Dark Heart & Mind #8 (Bonus Track: I Failed Mocks Et Cetera)

Dark Heart & Mind [This is a bonus track because it’s not from between August-December 2015; it’s far more recent – from March]: Releasing the hatred and depression of the last year, raw and beautiful. Don’t you dare tell me to edit or delete. Stifle me any more than I’ve stifled myself, and I’ll pronounce curses on you with my Ewe side.

I failed mocks…

…and I never want to write another examination again in my life. Don’t even try to fight me. And besides, y’all better get used to these post-exam rants, because until I stop writing exams, the rants won’t stop coming.



By far, the results I have received this semester have been the worst I have received throughout my academic life. And somehow, I have not shed a single tear over them.

I walked into each examination session fully knowing that I was entirely unprepared and damn tired, and there was nothing I could do about it. I walked out of each session also fully knowing that it had gone terribly. So when it was time to collect papers, it came as absolutely no surprise to me to see certain spectacular failures.

Low expectations are the reason I was not severely disappointed and have not broken down. I knew I was going to fail, and I failed. Why should I cry?



There are so many reasons why I failed. But giving explanations is like, the most arduous work ever. Partially because you have to keep explaining, over and over again, to lots of different people. Partially because a lot of the time, people don’t truly want the explanations; they’re just shocked and offended, for reasons I know not. Partially because, a lot of the time, people refuse to understand my explanations.

Like, can we just skip past all the explanations and get on to your “encouraging,” “motivational” advice that will have no bearing on my life whatsoever? I mean, it won’t affect me, but if giving me advice I didn’t ask for makes you happy, LOL, why not?



If there is anything that irritates me more than having to explain myself, it is having myself explained to me. It makes no sense whatsoever for you to come and tell me what you concretely believe are the reasons my life is going the way it’s going when

  1. You’re not even close friends with me, so you don’t have the excuse that you know me well enough to diagnose.
  2. You don’t live inside my head so the best you can offer is evidence of what you observe externally, from a distance, with no idea of the background and internal circumstances.
  3. You’ve not even asked me to see whether I know or not, before you’re coming to impose your pharmaceuticals. You can’t jump straight to prescriptions without looking at the diagnosis – form someone who actually knows what s/he’s talking about!

Oh, I read too much? I tweet too much? It’s because I’m making too much poetry, obviously. LOL. No. I assure you that everything is much more complex than that.

In any case, here is the deal. You could lock me in a room with just math and physics textbooks, no internet or electronic devices, no story books, whatever. I’d sleep. Or induce unconsciousness. Because I am so turned off by the idea of these academic subjects that I would rather be comatose than study them. The fact that I have alternatives is not responsible for my disengagement. Things that bore me will bore me.



Dear parents, do not ever, ever force, or even “strongly suggest” to your children to take subjects that they have no genuine interest in. Especially when they beg to drop. Do not offer them extra classes or that nonsense motivation of “You can do it.” The issue isn’t always that they can’t but that they don’t want to. In life we can do many things; but that doesn’t mean that we should. We all have potential. But it’s not every day potential energy is equal to kinetic energy. Some processes cause so much heat energy loss that efficiency is negligible, you understand? And if any of your children are made to experience the nonsense I have experienced, I might just send a curse after you.

I’m doing too many subjects I simply do not care about. (And even one is too many.) And having to do anything you don’t care about, for a prolonged time, is so, maddeningly, painful.

It’s interesting, I’ve discovered that not caring isn’t the same as indifference. Indifference is being aloof, unaffected. But being forced to do something you don’t care about elicits repulsive sentiments. And this is the kind of sentiment that makes you want to sleep and sleep, just to escape, and sit down staring at walls because you’d rather do nothing than what you’re “supposed” to be doing.


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