Procrastination

There's a lot of misconceptions about procrastination, and I'm just going to set things straight.

"The assignment is due in three weeks, though I trust if you're smart you'll get it done beforehand," my 11^th grade English teacher declares. I swear her eyes lock on mine when she says this, likely recalling my weary, sleep-deprived eyes and distant stares the morning the last long-term assignment was due.

 

Suddenly it's 5 A.M., the first morning following the explanation of our assignment.

 

Insomnia keeps me awake. I haven't slept a second since the essay was given. Thoughts race through my head, all blaring the same demand. Start now before it's too late. The whispers of my mind are lucid, and reality and the illusions of shadows in the night blend into a terrible nightmare. I tell myself I am dreaming, but the alertness of my eyes reminds me I'm awake.

 

"I just can't trust you to do these things," my mother justifies. She is attempting to explain why she constantly tells me to do my homework, despite the fact that I've never had a late or missing assignment in the entirety of my academic career.

 

It's 5 P.M., a week after the essay is assigned.

 

Depression grips me to my seat. I stare at my computer screen, attempting to inspire something incredible from myself. I pray that I’ll find the passion to let beautiful words flow onto this virtual paper. I don’t even have the motivation to lift my finger and hit a single key. I search for a reason to see this paper come to life, but I can’t even find a reason to see tomorrow.

 

“You started it last night, didn’t you?” my friend sighs as I turn in my paper and struggle not to fall asleep at my desk, the irritation with my habit clear in her tone.

 

I recall 10 P.M., the week before our assignment is due.

 

Anxiety tears me apart. I’m sitting at the table, the desire to start writing filling my bones, but not my paper. I only accept perfection and will not allow myself to create anything else. I pace through the room. I want more than anything to just get it over with, but my mind is everywhere else. If I don’t do this, I’ll hurt my grade, fail the class, and lose my teacher’s respect. With poor grades and teachers that hate me, I won’t get into college. Without college, I won’t get a good career. Without a good career, I won’t make any money, and I’ll end up living in the streets with no food to eat and only death awaiting me. I’ll be gone without a trace. These are the lies that echo through my head, keeping my thoughts everywhere but where they should be. In a way, I’ve started two weeks ago, constantly worrying about this essay and its aftermath in my every waking moment, but all others see is that I don’t get it on paper until the last minute.

 

“Procrastination is the killer of all dreams,” my 9^th grade health teacher announces, as if this one phrase alone is going to stun every freshman into epiphany and will them to never put anything off again.

 

It’s 3 A.M., the day the essay is due.

 

Insomnia has abandoned me the one time it is welcome. I struggle to keep my eyes open, and I jolt myself awake for the eleventh time, my fingers flying back to the keyboard. Every time my head finds its way to the table, I do not dream. Fifteen-second nightmares of swirling storms of papers and failure are all that keep me from giving into sleep. I wonder if this is what she meant about the death of dreams.

 

Depression is my enemy. Its malicious purrs surround me. It reminds me constantly that this is my fault. Perhaps the teacher should have issued checkpoints to prevent this, but isn’t it rude of me to place the blame upon someone else? I’m worthless anyways. It drones on about how my teacher will hate the paper, just like she hates me, like everyone does. Why even bother doing this paper, going to school, existing? This darkness envelops me. It forces me to be uncomfortable in my own skin, to loathe it until it feels like my flesh is toxic, and all I want to do is tear it off. I despise the entirety of my very being. I can’t bring myself to type anymore; my very words disgust myself, and I wouldn’t wish reading them upon another. I’m on the floor, hands pressed to my ears.

 

Anxiety strangles me. My mind swirls with it all, everything I’ve ever done turning me into a creature of shame. Before long, I’m sobbing. I can’t do it. I choke on these words again and again, like a broken record. I can’t even remember what “it” is. The paper I suppose, perhaps everything. I’m hyperventilating, gasping for air. With every breath I take, I know I need more oxygen, but for some reason my lungs won’t allow me any. I can’t do it. Soon I’m coughing whenever I can, but still nothing feels complete. I know this is a pointless waste of time, but I can’t stop myself. I feel as though I’m going to throw up, but it doesn’t seem I’ll even be able to slow down enough for that. I tell myself I need to breathe, but somehow I hyperventilate even faster. I’m shaking. It feels like my entire body is imploding. I fear I might die. Crying. Shaking. Breathing in and out inandout inoutinoutinout. I. Can’t. Do. It. Suddenly everything feels so big that it becomes nothing at all. The paper. That’s the one thing that steadies my mind. It takes me another hour to calm down enough to write again, and even then I’m still crying, my breath shaky. I finish the paper forty-five minutes before I need to wake up for school, but I only fall asleep two minutes before my alarm goes off.

 

Procrastination is a stupid, useless thing, but the stigma around it is ridiculous. People are right; some procrastinators may be lazy, or dumb, but to treat anyone who puts anyone off as though they are is horrid. A huge quantity of people who procrastinate have seriously damaging reasons as to why they do so, and people should really pay attention to why they do what they do, rather than write it off in the way many do. Even the people who do procrastinate out of laziness, irresponsibility, or stupidity don’t deserve to be treated as though that’s all it is. Why is that people so often assign negative labels to things, rather than delve deeper into these things, or even just let them be?

Author's Note

Honestly, just tell me whatever you'd like. What you think, suggestions, personal experiences, anything.