I had my first official appointment with my counselor….it was like a form of torture sitting in the waiting room waiting for her, but I waited nonetheless. After an extended session I left with the knowledge that there is hope for me….hope that comes in the form of medication. Apparently I’m suffering from severe depression and severe anxiety. In a month I have an appointment with a Physiatrist where she will evaluate me based on my sessions and a extensive Psychological history I have to fill out. She will then prescribe the medication that I need to get better. I don’t know what the better news is…that there is a light at the end of the tunnel or that there is a logical reason for my life being the mess that it is.

um...what was that again?

So I’ve done it again. Another semester down the drain with nothing accomplished. It seems my extended family have nothing better to do than prod my already shattered ego about college. I have to admit the past few years I’ve been dazed, if not a wholly different person academically. After leaving Ozark and the blow out with my father it was almost like the academic loving me was lost to melancholy lethargy. I find myself missing classes for weeks because skipping is a disease. The fear of return is greater than the fear of failure. I don’t know how to fix this mess, much less to overcome it. My spending is erratic and my money follows suit of my academic career, down the preverbal porcelain god. I’m not sure what to do or how to get out of the spiral. I can’t seem to make enough money, I can’t seem to get to class, and to top it all off I feel like I’m dragging other people in with me. How do you set the road right again? I’ve been sick for several days and due to this am cranky…so perhaps I should sacrifice this post at the alter of angst and fevers…its located next to the alter of paper extensions and Bursar holds.

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I miss books. I miss the way I sat and read for hours, lost in another world of someone else’s creation. I miss the hours of endless discussion about them, the arguments of context and style. It is odd to watch my sister who like I was at her age devours books like a child eating M&M’s. I miss those days. I miss lazy afternoons of lying in the backyard book in hand and Pierre at my side. Why does it seem so long ago? Those days of youthful procrastination…when a book ran my life. I miss it…I have come to realize I miss a lot of things.

Sometimes I want to walk away. No, not walk, run; I want to close my eyes and just disappear. I watched a video from my senior year last night. These people in the video, so young and full of life and possibilities, and their lives lay out before them. I see a past that seems so long ago. The years since then I’ve changed so much. I’m so crazy sometimes, so manic, so lost in the memories of what was that I start to forget what is.

Tomorrow I go to the counselor….scared doesn’t describe it. I think panic is better. I’m starting to feel like a caged lion. I don’t know that I have it in me to function tomorrow. I don’t know that I can make it through tonight. I want to be alone…to hide…to disappear. I’m acting today, avoiding the sense of utter doom. The last time I faced a counseling session I was so upset I couldn’t move or speak. I just kept crying…and I have a feeling that unless I figure out how to suck it up…I’ll be doing the same tomorrow.


“…see how the flesh grows back across a wound, with a great vehemence, more strong than the simple, untested surface before. There's a name for it on horses, when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,

as all flesh is proud of its wounds, wears them as honors given out after battle, small triumphs pinned to the chest-“
Jane Hirshfield, From For What Bind Us

Its just that...