Oh no

So I have a bit of a problem, and I don't really know how to resolve it. It's not a problem in the traditional sense (though given my own personal traditions, it actually is), but a problem it is nonetheless. You see, I seem to have acquired a new man, and though it may seem callous and cold, the truth is I don't really want him. I'm still nearly debilitated by the end of my last relationship, and I'm not in any hurry to enter another one. Besides, I'm certifiably mentally ill; how good a girlfriend could I logically be at this point? But my good buddy doesn't know this, and is anxious to talk to me and hang out with me as much as possible. As he's a nice and gregarious fellow, I don't really mind this, but I don't want to lead him on in any way, so I'm not sure what to do. At the moment, he thinks that we're dating, which I suppose technically we are, since we've been on two dates now, and if it stays like this, it's probably fine, but what if he wants a relationship? And now that I think of it, does he think relationships are different from dating? Oh dear. How do I get out of this one? In all honesty, I shouldn't have let it get this far, but I thought for sure he would be the type of guy who would keep things on the downlow, all casual-like, I mean he uses the word "thottie" unironically for goodness' sake, but as I skyped him one night, I learned that he has only had four girlfriends in his life, and doesn't like anything but serious relationships. Then he informed me that he has told his parents all about me, and they love me already (I'm not sure why they should, but that's another question for another day), and wanted to know (several times) what my family thought of him. It was then that the light began to break and I realized what a mistake I'd made. Tell me, why is it that people love to perpetrate the stereotype of all men being coldhearted, commitment-phobic, side-chick lovin' jerks? In my experience, all of them seem to be at least 75% more touchy-feely than I am. Granted, I'm definitely an outlier (in the words of my dear friend Jade, I am "a complete ice princess"), but I can't be the only girl who acts more stereotypically masculine than her man. Seriously, I would be fine with some low-key chilling, but all these dudes want to get romantic on me, all "oh you should meet my parents and go to dinner with me and I will compose a sonnet on the breath from your lungs like a sunrise shining above the morning star" and like no, okay, calm down there. We cool, man, we cool. Maybe they think that's what I will like? I'm not sure how to disabuse them of that notion, since I've tried telling them, and that doesn't work. I guess men are just super romantic, and that's all there is to it.
So I just got off Skype with the bae, and bless my soul, it's bad, man. He invited me on his family trip to Vegas (hasn't this been done before?) and talked for a good long while about all the things we would do together in the future. And yeah, it's sweet, and it helps me forget that I want to die, but come on, okay, I can't let this go on. He's just so incredibly nice and it makes things so hard! But I know what I have to do. Selfishly, I'm going to wait until chemistry is over for the summer so things won't be awkward (it's only like two more weeks), but after that, he's gotta go. Really, it's for him that I'm doing this. If I didn't care about him at all, I'd just let things progress for my own benefit and screw the consequence. But I genuinely like him (just not like that), so I can't let him be so stupid as to be in a relationship with me. I'll just tell him about my mental health issues, and that should be enough to scare him away. For some misbegotten reason, he thinks I'm a perfectly normal, highly-functioning human being, and he freely complained today about some of his friends being "antisocial" or "emo." Oh, honey, you ain't seen nothin yet. Just you wait two weeks (if I can preserve my facade of normalcy for that long); you got a big ole storm comin. But okay, I'm getting cold feet now. He's such a nice person, and a feminist, and a proponent of human rights and all, what if he accepts me for what I am? Dearie me. Nah, that's not going to happen. No one would want to accept me, like come on. Okay, we good. I'll just let him have it, and this problem will solve itself. In the meantime, I'm not sure what to do though. Everything I do is just leading him on, even unintentionally, but I don't want to make the rest of my chem class terrible! It's hard enough to get out of bed anyway. Besides, I've been there and done that with the everyone-thinks-I'm-the-harlot-of-Babylon routine, and all things considered, I'd rather not go through that again. It could provide many adverse effects for me at this stage of the game! (I bring this up because once I've rejected him, he will undoubtedly go around telling everyone horror stories about me, as people are wont to do) And okay, if I'm being completely honest, it really is comforting to get some sweet lovin' from someone (not physically speaking, although I guess I have to prepare for that possibility as well), even if I don't necessarily feel as he does. Which is horrible, I know, and I can't let things go on this way of course, but I do have to admit the fact. But yeah, this is a bit of a conundrum. I wonder what will happen. Maybe I will fall deeply in love with him after all. Somehow I doubt that, but I should be prepared for every eventuality. However, it's much more likely that this will end messily, and one or both of us will be hurt and angry. Why does this always happen to me? Or rather, why do I always do this? Because there's no way that I'm not the bad guy here. I messed up, and now someone else is going to pay the price, no matter what I do. If I were Catholic, I would go to confession, but as it is, I'll just sit and stew in my own guilt for awhile. How delightful. More on this later, maybe! I need to go to bed. Goodnight!

