The reason for my C average
So, when I'm not asleep in class, too exhausted to understand a damn thing anyway, this is mostly what I think about.
I know this because I wrote it on Monday while I was fighting the urge to run out of class screaming. For real, it's retarded.
It's angst ridden and gross, so I'm glad I'm sharing this with practically no one:
"I have no optimism left. I don't want to be here, which overall, is not like me. Why am I so scared to get help? I'm afraid they won't be able to help me. I'm putting all my hope into the possibility of being medicated so that I can stop going crazy. But what if that isn't an option for me? Or worse, what if it doesn't work? If I don't do something soon, I'm going to fall over the edge of sanity. This is ruining my education, everything I enjoy(ed), and eventually it is going to hurt my relationship. This thought is infuriating. I won't let that happen. I really don't know what I would do. Maybe I am also scared of help for this reason. If someone finally diagnoses me with some difficult ailment, it may sour something. Things will change in some way. I need so badly to feel O.K. I can't push it back myself anymore. Meditations is not anything if not terrifying. I can't be in this brain and body alone in the quiet, I just can't, I mean I really can't. Distractions cease to comfort, many just remind me of the thoughts I was having before my attempts to blank out. Reading, whether obligatory or not, has the same result. I wake up at night in a panic, so even sleep is not a refuge. At the same time, I think I must be wrong about all this. Maybe I'm just being a child and I really don't have a reason to complain. I'm young, I can deal with it. Everyone has stress, what the hell is my problem? Nothing. I should just stop bitching and take a vitamin. But I still don't know."
This, sadly, is me in a nutshell these days.
Time for a beer or three.
I know this because I wrote it on Monday while I was fighting the urge to run out of class screaming. For real, it's retarded.
It's angst ridden and gross, so I'm glad I'm sharing this with practically no one:
"I have no optimism left. I don't want to be here, which overall, is not like me. Why am I so scared to get help? I'm afraid they won't be able to help me. I'm putting all my hope into the possibility of being medicated so that I can stop going crazy. But what if that isn't an option for me? Or worse, what if it doesn't work? If I don't do something soon, I'm going to fall over the edge of sanity. This is ruining my education, everything I enjoy(ed), and eventually it is going to hurt my relationship. This thought is infuriating. I won't let that happen. I really don't know what I would do. Maybe I am also scared of help for this reason. If someone finally diagnoses me with some difficult ailment, it may sour something. Things will change in some way. I need so badly to feel O.K. I can't push it back myself anymore. Meditations is not anything if not terrifying. I can't be in this brain and body alone in the quiet, I just can't, I mean I really can't. Distractions cease to comfort, many just remind me of the thoughts I was having before my attempts to blank out. Reading, whether obligatory or not, has the same result. I wake up at night in a panic, so even sleep is not a refuge. At the same time, I think I must be wrong about all this. Maybe I'm just being a child and I really don't have a reason to complain. I'm young, I can deal with it. Everyone has stress, what the hell is my problem? Nothing. I should just stop bitching and take a vitamin. But I still don't know."
This, sadly, is me in a nutshell these days.
Time for a beer or three.