I got home late last night from my spring break trip and even though I'm exhausted and behind on schoolwork and sick as a dog (more on that in a minute), I had an amazing time and I am so freaking glad I went. Before trips, I always stress out about the change in routine, the unpredictability of food/activity, the lack of personal time and space, and on and on and on, but I'm starting to realize that that's all worth it when the upside is getting to see new places and spend time with the people you love. Call it mushy, I don't even care, but I love my family so much and spending the week with them was exactly what I needed to boost myself up again. Maybe it's because I'm getting older and realizing that my childhood home is not actually my home anymore, but I'm starting to really cherish the time I get with my mom and dad, and really appreciate them and not take them for granted. Was that a run-on sentence? Whatever, I'm not changing it!
So the last few days of my trip were awesome. We did a fantastic and pretty grueling hike on Thursday. It was the most taxing thing my poor legs have been through in quite some time, and I absolutely loved it. By the end, my legs were literally quivering from exhaustion and I was thrilled. The exercise and sunshine were definitely good for my mental health, but - full honesty here - a big part of me also loved the fact that I was burning a ton of calories. I loved feeling weak and shaky and depleted. There's still something inside me that can only be satisfied by pushing my body beyond its limits.
Afterwards, though, we stopped at a nice sandwich place (think gourmet Subway) and I was so tired and hungry that I ordered a non-salad something, fully intending to finish the whole thing instead of picking like I usually do at restaurants, and filling in with a safe protein bar later. When my food came, I saw that the bread had been grilled in butter and was greasy to the touch, but I was feeling so good about myself that I said screw it and ate every last bite. And it was delicious and I felt great about eating it. Not gonna lie - there was some guilt later, but the meal still felt like a really positive step.
And then what happened? I got rewarded for all that positive recovery goodness with goddamn food poisoning. Or at least I think it was food poisoning - I supposed it could be a bad stomach flu, but I got my flu shot this year and I haven't had the flu in seriously like fifteen years. On Friday afternoon, we were driving home after a long day of hiking in the desert when I started to feel a little queasy. At first, I figured it was just fatigue from being out in the sun all day, combined with carsickness. By the time we got back to our hotel, though, I was sick. I spent the next twelve hours on the bathroom floor puking, periodically trying to make my way to bed, only to have to sprint back to the bathroom to puke some more.
At around one in the morning, I was so dehydrated I was seeing black spots and couldn't stand up, so my poor tired daddy wrapped me up in my winter coat and called a cab to take us the the emergency room. Luckily it wasn't too crowded, so they got me into a room pretty quickly and stuck an IV in my arm. I got three full bags of fluids pumped into me, plus a morphine drip, potassium pills, and Tylenol for a high fever before I started feeling a little better. They finally sent me home at about six a.m. with anti-nausea pills and a strict diet: only clear liquids for 24 hours, then only simple carbs for the next 24 hours, then gradually adding more foods as I feel up to it.
I got back to the hotel from the ER a little after six on Saturday morning, and had to head back out to the airport at ten. My parents left for Home City, and I left for College City. I had THREE different flights, with two 3-hour layovers. I spent most of the time curled up in the fetal position on various benches, sipping watered-down Gatorade, vowing never to eat again, and repelling all the stupid, happy, healthy travelers around me with my mind. I dare you to sit next to me, Mr. Father Keeping His Three Small Children Occupied in the Airport with Pungent Happy Meals and Noisy iPad Games, I DARE YOU.
So that was all real fun. I got home and slept for a long time and woke up this morning feeling a little better. I might venture downstairs for some toast or soup or something soon, assuming my stomach continues to cooperate. It's a little disheartening that I finally want to eat, and I can't. Does anyone have any suggestions for bland food or clear liquids that are easy on an upset stomach? I don't even know how to handle being sick - the last time I had the flu was in third grade. I am also still incredibly dehydrated - I'm so damn thirsty it's almost painful and I just want to guzzle gallons of water, but there's no way my tummy could handle the volume right now. It took me all day yesterday to get through one bottle of diluted Gatorade, and even that made me pretty queasy.
Okay, enough sick-talk, hopefully this is just a quick bug that will pass soon. Take care, everyone!
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Checking In
Oops, I forgot to mention that I would be out of town this week. So far it has been a fantastic vacation - lots of hiking and sunshine and wildlife. I am not usually a big nature person (I love it in theory, but all the dirt/bugs/sweat/greasy sunscreen/snakes/poison ivy? No thanks, not so much.) but I am actually having a great time. It feels so good to be physically active again, to feel my body working and moving the way a twenty-one-year-old body should.