Ugh

I have class tomorrow morning at 7:30, and I need to go to bed, but I feel absolutely ill, and there's no way I can get to sleep anyway, so I might as well stay up for a little bit. This is seriously the worst. How do people even live, I have no idea, because I honestly can't remember the last time I was happy, and haven't had a plan (or one, or two) for dying, if I ever hit the point where I couldn't take it anymore. Living, just plain, simple living, is such a chore for me, even just existing is such a struggle. And it's ridiculous, because I'm so low that even the tiniest little things push me into a place where I can't reasonably function, which is so embarrassing and so bad, but I can't seem to do anything about it. We had our second test in chemistry today, and I messed up really badly and got an 85%, which doesn't seem like too much of a catastrophe, because I have like 100% in everything else, but it's really bothering me right now. It's just a B, but I feel like I should give up now, which is ridiculous, and I know it's ridiculous, but I can't stop. This happens every time I don't get an A on something; it's happened ever since the start of last semester, and it's the worst thing ever. Being a perfectionist is one thing, but this is just unhealthy. However, I can't fix my way of thinking, so it's likely to go on until I'm out of grad school. Used to be, I could accept failure a lot better than this. In high school, I was sort of persnickety, but I wouldn't lose sleep over a C on an assignment or two. Nowadays, even an A- will bother me for days on end. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. While I was walking to the cafe from work this afternoon, I took a wrong turn, and that's something I do practically every day, so I should be used to it, but it legitimately rattled me today. Do you see what I mean? It's like, if I do anything that's not perfectly correct, it makes everything atrocious. Right now, I'm feeling disgusting and fat because I ate half a pear in the afternoon, and I always promise myself that I'm not going to eat if I can help it (I know how unhealthy that is, don't even start). Tell me, how am I supposed to go on like this? Everything is way more difficult than it should be– getting out of bed, going to class or to work, talking to people– most days, even the minimum is more than I can do. If I manage to be a good student in class and a good intern at work, you can be sure I'll be useless later. And I feel so bad, because it's horrible to treat people with less kindness just because of what I'm feeling, but it's so incredibly hard to maintain a sweet demeanor when all I want to do is die. I'm almost always irritated now, and I do hide it most of the time, but it makes me feel like a really bad person, and of course that doesn't help anything. Basically, everything is terrible.
I really don't want to go to class tomorrow. How am I supposed to face the world when I'm such a failure? Logically, I know that avoiding things because they're hard is just going to make everything worse, but at this point, I could take this life or leave it, and logic doesn't have as much effect on me as it should, or as it used to. There's such a disconnect between my head and my emotions now, and I hate it. But seriously though, what do I have to look forward to tomorrow? There's absolutely nothing, and that's a pretty depressing feeling, let me tell you. We have CKC, which I dread with every fiber of my being, and I have lab, and before that, I have to sit through the vagaries of lecture, which would be difficult for a stronger person than me, and basically, ugh. When do things get better? They're supposed to, aren't they? Everyone says they do. But I feel like that's a lie that they all tell themselves so they can keep going. Really, where could it possibly go from here? No matter how hard I try, I can't see any way that life can be more bearable. I think I need help, and that's all there is to it. Or maybe not. Maybe I should be able to do this all by myself. I guess I should. That's the only way I can really fix things anyway. Although, again, I don't believe that I actually can fix things, so I don't know what's going to happen. But whatever it is, I can be sure of one thing– it's going to suck.

