Broken rule and bruised spirit

Oh, good heavens. I overslept. By two hours. I either didn't hear the alarm go off at 7am or I slept through it.

This goes against my sleep programme and P will not be pleased with me. I dread to hear what she says when she receives my latest forms with the details of my waking and sleeping.

Anyway, my last kung fu session was awful despite its promise of being the opposite. I was so tired that I almost cried several times, in public, when I was shouted at to be told that I was doing various things (including standing up straight) wrong. Very wrong. The more these things were pointed out to me by the kung fu supremo, the more my shoulders drooped, and what remained of my confidence seeped through my trainers into the ground, which elicited more telling off. I wanted to die and cry with embarrassment and asked myself why the hell I'd bothered to turn up. I was grateful that I don't blush although I suspect that my burning shame showed through somehow.

What is/was the point of learning an art when you're not fully there, and not fully able to commit? What is the point? I was unable to fulfil what was asked of me simply due to this appalling exhaustion. Perhaps I have an overdeveloped masochistic synapse in my brain. I am an extremely determined person, but really, it is tough to keep going when other people are judging you as an equal when you are running on empty. I suppose I should pat myself on the back for even trying and for not bawling.

I let it all out in the secrecy of my pillow, later. I didn't sleep well.

I know that had I been feeling fully awake, alert and fit, I would have taken the criticism as constructive, and I would have risen to the challenges and my fighting spirit would have taken over. But my fucking back hurt(s), my head ached, I felt as energetic as a pebble and my brain was not functioning fully. I barely ate all day. My appetite is in hiding.

Why do I continue to put myself through this martial arts lark? Why?! The first reason, I suppose, is that I need to exercise (to help me sleep, as well as for general health benefits), the second is that I relish learning a fine skill – an art – over mindless gym-going, and the third is that I fear giving up. I want to do things well. And I suppose am very hard on myself. I hated being the second cleverest at primary school. I was always short of what Yvonne achieved. And I was never as pretty as Isabel (when I was six, at any rate).

I have always felt a need to prove myself, to me. I compete – with me. It seems to be an ingrained trait. It gets me through things, horrible things at times. But sometimes, sometimes, sometimes, I feel a need to take off my armour, put down my shield and just let the arrows of nonchalance come at me.