*This is not for the writing contest; it is only posted here for convenience.*

This letter is one of those things that won’t ever be sent. Or it might be, depending on what these words will help me decide upon. I got the idea from a rather extraordinary writer on wattpad who used it to help bring her feelings to tangibility to better understand them or at least get them out of her heart to ease the burden. I hope that this letter will do the same and give me the courage to do as I want or to do as I should. I do apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes made as my hands are shaking so much that it is rather hard to type.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Dear AP English teacher (for anonymity),

A month ago, you assigned the class to write a song about one of the three books we’ve read this term. A simple piece comprised of three verses and a chorus and an original tune to be performed after we returned from winter break. And the class was pleased with this for it was a simple task and easy as well.

Not all of us find that to be so. To me, it is the hardest thing I can ever imagine. Not writing the song or making up a tune, but performing it in front of the class. I’ve spent the last four weeks alternating between ignoring the assignment and stressing so much that I put myself into panic attacks. What a silly, insignificant thing to be so worried and upset over, I know. My rational side is very firm on this. And I’ve spoken to you about it. About my fears and what I could do instead of the song. I offered multiple page essays about any topic you wanted; I said I would have my friend sing while I used sign language. I even though of offering to do it in Morse code, something I don’t even know how to do. I thought of going to the office for intervention or speaking to my parents and get a note out of this assignment. And you just stood there and smiled and gave your persuasive pep-talk speech and I walked away with the feeling that I, at least, would not vomit on the class when the time came. That feeling lasted two steps out of your door.

If you knew me for longer than just this semester, you would know that I am not shy among my friends nor among my elders or younger people. Among my peers, however, I am a mess. And I have worked for eleven years, my entire time in my education, on my self-esteem and my public speaking skills. I’ve taken drama and actively participated in volunteer work to find the courage that now allows me to stand up in front of people and say half of what I intend to before I begin to stammer hopelessly and eventually stumble back to my seat with shaking hands and blurry vision. You would know that I have a fear of public speaking. And, as I’ve already said, I have worked so hard and for so long to get where I am today because I knew it would be a useful tool for my future.

This assignment is not. It is not useful in any shape or form. It’s a little creative activity for fun for our class, nothing more. There is no academic stimulation nor English uses in performing our song in front of our class. Writing it? Yes. Performing it? No. I do not need the skill of singing in front of a group. I do not want to be a singer. I don’t want to do theater or musicals or anything that would involve me singing in front of people I barely or do not even know. You could point out that I sing with my friends. I do. I sing in front of my friends because I know that they sing just as bad as I do or that they are very good and do not judge my awfulness. We’re having fun together when we sing.

I thought of that argument several weeks ago and I tried to apply that train of thought to this assignment. Everyone has to do it, and not everyone in my class can go on idol. We’ll all look like idiots. That’s how I usually get through public speaking. They look just as silly as I do.

It isn’t working this time. This time, the fear of this performance is paralyzing me. It terrifies me to my bones and makes me sick to my stomach; I am more frightened of this than I am of a wolf spider crawling over my hand. Anyone who knows me well enough knows how serious I am being when I say that for I have arachnophobia. I would gladly face my phobia than do this assignment.

I tried a different approach a few days later. As a writer, I make my characters face their greatest fear and overcome them somehow. I make them have courage and the strength to do it. They face death, torture, heartbreak, illness, injury, pain beyond belief, and they survive because I will them to do so. I make my characters have the strength that I wish I held in myself. I write into them the courage to do whatever they want because I hold so little of that courage myself. For a few days, I pretended that I was a character and this was merely something I had to do on the journey for my tale. In the end, I felt like a nut-job and the approach fell to pieces in the face of another panic attack.

What was there left to do? This, I guess. Writing this out in hopes that it will give me one of two courages. I was forced to this final option because, for the first time in over three years, I broke down. I hate admitting weakness and I hate crying. Yes, I’ll shed a few tears for books or movies that I’m reading/watching. I cried a bit more at my sister’s funeral over a year ago. I cried for my friends’ crisis when they’ve had them. But in the face of this stupid, insignificant, weak school assignment, I broke down. In the middle of getting ready for dinner, I felt my throat close up and a headache behind my temples that warned me of tears. I had been thinking of the assignment at the time, so I pushed it back and tried to think about something else instead.

I found myself on my knees, sobbing against the wall of my shower for over an hour. The fear of doing your assignment broke me. Over my disgust of letting such a thing do this to me, I realized that I had to pick one. The courage to do as I want and tell you that you can take your assignment and give me a zero. I’ve worked far too long and far too hard to break myself over this little thing. For it would. Standing up in front of my classmates and singing will break me. I’ll burst into tears before the first note is out and I’ll rush out of the room and to my car and get the hell out of that school. And after the panic would subside, I’d be faced with going back after that humiliation knowing that I was the only girl to do something so dramatic over what many view as a minor thing. All that self-esteem and ability to stand up in front of others would be gone. Singing a little song that makes no sense isn’t worth that and it isn’t worth the loss of my self-esteem. Give me a zero, English teacher. I will not apologize for what I’ve chosen and I know that I have the ability to bring my grade back up. I don’t care that I might lose your respect for you’ve seen these last few weeks how I’ve strived to do this assignment. You’ve read my song and you even helped me find a tune for it. You’ve congratulated me on my determination to keep moving forward. I make this choice from fear and from the knowledge that I will be keeping myself safe and doing what is best for my well-being.

The other choice is that I could choose the courage to stand in front of the class and sing. A friend will be by my side and she will support me as best as she can while I attempt to sing those 100+ words in a tune I don’t even remember before sitting down while the class applauds half-heartedly at your command and watch the next person go up and do just as bad or even better.

And now that I’ve said what I have been meaning to say, I find that I am still unsure. This letter may be on your desk tomorrow morning and I will be waiting for you to call me up and discuss it with me, in which the fear of doing this assignment will come back and choke me up as it has every time I try to speak with you about it. You may let me off the assignment with a zero, which I would be upset about but eventually would get over. You may try to convince me to do the assignment anyway, in which I will nod at and go back to my seat. The next day, when we perform, I may just shake my head when you call my name and say that I’m not performing and for you to give me a zero. Or I may get up with every single nerve in my body shaking and already on the verge of tears and attempt to sing before just running either back to my seat or out of the classroom. In the end, I guess it comes down to what I can live with myself choosing.

With all sincerity,

                              Natalie