A nice hypothetical situation

I often wonder what my life would be like if fear weren't a constant ingredient in it. What would it be like to walk in public without a qualm, to make decisions without agonizing about them beforehand for days (and to rest easily once they were made), to smile at strangers in public without a second thought, to be able to to acquiesce to plans without panicking? Honestly, I have no idea what that would be like, because I haven't lived that way in a very long time. But I think about it a lot, and I like to imagine a world where the only sources of anxiety are normal ones, and I don't spend entire nights lying awake consumed with a sense of nameless dread.
I think life would be easier in that world. I'm not saying it would be perfect by any stretch of the imagination; I'm sure there would be days when I couldn't get out of bed, and days when even staying alive is a struggle. But they would be fewer, I think. Yes, I would be consumed by an impenetrable sense of malaise most of the time, and no, I wouldn't be happy at all, but at least I could go out with my friends without constantly worrying that they secretly hate me, and I would be able to make plans with people, and not have to wait for them to contact me. I could meet people, and talk to them, and get to know them, and I could compliment them on their aesthetically pleasing wardrobes without crumbling into a ball of nerves and flushed cheeks. Maybe I could even be the one to talk to people first and invite them to get coffee with me instead of the other way around. I wouldn't constantly make excuses– I have to study for syntax, you know how it is; Sorry I can't today, I'm not feeling well; Maybe next time, I have to take care of a few things today– and people would always want to include me in their gatherings because I would show up, and be confident enough to show up on time. I would make jokes at parties, and be able to eat and drink in front of people. I wouldn't pretend to text when I was alone in public, and I wouldn't be afraid to ask for directions if I was lost (which, let's face it, would still be pretty often), and I would be able to walk in front of a group of people without physically shaking (which, now that I think of it, probably looks fairly strange). I wouldn't feel sick all the time, and I could probably wear different clothes, now that I think of it, because my wardrobe is severely limited by the ironclad rules I keep in my head. The more I think of it, the more it seems that the world would be a veritable cavalcade of wonder. No more anxiety attacks, no more crying in the middle of the night, no more hours of internal debate and invective. Maybe I could sleep at a reasonable hour for once! Wouldn't it be strange to go to bed at 12:30 and know that sleep was imminent?
Now that I'm good and immersed in this alternate universe, it's becoming more and more obvious that my entire life is ruled by fear. I mean really, it's gotten to the point that even when I'm by myself, I'm consumed with worry lest I do something *ridiculous* (and the fact that this in itself is ridiculous really doesn't help matters at all). It's gotten so that I need to slip into a persona in order to do anything at all, and I really don't know if that's healthy. Then again, if you want to get existential about it, maybe I am just an amalgamation of all my personas, and everything I do, I do on my own. Which is cheery, I suppose, if you're into the baseball-coach-you-did-it-on-your-own-champ sort of mentality. But I don't know what to think anymore, and that, of course, gives me yet another reason to be consumed by anxieties. So none of that is really helpful. Naturally, this means that I have to retreat and stop thinking so deeply about all this, and focus on what I was originally trying to look at, namely the way things would be if anxiety didn't run the show.
So. I would have a much better social life, of this I'm sure. And I would be able to function much more normally in everyday life. Maybe I wouldn't spend hours analyzing every single thing I did, which would probably save a substantial amount of time, and I would be able to do things like check my email and go to important meetings without panicking about it, which would most likely enhance the likelihood of my employment in the future. All in all, I would be able to live a normal, satisfactory, life, and even though I would never feel happy, at least I wouldn't always feel afraid. And there's something to be said for that.

hi

Do you know what's fun and funky fresh and delightful in the extreme? I'll tell you what's fun and funky fresh and delightful in the extreme. 

