true" meet my eyes. My heart rate beats heavily in my chest. After reviewing all the comments, I realized my overall grade would be poor. Cold sweat forms on my skin. Many comments do not make sense, as I did meet those comments. She did not spend the time to read my lab, so she has no power to deduct my points. A feeling of anger rushes through my body.

I am in Latin class, so I cannot cry; that is embarrassing. My eyes feel heavy. The urge to cry out in tears becomes harder and harder to resist. Last night, I sat in the living room with my family, as we called my brother. My brother blabbered on and on about how easy school is and how school is a joke. Yet, look at me. I am struggling. How come everything comes easily to him? Why does everything take so much effort? Part of me wants to run away, quit school, and never look back. What is stopping me? I am not talented in school, squash, or life. I will end up working at McDonald's and embarrass my whole family. I wish my pain would stop. Why can I not be like everyone else? I want to be normal and I want to succeed. I typically do not believe in god but, in hard times I seek help from a higher power. So, if you're listening to God, please let me succeed in life. Please let me succeed.