I recently got in touch with some of my former fellows and friends from Faculty (unintended alliteration) and started reminiscing about the good (and the bad) days. One thing that we (now) fondly remember was how our teachers used to push us to attend and participate in activities. I hated it (and at the same time I loved it).
This is something I wrote in about 20 minutes for such an event (title was Confessions of…). It’s not very good but it brought a smile to my face, maybe it can do the same for you…
So… You probably want to know how I got here. The sordid details? The twists and turns? Well, you’re in luck ‘cause you can have the first-hand confessions of an English-holic.
We all want something that makes us feel good. It’s what keeps us going. It can be either ice-cream or the smell of freshly cut grass, a joke, a song, that moment when you think you’ve had an epiphany and have just discovered the meaning of life. Something. Anything. For most it’s something small, trivial. For others…
Mine is a typical story. I’ve started “using” a long way back, when I was 6 or 7. I can almost say I grew on “it” or “it” grew on me. I was good at it and it kept me on the high. It made me feel special, different, it gave me a personality, something that was only mine. It embraced and gave me a taste of its sweetness. But the highs are boring, it’s the lows that are interesting, juicy, thrilling. So we’ll skip some years…
Just “good” is soon not enough. It gets you hooked and wanting more… Good, better, best… perfection! But nobody tells you that’s mad, or you just think them mad when they hint that. You expect perfection from yourself… and the rest. Anything else is wrong, bad, despicable. One ill word can shake your sober state and throw you into frenzy. It will devour you whole.
I’m not one of those who go to anonymous meetings or give cheesy interviews. No soggy eyes and trembling voice, talking about how it impacted their lives and pushed their family and friends away. No. No remorse. No repent.
Tudor writes words 