A life of being.. what?

It’s frustrating how often, when i’m trying to think, there is literally nothing in my head. I’ve never really been smart, and i get that. I just wish there was something there i could rely on. And it’s… Well, it’s not fair. When i was a kid, i read and i read, and everyone though that must mean something. I thought it meant something. But… I read the wrong things. I read fairy tales, i read fantasy, i read short imaginative stories about… Well, what? I can’t remember most of it now. I thought i had a choice: to be smart, or to be pretty. I wanted to be smart, because that was the road i knew was supposed to be right. Little did i know. I can’t study. I don’t know why, maybe i’ve hyped myself up about it so much that the mere mentioning of it makes me cower in imagined fear. When i was younger, and when i say “young”, i literally mean a kid of around, oh… eight? twelve? I never had to study. Somehow i did alright anyway. All i wanted was to read, and so i did. Every single minute of every single day. It was my world, it was how i identified myself. I knew i had to stop one day, though. I knew it, and i was so afraid… I never wanted to become an adult, and when the time came to start seventh grade i decided that ‘that was it. I’m not going to do this anymore’. I tried to cut my wrists with this knife i’d done during a less than happy time in the scouts. But it was too blunt, and so i had to live on. Now my head just becomes a big mess…. Mom threatens to break my library card if i don’t get my grades up, but i’m terrified of what they want me to do, of all the papers all over the place, and of all the essays and little projects i’m supposed to finish and write. But there’s one consolation. At least my english class is alright. I can make it there. Hell, my teacher even lets me read during class! Which is fine by me, since i’ve long since moved over to english books anyway. An hour or so reading Terry Pratchet in class, how could that be bad? And then comes high school. English A, fine. I’m failing everything, but my english is still fine. Year two… everything is going wrong. I can’t remember half of what i’m supposed to do, everything just seems to flow over my head, which, to be fair, it pretty much always has. And what i can remember seems completely impossible. So again, i just read. I hide behind the covers. I fail both english B and C, along with pretty much everything else. I take a remedial course of the basics on a folk school. I get out of there fine, but i still haven’t written one single essay. I honestly don’t understand how they could pass me. And now i’m studying english at a university… I can’t do anything right, and by now i’m not even trying. Everything beyond this point can only be described by a picture of falling puzzle pieces into an all compassing abyss of white nothing. I don’t know what to do. I know what a normal person should do, but i, for some reason, can’t. What the hell is wrong with me? I know there’s something, but the only time i got so much as close to finding out, my mom ripped it out from under my feet. And maybe she was right to. Maybe it was the wrong diagnosis. It probably was. But it was something. And i can’t go back and find out. It’s all blank. Because i’m so good at forgetting things, i can forget what i’m thinking mid thought.

This isn’t working anymore. I need out of here, one way or another.