Destroy what destroys you

This is going to be one of those posts regarding my anxiety/panic thingy and depression as well. I am working on the 30 Day Ragnarok Online Challenge and I'm going to post it here once I'm done with the entire 30 days. I will also figure out stuff that I could post up here on my blog after this.

I have mentioned before that I will be signing myself up for the PE Department's adapted class, right? Well, last Wednesday was my first day on that program and I barely survived that day.

Let's start off with the fact that I had the most embarrassing Prelim grade. Being absent on my swimming class and missing a lot of activities, my professor gave me a grade of fifteen. Yes, fifteen. I kept it a secret between me and the PE people not because I am embarrassed but because I don't want to sulk on it that much. Anyway, I just need around 83 for the Midterm and Finals to get the heaven-sent average score of 60.

Of course the day came and I met my new professor and classmates. I was even left in awe because I was expecting a female professor and yet the department secretary said that my professor was this old man who was just about to leave the room. Anyway, I shifted to my usual shy and obedient self as we headed for the room that we were going to occupy.

Luckily, I wasn't the only newbie in the group. The other being diagnosed with goiter.

Both of us handed him our medical certificates and it felt like he thought our reasons were rather pathetic. He indirectly suggested that both are because he thinks that the other student's goiter wouldn't interfere with the physical activities and my phobia is nothing but crap. Well, it felt like it.

I obviously brushed it off and focused on the report that a classmate gave. Apparently, we will be presenting our specific reasons for taking up the class (a.k.a. disease) from its description up to the prescribed exercises. Believe it or not, I loved the idea. It's like giving me lots of stuff to work on for my stories while saving myself from confusing research about the matter.

Once again, all good stuff must come to an end.

Since the other reporter was not prepared nor the other student present at that time, he proceeded with adding the two of us onto his record book. And here's the nasty part.

"Fifteen?" He asked me when I told him what the number written at the bottom part of the medical certificate meant. I was prepared to just smile it all off until... "Even if I give you a hundred percent on both Midterm and Finals, I doubt that you could pass the subject." Right there and then, that tiny spark of positive attitude left me together with the side effects of that small dosage of alprazolam that I took before going to school. And if it's not enough... "But could you even get a hundred percent?"

I almost cried... Oh wait. I did, but I chose to continuously blink my eyes just so the tears won't fall off. I was worried that the student in front could see it, but the hell with it. I was thinking back then that if that student tells the professor that I am about to cry, I will instantly reveal the anxiety/depression thing, with the hope that if I do, they'd understand. Luckily, the student remained silent or unaware of it. But I had to take the last alprazolam inside my bag without any fluid to help me swallow it.

Then that probably explains best the sudden rush of depression by the end of the week. More of that on my next post.