Still, the unpredictability-factor definitely messes with me. We've taken a couple of full day-long excursions into the mountains that throw me for a loop in terms of what clothes and paraphernalia I need to bring, what snacks to pack, when/where we get meals, etc. but so far, the pay off has outweighed the anticipatory anxiety every time. I am laughing and chatting and generally feeling more like myself than I have in a while.
Also, I haven't had access to a scale all week. That makes it a bit easier to eat without stressing about what the scale will say in the morning, but my body image is horrendous. Ew yuck gross shoot me now. Last night I was looking through the pictures my dad had taken from the past few days, and literally pondered the possibility of never appearing in public again. But I'm trying not to dwell on that, and trying not to let it ruin an otherwise wonderful trip.
Just wanted to post a quick update before we head out for the day. Be back for real soon!
Still, the unpredictability-factor definitely messes with me. We've taken a couple of full day-long excursions into the mountains that throw me for a loop in terms of what clothes and paraphernalia I need to bring, what snacks to pack, when/where we get meals, etc. but so far, the pay off has outweighed the anticipatory anxiety every time. I am laughing and chatting and generally feeling more like myself than I have in a while.
Also, I haven't had access to a scale all week. That makes it a bit easier to eat without stressing about what the scale will say in the morning, but my body image is horrendous. Ew yuck gross shoot me now. Last night I was looking through the pictures my dad had taken from the past few days, and literally pondered the possibility of never appearing in public again. But I'm trying not to dwell on that, and trying not to let it ruin an otherwise wonderful trip.
Just wanted to post a quick update before we head out for the day. Be back for real soon!
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Therapy Thoughts
I'm having some trouble figuring this out. Basically, I've sort of been feeling like therapy isn't going that well. It's not going badly or anything, it just doesn't really seem to be making an impact. I'm starting to dread my appointments a little bit because they just seem like a waste of time. My eating is basically fine (still super rigid and unvaried, but not really restrictive in terms of calories) and honestly, I'm just sick of talking about it.
I wonder if this just comes down to me sucking at therapy. At the end of last summer, I was feeling this same sort of ambivalence about the time I spent with my old therapist. I wasn't any less rigid or ritualistic about eating. I still counted calories obsessively, worked out compulsively, and was generally pretty miserable. The only real differences between then and six months earlier (when I started therapy) were that I had gained some weight and was incredibly unhappy about it. I hope this isn't triggering or offensive to anyone reading, of course I'm not implying that weight gain = depression, but the reality of the situation was: I was more depressed that summer after refeeding than I had ever been before in my life.
I'm definitely not depressed to the same degree anymore and I actually like R better than my old therapist W, but I'm still feeling frustrated with the whole thing. Part of me wants to be left alone with my disorderedness, and part of me wants to know dammit, why am I not cured yet?
It's definitely frustrating when we start talking about something that doesn't resonate with me or feel very relevant. I tend to go along with whatever R wants to talk about, but mentally check out without steering the conversation towards something else. Not blaming him. I know that this is my fault. I give him a lot of my noncommittal shrug/grunt/"I don't know" things that he loves oh so much because really, what therapist doesn't love a withdrawn, detached, expertly poker-faced patient? Sometimes R tells me he needs to think, so he just sits there and kind of squints at me, and I start squirming and tapping my foot off and picking at my nails and crossing and uncrossing and recrossing my legs until he clears his throat and speaks up.
The other day I apologized for being difficult, and he said, "You're not difficult. You're just not vocal."
I don't know why the therapy stuff is so dang hard for me. I'm not shy in real life. Definitely reserved, but I have no problem whatsoever talking to people - friends or strangers. But in therapy, for some reason, I go into shutdown mode. I have lots on my mind, but none of it ever seems to get out.
Um okay, what was my point? I feel like I've strayed into the Land of the Ramblers. Oh yeah, that I suck at therapy and don't feel like it helps that much. THAT BEING SAID, yesterday's session went better because I actually took initiative and spoke up about something that was bothering me. Lately, I've been concerned (ahem freaking the fuck out) about my weight, which seems to be creeping up for no reason whatsoever. So after I got weighed and we went to his office, I sucked it up and said something along the lines of: I don't understand why I'm gaining weight and it's scaring me and I don't like it and I want to talk about that. So we talked about it and now I feel a little better. Is that what therapy is supposed to be?
Either way, R gets major points for staying totally patient, nonjudgmental, and persistent even when I'm a silent, shrugging, "I-don't-know"-ing block of ice.