I feel absolutely sick to my stomach with anxiety, and it's pretty bad, I must say. I can hardly breathe, and I'm all hot (not in a good way), and my chest hurts, and I want to die (although that's nothing new). I keep having to go back and fix typos, because my fingers won't behave and type steadily. But I'm surrounded by my family here, so I can't show any symptoms, and I have to act all normal. All I can do is listen to loud music and try to calm down without anyone noticing there was anything wrong in the first place. If I keep busy, or look like I am, hopefully no one will talk to me, and I can work on fixing this. Why does this have to happen all the time? It seems like I'm getting worse and worse at managing these attacks, or maybe they're getting worse, or both. And I never know what will set them off either, or when they will occur, and I hate it. Well, I hate everything. But this is more hateful than most things are.

Oh yeah, okay, so I have some news about me, and it's very interesting. About a week ago, I went to see a psychiatrist, and she diagnosed me with actual depression and anxiety, as well as a social phobia, so apparently I really do have real problems after all. Isn't that interesting? I wasn't making all this up after all, it seems. Now I'm going to therapy, although the psychiatrist wasn't entirely pleased with that, because she wanted to put me on medications, and I refused (I mean my dad was angry enough that I was going to seek mental help at all; I wouldn't want him to disown me or anything). Failing that, she wanted me to go to a mental hospital and do intensive therapy, but I'm not really thrilled with that idea, because it would be six hours a day, and it would be with a bunch of other people, all of whom would probably beat me up for not having real enough issues. Plus, I'm not really sure I need it (although my mom seems to be intrigued). But I think I need something, because right now, I'm barely functioning. However, that might be normal, and everyone is dealing with the same thing I am, and I'm just weak. That could be. Or maybe not. I thought that everyone regularly considers suicide, and thinks out plans and stuff, but apparently that's not a thing, so maybe none of the other stuff is typical either. I don't know. But I'm really ashamed of myself anyway. And it's not like I can talk about this stuff with anyone either, like come on. 

"Why can't you hang out?" "Oh, you know, the very thought of seeing people makes me feel physically ill, no offense!" "Want to come shopping today?" "Well, I would love to, but I struggled for an hour to get out of bed this morning, and even greeting my family was almost more than I could manage, so I'll have to take a rain check this time, so sorry!" 

Yeah, no. That wouldn't go over. Am I being dishonest by pretending to be okay when I'm really not? Maybe. But it's the lesser of two evils in this case, I think. And it's not like people aren't used to me never doing things. I've never been good at accepting invitations for things, whether because of anxiety (which I realize now I've always had, albeit much more mildly), or genuine busy-ness, so it shouldn't seem weird now if I disappear off the face of the earth for awhile. I wish it didn't have to be this way. I really do like most people, and my inability to interact with them has absolutely nothing to do with them and their complete loveliness. I want to talk to them or hang out with them, I really do, but I just can't, and I feel guilty about it, since I hope they don't think I don't like them or anything. And I'm really lonely, I think, but I'm too sick to do anything about it. Now that I write about it, I realize how totally pathetic I am. I'm pretty contemptible, aren't I? Yeah, I'm the worst.

Oh dear, I'm really dreading tomorrow. I hate Sundays, because I have to teach, and teaching makes me want to kill myself (even more than usual). It's the only way I can make money, so I have to do it, but it causes me such misery that sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. I'm being whiny I know; it's a rare thing to be gainfully employed at my age, and it's one day of work per week in exchange for a year's supply of money for books and food, so I really do have it pretty good. But that knowledge doesn't make me like it. Anyway, that's not the only reason I'm dreading tomorrow. Allie's mom is having a party, and she very kindly invited me and Sonia, and Mom heard about it, and now she's making me go. It's not that I don't appreciate the invitation, but I would be perfectly fine with declining it and waiting for another day. But the last time I went out anywhere for fun (or "fun") was like two or three weeks ago, and I guess that's not healthy, so now I have to go party. #sundayfunday #turnup #notreallytho

Ugh.

