Emailed

I took a big step tonight.

I emailed the college's therapist about an appointment.

I don't believe in therapy as a rule. I don't think that talking out your problems is going to solve anything. If you can't handle it on your own, then it is too big for just talking to take care of.

But I need help. And I need it soon. I've been more depressed in the past 4 months than I've been in a few years. I don't understand it. My life is finally back on track.

I'm always tired. Irritable. Lonely. Jealous. Angry. Or worse, blank.

I used to value being an empty slate. I took pride in my ability to let go of all my emotions and just be mentally limp. I used to call it meditating.

This sort of mediation isn't helping my anxiety any more, though. It isn't helping the pains I get in my chest and ribs that prevent me from breathing properly. It isn't helping get rid of the anger I feel towards EVERYONE in my life.

Even now, as I sit here writing, I find that I am trying to calm my breathing. I picture a giant drain in the back of my mind, emptying all the hurt and sad and panic down a pipe at my feet. It is a process that leaves me hollow. Shiny and new.

-ish.

I tried to deal with it through copious amounts of alcohol - mostly tequila, rum, and beer. Occasionally wine if I was feeling like a classy drunk. I would sip it after classes, before work, after work. In my flat or at the bar on the corner.

But I reached a point tonight where I just didn't have the energy to drink. I was bored with the idea of sipping on something until I got the fuzzies in my nose. The fuzzies that would let me sleep without having to gasp for air or try to shut down my brain. They did that for me.

So. I emailed.

Cotton-headed and Sleepy

I'm tired.

I don't want to be in college anymore. I don't want to study all the time, or be told which books to read. I don't want to sit in a half circle listening to other students who don't know how to read aloud.

I don't want to be friends with anyone. It's a never-ending stream of disappointments and letdowns. No one is who they say they are. No one really gives a shit. The only reason the idea of friendship exists is for survival. We all try to attach ourselves to the strongest alpha in the group.

All I want to do is drink myself into an oblivion every evening, sleep soundly, and wake up to shelves of books and coffee. I will read and write and drink and curl into pools of sunlight.

I'm tired...

Disjointed Thoughts, But Not Because of Alcohol

I sit here, with a cup of rum beside me and an open notebook, wanting to write something. Two girls perch on the edge of my couch, as I slouch across a giant pillow on the floor.

I don't understand why I only get the urge to write when I am particularly down and out. Is the point of everything to prove that the stereotypes are true? To be a writer is to be depressed? I'd rather not, thanks though.

I sent an epically long email this afternoon, and it was more writing than I had done in a very long time. The more letters I write, the more I will be inspired to write.

One of my summer courses is an Ekphrasis course. It is a theory from Greek philosophy in which you respond to a piece of art with your own artform. We will be (hopefully) doing a great deal of writing and editing with feedback during the 7 week course. One can only hope.

Start Me Up

I talked about going back to Flagler in my last post. Well, I'm here. I'm doing much better than I did the last time - all B's and C's this past semester. Not as well as I had wanted, but better than I had been doing.

I'm back in the same place that I was last year. That I am all the time. It's pathetic really. She wasn't even in a relationship when I met her. I started crushing, hard.

And once again, the someone I wanted wanted a different someone. I'm just tired of being the only one who's alone. All the time. Even the guy who said he wanted me didn't really. I was a momentary convenience to make another girl jealous. I just want to feel desired, worthy.

Even my writing has lost its flair, its pizazz. Maybe that's me now. I am flairless-empty-unlovable-unwanted-undesired-tabula rasa.