I'm definitely not depressed to the same degree anymore and I actually like R better than my old therapist W, but I'm still feeling frustrated with the whole thing. Part of me wants to be left alone with my disorderedness, and part of me wants to know dammit, why am I not cured yet?
It's definitely frustrating when we start talking about something that doesn't resonate with me or feel very relevant. I tend to go along with whatever R wants to talk about, but mentally check out without steering the conversation towards something else. Not blaming him. I know that this is my fault. I give him a lot of my noncommittal shrug/grunt/"I don't know" things that he loves oh so much because really, what therapist doesn't love a withdrawn, detached, expertly poker-faced patient? Sometimes R tells me he needs to think, so he just sits there and kind of squints at me, and I start squirming and tapping my foot off and picking at my nails and crossing and uncrossing and recrossing my legs until he clears his throat and speaks up.
The other day I apologized for being difficult, and he said, "You're not difficult. You're just not vocal."
I don't know why the therapy stuff is so dang hard for me. I'm not shy in real life. Definitely reserved, but I have no problem whatsoever talking to people - friends or strangers. But in therapy, for some reason, I go into shutdown mode. I have lots on my mind, but none of it ever seems to get out.
Um okay, what was my point? I feel like I've strayed into the Land of the Ramblers. Oh yeah, that I suck at therapy and don't feel like it helps that much. THAT BEING SAID, yesterday's session went better because I actually took initiative and spoke up about something that was bothering me. Lately, I've been concerned (ahem freaking the fuck out) about my weight, which seems to be creeping up for no reason whatsoever. So after I got weighed and we went to his office, I sucked it up and said something along the lines of: I don't understand why I'm gaining weight and it's scaring me and I don't like it and I want to talk about that. So we talked about it and now I feel a little better. Is that what therapy is supposed to be?
Either way, R gets major points for staying totally patient, nonjudgmental, and persistent even when I'm a silent, shrugging, "I-don't-know"-ing block of ice.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Biology Lesson
In one of my classes today, my professor did a quick aside review on the Malthusian theory of population, which was an 18th century postulation that the human population would grow exponentially until it outstripped the planet's resources and agricultural production - way too many people squeezing into limited space, fighting each other off for limited food, hacking each other up and going cannibal etc. I made that last one up. It could probably happen, though.
BUT not to worry, it has since been pretty much determined that Malthus' gloomy prediction won't come true. Why? Because the population rate will not increase exponentially for ever and ever. After the initial period of exponential increase, mediating factors kick in to slow the growth rate. The earth likes balance. Humans take from the earth, but we also give back, and biology wants to maintain this homeostasis. So eventually, the population levels off. There might be periods of flux one way or the other, but the population won't spiral up out of control. From my understand, this general pattern doesn't just apply to the human population, but also to things like animals, bacteria, fungi, etc. (This is a reeeeally rough explanation. I'm not a scientist. My facts are coming from five minutes of a class lecture, my vague memory of high school biology, and some poking around on Wikipedia. Scientifically-inclined people, definitely chime in and correct me if I've got it totally wrong.)
Anyway, does this remind anyone else of set point theory? Maybe it's just because weight gain is on my mind all the time lately, but instead of seeing my professor standing up there with his little laser pointer, I was seeing my dietician J in her office trying to convince me that a 0.8 lb blip on the scale does not signify impending obesity. (I'll gladly accept second opinions on that one though!) On an appropriate meal plan, the body of an underweight anorexic will gain weight until enough weight has been gained, and then it will stop. I haven't done enough research on the set point idea to know exactly where I stand on that one (if I'm not mistaken, it's still somewhat controversial, no?), but I definitely believe that the body has a healthy range within which it wants to stay, and within which it will stay if fed a healthy, reasonable number of calories.
Bodies, populations - nothing can grow exponentially forever. It just can't. I know this. But for some reason, it's much easier for me to believe that microbial bacteria in the ocean will obey the laws of biology and physics than for me to believe that my body will behave in an equally appropriate fashion. Logic: reveal yourself!
BUT not to worry, it has since been pretty much determined that Malthus' gloomy prediction won't come true. Why? Because the population rate will not increase exponentially for ever and ever. After the initial period of exponential increase, mediating factors kick in to slow the growth rate. The earth likes balance. Humans take from the earth, but we also give back, and biology wants to maintain this homeostasis. So eventually, the population levels off. There might be periods of flux one way or the other, but the population won't spiral up out of control. From my understand, this general pattern doesn't just apply to the human population, but also to things like animals, bacteria, fungi, etc. (This is a reeeeally rough explanation. I'm not a scientist. My facts are coming from five minutes of a class lecture, my vague memory of high school biology, and some poking around on Wikipedia. Scientifically-inclined people, definitely chime in and correct me if I've got it totally wrong.)