I should probably go to bed soon, but I don't want to. I'm just going to lie awake having an existential crisis anyway. Sometimes I wish I were a robot so I could just turn my brain off when I needed to rest. Would it be bad to watch some TV shows now? Yeah, probably. I guess I'll try to sleep. Who knows, maybe I'll succeed. Okay, goodnight!

Obligatory May text post

I'm back home now, and you'd think I would feel better, but really, I don't at all. I don't even know what's wrong with me, I mean sure I'm in the throes of romantic despair, that's de rigeur, but besides that, I think something's wrong with me, I really do. I've been feeling it for awhile now, and yeah, it was pretty bad when I was at school too, but now I feel literally mentally ill. It's like being sick– I mean, it is being sick– but it's not physical. Although I guess it manifests itself physically too, or I think it does. But I don't know. I've can't remember ever feeling so bad before. On a good day, I don't feel anything at all, and it's like I'm sort of vaguely making my way through a fog, but on a bad day, it's all I can do to speak to my family, or a least listen when they speak to me. I'm trying to make it through one day at a time, but that's difficult, because I don't even want to do that. And I know I should be trying to make myself better, and I am trying, or at least I think I am, but nothing's working, and I want to feel okay again, or even just feel again, but I can't, I really can't, and I don't know what to do. But it's not like I have any real problems. I don't have the right to complain, really. I'm just that gross. Of course I realize that illnesses like depression and anxiety are just that, illnesses, and can affect absolutely anyone, regardless of problems real or imagined, and can't be fixed just by "trying harder," but here's the thing, I don't think I have either of those disorders. I'm convinced that this is all just a made-up phenomenon in my head, and if I could only get over my whiny pathetic self, I would be just fine. But why? Why do I want to be sick? I hate living in fear, and I hate living in general, and neither of those seem like things that would be in the least appealing. I don't understand in the least. All I know is that it just comes down to me not being good enough again. Just like everything else. If you look at my life right now, and don't look at it too hard, it looks pretty good. I'm about to transfer to UCLA (I've dreamt of going there since like seventh grade), I got a 3.8 for my final GPA (which I still hate myself for, but it's not terrible, especially since all I could think about this semester was dying), I have an internship this summer specializing in things I have experience with, I'm making money from my violin students, I have the world's longest summer vacation and plenty of free time to do whatever I want, my friends miraculously still seem to like me, and doesn't everything seem peachy? But I can't be happy about any of it no matter how hard I try. Then I feel guilty, but that doesn't help anything, so I feel worse, and then we're off to the races again. I feel guilty for existing, basically. I'm sure my family doesn't really want me here. I mean, I try to help as much as I can, whether by cleaning people's messes or just being as pleasant as possible all the time, but in the end, I know I'm just a giant burden, and no matter how much I try to make everyone's lives pleasant, it will never make up for the strain of my existence upon the world. Is this me not seeing things clearly as a symptom of whatever's wrong with me, or is it real? I don't know. But it feels real enough to me that I can't get over it. However, even though I think it would be the best option if I died, I can't, because of the embarrassment it would cause my poor family trying to explain it. It's just not socially acceptable to be an upstanding member of society and have a relative who killed herself, you know? And besides, I'm afraid. Isn't that stupid? I'm not even afraid of what comes after death, no, come what may, I'll face it, because I'm sure after I die, my irrational fears of everything will disappear, but I'm so afraid of the pain. Yeah, I'm afraid of pain, me with my tapestry of self-inflicted scars that are only now just beginning to heal. Isn't it ridiculous? And what if whatever I did didn't work, and I was left damaged the rest of my life? And what if I lost my dignity? There are so many things I'm afraid of, and they all seem so stupid. It convinces me more than anything that my so-called "illness" must be fake. Just like me! I really don't know what to do anymore. This can't be any way to live.

