. . .
I still feel horrible about today.
And I'm sorry, I don't think I can fix anything. I've tried. I've tried to pick up all the broken pieces and put them back together.
But it's too late.
I want to be an instructor; I really do. But I can't overcome this. And no, your desire to reach a goal is not stronger than self-doubt, pain, regret, and self-hatred. I'm sorry. It's not. Maybe it is for you, but I'm not you. I'm not strong. Maybe I used to be strong, maybe I used to be confident, but the person I used to be has faded into shadows as empty as the shell I've become.
The ironic thing is that I have a black belt, size 4, with my name stitched into it in Korean. But am I a black belt? No. My black belt test is a terrible memory, and my black belt itself . . . what does it even mean? How can it stand for anything when I myself stand for nothing but brokenness and emptiness?
Just when everything starts to be okay again, just when I start to heal, it all has to break again. I wish I wasn't so fragile. All it took was him (the instructor who hates me), just him, and that "okay-ness" was gone.
I want to like him. But he makes it impossible. It's been like this since I came here.
I want to say this is my fault, but I'm tired of blaming myself for everything. Guess what? You're a taekwondo instructor. Do your job. You can't ignore a student just because they intimidate you with their angst.
I keep trying to convince myself to like you. I keep trying to convince myself that it's not your fault, it's my fault, and-
But I can't, okay, because all you do is ignore me until I mess up and then all of a sudden OH LOOK SAMURAI EXISTS I GOTTA YELL AT HER
I don't care if you weren't actually yelling, you were being all salty so I'm calling it yelling
And it was because of you that I hid in the bathroom for the rest of class