Anyway, does this remind anyone else of set point theory? Maybe it's just because weight gain is on my mind all the time lately, but instead of seeing my professor standing up there with his little laser pointer, I was seeing my dietician J in her office trying to convince me that a 0.8 lb blip on the scale does not signify impending obesity. (I'll gladly accept second opinions on that one though!) On an appropriate meal plan, the body of an underweight anorexic will gain weight until enough weight has been gained, and then it will stop. I haven't done enough research on the set point idea to know exactly where I stand on that one (if I'm not mistaken, it's still somewhat controversial, no?), but I definitely believe that the body has a healthy range within which it wants to stay, and within which it will stay if fed a healthy, reasonable number of calories.
Bodies, populations - nothing can grow exponentially forever. It just can't. I know this. But for some reason, it's much easier for me to believe that microbial bacteria in the ocean will obey the laws of biology and physics than for me to believe that my body will behave in an equally appropriate fashion. Logic: reveal yourself!
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Seesawing
First things first: I clearly have some of the best readers ever. Seriously, you guys are awesome. The comments, e-mails, texts etc. put me on Cloud 9. The fact that you don't even know me, but still take the time to reach out and give me a boost - just, wow. Can I pack you all up and move you to College City? The weather sucks but there're some good sights and almost always a Starbucks within walking distance. Then I can fire R and save some money? Please?
So to follow up on the most dysfunctional, irrational, emotionally unstable weekend of my life: I've randomly had a great couple of days since then. (Anyone sick of hearing about my erratic mood swings? Anyone? Anyone?) I can't even begin to comprehend, much less explain, why or how I can be sobbing uncontrollably for hours one day, only to transform into my usual chatty and cheerful self less than twelve hours later. Actually, it was less than that - on Monday morning, I called my mom in tears at 8am, cried on my drive to campus, got a grip in the bathroom before class started at 11, started crying in class (which was mortifying, although I don't think anyone actually noticed), decided that life was a giant ball of crap...and then somewhere at some indeterminate point in the afternoon, it passed. When I got out of my last class at 6, I was fine. Whereas in the morning, I had ducked into the bathroom immediately after class and camped out in the library during lunch because I didn't feel capable of interacting with anyone, by the evening I was totally up for chit-chat and spent a while hanging out with some friends on campus before heading home.
Nothing really happened to turn my mood around. Classes were the usual, food was the same, body image was still in the gutter , my weight still inexplicably up (butI'mtryingnottodwellandIdon'twannatalkaboutit). So there was nothing obviously fantastic that would account for the sudden emotional upswing. And trust me, my mood was shitty enough that it should have taken something pretty damn amazing to pull me out of it. Plus, I wasn't just feeling better in just a "doing okay, getting by" way; I was actually feeling engaged and excited and alive. Like, I was caring about stuff. (Yes, this change literally happened in the span of about six hours.) Not that I'm complaining about feeling great for no apparent reason, but the bad moods seem to crop up just as quickly and just as randomly. I can handle bad stuff happening when it happens, but I cannot handle feeling like crap for no reason. I don't get it, and I don't like it. It makes me feel helpless and stupid, like there's no reason for me to be struggling, so I better snap out of it pretty fast or else I'm a self-indulgent waste of humanity.
The good thing about being in a good mood (well, one good thing among many good things) is that I can think more clearly. I don't feel like I'm surviving hour by hour, just hanging on until the next crisis hits. I can actually think about and plan for the future. And that feels so good.
Fingers crossed my next post won't be documenting another meltdown. And thanks again for reading, you guys all rock.
So to follow up on the most dysfunctional, irrational, emotionally unstable weekend of my life: I've randomly had a great couple of days since then. (Anyone sick of hearing about my erratic mood swings? Anyone? Anyone?) I can't even begin to comprehend, much less explain, why or how I can be sobbing uncontrollably for hours one day, only to transform into my usual chatty and cheerful self less than twelve hours later. Actually, it was less than that - on Monday morning, I called my mom in tears at 8am, cried on my drive to campus, got a grip in the bathroom before class started at 11, started crying in class (which was mortifying, although I don't think anyone actually noticed), decided that life was a giant ball of crap...and then somewhere at some indeterminate point in the afternoon, it passed. When I got out of my last class at 6, I was fine. Whereas in the morning, I had ducked into the bathroom immediately after class and camped out in the library during lunch because I didn't feel capable of interacting with anyone, by the evening I was totally up for chit-chat and spent a while hanging out with some friends on campus before heading home.
