Denial Ditch

Denial Ditch



Hummin': If The Feeling Is Gone by Kyla

I have always been one who couldn't quite handle the pressure. Breaking down and crying is not my thing, especially not the crying part. But I do crumble and crawl back into my shell whenever things just seem too chaotic.

I know that about me--and yet, I've never quite tagged myself as such.

I have always used denial to go through my problems. I treat them as though they don't exist, as though everyday's just fine. I have lost a number of battles because I hid and allowed my foes to overwhelm me.

Denial is a dead end. I learned the hard way.

Two weeks, just two weeks before the summer vacation of 2002, I finalized a decision, a choice that I regret until this very day.

That last semester of my senior year in highschool, I was involved with tons of activities. I was an officer of our Teen's Fellowship, one of the staff in our Youth Leader's Conference, lead actress in one of the 3 short plays our school was presenting, cramming for all those university entrance examinations and editor-in-chief of our highschool publication, Nouvelles.

At that point in time, the pressure was piling up like the mountain of garbage in Payatas, looming and threatening to fall. I didn't know where to run. Articles were late, and the ones submitted on time were somewhere lost in space. I was tracking down from which editor hand did each paper passed through and to which it was misplaced. But no one would admit to the mistake. Everyone started pointing fingers.

I was stuck in the middle of it all.

Our newspaper adviser, who I would be thankful for all my life for all the opportunities he had opened doors for me, had our administration chewing him off about the pending release of our newspaper, and in turn he was asking me for it. But I couldn't give him anything, because I myself didn't know where it went.

I tried to run, but I was backed into a wall. I did the only thing I could think of at that time. I whipped out my white flag and surrendered.

I have been severely traumatized by that event, even though no one witnessed to the tears I had shed. I have always doubted my abilities ever since then. I no longer accepted any position for any publications ever again, not in church, not even in our university org.

The possibility of failure was just too big a risk to take.

That summer, I denied everything that happened and went on to my happy-go-lucky life. It was wrong to turn your back on problems, but I was too tired and humiliated to even think about dealing with it. I moved on, entering a new phase of my life--college.

But in truth, I had never moved on from that pit I dug myself into.

When I received my copy of that final newspaper-slash-magazine we did in time for the school's 35th anniversary ending two years ago, I felt my heart crack into hundreds of pieces...

...when I saw that my name was no longer in there.