Written by Grace Dominguez
Edited by Preeti Shaji
It’s almost six o'clock. I should start logging onto the video call. I feel nervous. I’m not entirely sure why, but my fingers are clammy and I can’t stop moving. The interview’s a group one, and I’ve been practicing for days. But I’d rather die than be the first person to join the call. I don’t want to be alone with the interviewer. What if I mess up? What if I’m not good enough? This is important for my college applications, and my counselor insists it will make a difference. This is what everyone says I need, so I can’t afford to fail.
Six o’clock hits. I take a deep breath and log into the call. An older man and a girl pop up on the screen. “Can you see me?” he asks flatly, his expression unreadable. My heart drops into my stomach.
Really? Already? I thought I’d have a bit more time to gather myself. The girl unmuted her microphone. “Yep, we can see you.”
Thank God. The awkward silence was killing me, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. Why couldn’t I just say something? The feeling in my chest intensifies as the interviewer speaks. “Alright, thank you,” he says, “Let’s jump right in. Please introduce yourselves and tell me why you believe this volunteer position is right for you.” He pauses. “Before we begin, though, I need you both to turn on your cameras. Guest number two, I can’t see you.”
That’s me. I almost freeze, but reluctantly click the camera on. The moment I see myself on screen, my heart sinks. Why do I look like that? My hair’s tucked behind my ear weirdly, and my face feels off. I try to focus on the interview, but all I can think about is how I look. My mind’s racing. What if he likes the other girl more?
I’m overthinking again. I know it, but I can’t stop. The tingling feeling in my chest grows, like a car engine about to overheat. Deep breaths. I need to calm down. But it’s hard. I just want this to be over.
“Alright,” the interviewer continues, “Guest number one, let’s begin with you.” The girl introduces herself, and I try to focus, but my brain’s blank. I glance down at my notes, trying to gather my thoughts. I’m not looking for too long, though. I don’t want him to think I’m unprepared. But my heart’s pounding. I can’t calm myself. The fear of messing up is suffocating.
Okay. Focus. I’ll start with my name, then my school, some experience, and why I’m interested in the position. Simple, right? But the more I think about it, the more everything starts to feel like a huge mountain. The fear of failure weighs heavy on me. My hands are shaking. My thoughts are running wild. I can’t breathe. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I’ve practiced, I’ve prepared, but none of it’s working. I take another breath, trying to soothe myself. “Guest number two, you’re up,” the interviewer says. I’ve barely been listening to the girl’s introduction. My head’s spinning. I press the unmute button, but it takes everything in me to do it. The second my mic is unmuted, my voice cracks. I introduce myself, my voice shaky and fast. I’m speaking too quickly, I know it. What if I mess up? I glance at my notes again, but it’s no use. I can’t concentrate. “I’m qualified for this position because… um…” I trail off, my mind blank. The words won’t come out. I cough awkwardly, hoping to fill the silence, but it only makes things worse. I’m frozen. I can’t speak. Everything’s falling apart. The tingling sensation spreads throughout my body, and it’s like the engine inside me is about to explode. Panic takes over.
I look at the red “leave” button, my shaky hand hovering over it. I can’t do this anymore. I want to escape. I click it without thinking. The screen goes blank.
Immediately, I feel the weight of my actions. No interview means no experience, no experience means no college applications, and no college applications means I’ve failed. I can’t believe I let it happen. I failed. The shame is unbearable. I feel disgusted with myself. Why couldn’t I just do it? People do interviews all the time without panicking like this. I’ve failed myself.
The next morning, I wake up with a tight knot in my stomach. I know my family is going to ask about the interview. How am I going to explain this? I could lie, but I don’t want to. They’ll know. They’ll ask too many questions, and I’ll just feel worse. The truth is, I don’t even want their comfort. I don’t want to burden them with my failure. I’m supposed to be able to handle this. I spend hours lying in bed, pretending to sleep. I can’t escape my thoughts. What did I do wrong? I just want to be left alone. I close my eyes, wishing everything would disappear. If I could stop existing, just for a moment, everything would be easier. But that’s not how it works. The worries keep flooding back.
Eventually, I get up. I look at myself in the mirror; my hair’s greasy, I’m still in the clothes I wore yesterday, and my eyes are red from crying. I feel disgusting. I’m supposed to take care of myself, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t even want to brush my teeth. What’s the point? No one will see me. The thought of showering feels like too much. I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to force words out, but I can’t. My mind is filled with insults, thoughts I would never say to anyone else, but somehow feel justified when it comes to myself. “I’m disgusting,” I think. “I don’t deserve to cry.” But I’m so tired and the tears slip down my face anyway. I just want to stop feeling this way.
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