I gotta write down what’s in my head. I’m feeling lost. I’m down. I’m losing who I am, in a fog of what I was and who I want to be. I re-enrolled in classes and I’m in the position to transfer to the University of Minnesota. It’s what society expects of me. To go to college to get a degree and a new career.
I love meteorology. I really do.
I hate school. I fucking hate it.I have nightmares about it every god damned night.
I should be clear, I have had nightmares every night for the last 9 years. It’s part of my world and life. I see Leah hitting me in the face, and when the fist falls away, it’s Abby. I have nightmares about high school and my current college. I have nightmares that cut be down to the bone, fears resurgent. Things I don’t want to think about.
Then, on top of that, I am anxious, on the verge of tears and manic breakdowns damn near every day. So I put on this front of happiness. Nobody knows how much pain I’m in. Nobody sees my struggling. I don’t tell people. I see a therapist and I tell her, but nobody else. I don’t want to be a burden.
The one person I want to talk to, I can’t. I shouldn’t burden her, because that’s not our relationship. I learned recently that she’s terrified to talk to me, so because of that, she ignores me. After three years of intimacy, the severing of the contact hurts, and has left a void in my soul. I can’t burden her with that. She needs to move on same as I do. It just sucks to take the high road.
I need to find something to take up my time. I try to fill my time with surrounding myself with friends. It works, until they’re gone. Then I’m alone with my own thoughts. These niggling little details. The stress, the pain, the anxiety. All my faults. All the things I thought I was good at.
It fucking sucks. It really really does.
And of course, because I’ve a flair for being dramatic, I can’t even talk to my friends about this stuff. Because it’ll be easier to leave me to wallow in my pain, then to support me.
That’s not fair. It’s in my head. My friends, the true friends, want only what’s best for me.
I beat myself up because it frustrates me to the core. I have a mental illness. I’m not smart enough to fix it.
I’ve done much better in the last few months. It’s tough. It really is. I miss my best friend. Everyone expects me to be over it. It’s been almost a year. Fuck that. I’m still in love. It sucks to say too, because I am not supposed to.
Nothing I’m feeling is new. Billions of people have felt this pain.
Billions have struck out against their beliefs in anger.
Shakespeare wrote a play that epitomizes my experience; Romeo & Juliet. The only difference is we didn’t kill ourselves.
I digress. I may write more later, but I needed to get this off my chest.
Fucking hell.


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