I can't deal with this

We break up: "It's not permanent!" he said. "It's only until you come back!" he said. "I don't want to make you suffer through my depression!" he said. "I'm going to love you forever!" he said.


Two weeks later, he's got a new girl lined up.


Forever, he said.

A waiting game, truly

Okay so this post was from two weeks ago, but I forgot about it, and as I'm here in the airport with nothing to do, I might as well while away a few errant seconds and publish it.
My new roommate is moving in today, apparently, and I have no idea when she's going to do so. I cleaned up the room, and then I high tailed it to Barnes and Noble so I could hide. Then it started getting dark, so I left, because I don't like being out on High street by myself after dark, especially on a weekend. So now I'm at the Union, which is kitty-corner to my dorm, and I'm ready to spend all night here if I have to. Or as long as I can anyway, because I didn't bring my laptop charger, and my battery is only at 62% now. I wish I'd brought my lip balm, though, because I can't live comfortable without it. There's some kind of event going on tonight, so I'm seeing all these fancy sophisticates walking around in evening gowns and suits (though not both at once), and I have the uncomfortable feeling that I'm an unwelcome interloper into a life that is much more important than mine. Of course, that feeling is nothing new to me at this juncture in life.

When should I get food? The place in here closes at 8:00 on weekends (which is incredibly inconvenient), and it's 6:30 now, so maybe I can hold off for a little bit until it's close to closing, and then I can buy something that's not too embarrassing to eat, and then I can come back up here where it's pretty isolated (except for the dignitaries, whom I hope will take no notice of me) and eat it. Is this going to be my life now? Will I have to live here in the Union for the rest of the semester, watched by the friendly eyes of the Ohio elite? I don't know what to do, upon my word of honor I don't. I feel like Heathcliff, and that's not at all a nice feeling to have. Never will I get to live in the main house (or residence hall, in this case), or be accepted as a decent member of society, or even be a decent member of society, because my Byronic brooding precludes me from the joys of normal life. Oh, woe is me! Life is truly a vale of tears, and that's all there is to it.

Oh wonderful, two gentlemen have come over, and are now sitting within two feet of me. They're clad in identical tasteless black hoodies, ugly black shoes, and hideous red-and-white Ohio ski caps, and they're talking in identical dialects, which rest somewhere between "inebriated frat boy" and "flunking stoner" (both of which they probably are). Maybe they're part of a cult. I hope they don't try to initiate me; I really wouldn't want to be caught dead in those hideous excuses for footwear. Oh no, one of them talked to me. Disgusting. He wanted to know where the computers were in here. I didn't even know there were computers in here. "There's gotta be," drawls my new compatriot, "I mean, it's so big!" I'm tempted to inquire about the efficacy of navigating such a complex structure whilst floating on the effects of the good herb, but instead, I smile politely and go back to my computer, cold-hearted and completely unhelpful. My harsh vibes must have alarmed the suave souls, because after awhile, they swagged off together, talking enthusiastically, albeit very slowly, about Chipotle. Now I'm alone again, which is how things should be, but I really have to go to the bathroom, and I don't know what to do with my laptop. Should I get someone to watch it for me? I don't trust these people. Someone will probably sell it on the black market while I'm gone and use the profit to buy alcohol. And I don't want to contribute to the already-rampant alcoholism on this campus, so I think it's best for me to hold off on that. I should get food soon too. Do you think it would look goofy for me to leave and then come back? Probably not, right? I mean, everyone needs to eat. And it's not like anyone's really paying attention to me. Okay, let's do this! Maybe I can find some trustworthy soul downstairs as well.
I have some very good news, incidentally. I'm going home for spring break! I'm extremely excited, like y'all don't even know. How could anyone have such good fortune as this? Life is quite beautiful at the moment, and none can tell me otherwise.
I really should go meet up with my new roommate, though.
Ew.