Nothing really happened to turn my mood around. Classes were the usual, food was the same, body image was still in the gutter , my weight still inexplicably up (butI'mtryingnottodwellandIdon'twannatalkaboutit). So there was nothing obviously fantastic that would account for the sudden emotional upswing. And trust me, my mood was shitty enough that it should have taken something pretty damn amazing to pull me out of it. Plus, I wasn't just feeling better in just a "doing okay, getting by" way; I was actually feeling engaged and excited and alive. Like, I was caring about stuff. (Yes, this change literally happened in the span of about six hours.) Not that I'm complaining about feeling great for no apparent reason, but the bad moods seem to crop up just as quickly and just as randomly. I can handle bad stuff happening when it happens, but I cannot handle feeling like crap for no reason. I don't get it, and I don't like it. It makes me feel helpless and stupid, like there's no reason for me to be struggling, so I better snap out of it pretty fast or else I'm a self-indulgent waste of humanity.
The good thing about being in a good mood (well, one good thing among many good things) is that I can think more clearly. I don't feel like I'm surviving hour by hour, just hanging on until the next crisis hits. I can actually think about and plan for the future. And that feels so good.
Fingers crossed my next post won't be documenting another meltdown. And thanks again for reading, you guys all rock.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
My Worst Side
Again, really sorry for my freaking out last night. And thanks for the kind words, it means so much to me. When I'm stressed/panicky/overwhelmed, I hold it in all day long, plaster on a happy face for my friends and professors and boss, and put all my energy into being great, thanks for asking! until I get home and crumble. There's no reason to think any of my friends would be anything less than sympathetic and supportive if I were to unload some of my problems onto them, but for some reason I just don't do it. It's like I have this stubborn mental block that won't let me be anything other than Miss Dependable and Efficient and Smiley in public. Unfortunately, that means Mama Bear and this blog take the brunt of my ranting and raving - sorry, raw deal, I know.
I hate gaining weight. I. Hate. It. I haven't even put on very much (in fact, my therapist R says I'm "basically maintaining") but I feel it everywhere. My jeans are tight. I can see my stomach through my shirt. I swear I'm getting a double chin. I feel fat and yucky all the damn time. This isn't a very original or interesting problem to have, but it is what it is. I'm Kaylee and I have anorexia and I'm afraid of getting fat. The end.
The other big thing is that I finally came off the meds that were making my eyes so horribly dry. (Recap: first I was on an SSRI for about a month, and then switched to an SNRI for about three weeks.) I tried to stick it out, but it was becoming pretty obvious that my eyes were not going to hold out. When I saw R this week, I told him in no uncertain terms that I wanted off. Now. When I first brought up my eye issues to him a few weeks ago, I didn't get the impression that he was taking it very seriously, but this time he did. He helped me get in touch with my GP (who is affiliated with R's treatment center), who gave me the green light to quit taking the pills. I've been totally off for about 2-3 days now and...well, I thought I was on a low enough dose that withdrawal wouldn't be a problem, but oh boy was I wrong. I am so freaking dizzy and sick and disoriented. Yesterday and this morning, I was too nervous to drive because I didn't think I could see straight enough to stay on the road. I've been feeling a lot better in the last few hours, so hopefully the worst has passed.
Part of me is relieved to be off the medication, and part of me is terrified. As much as I was fundamentally opposed to being on an anti-depressant (for myself, not for people with depression in general. Yes, I'm a hypocrite), I have to begrudgingly admit that the med definitely helped with my anxiety, which has been massively reduced to normal, manageable levels over the past couple of months. I hate that I tried medication, it basically worked, and I still had to give it up because of a stupid side effect. It's obviously too soon to tell what will happen, but I'm praying that I go back to feeling like my real self, and not back to the insanely anxious, non-functional version of myself.
Other health stuff - I don't really wanna talk details on here, but I'm stressed. And frustrated. And scared.
And this is a stupid issue but it's bugging me a lot lately: I hate feeling needy. I hate feeling like I need to go to therapy, and then leaving my appointment feeling dissatisfied that R didn't work some psychiatric magic and make me all better. I hate calling my mom in tears because I don't know why I just had a shitty day and no I don't wanna talk about it. I hate not being able to care when my friend tells me about her day because my brain is too full of worrying and obsessing and counting, and I'm just too mentally exhausted to be anything other than completely narrow-minded and selfish.
I do not like who I've become, but I don't know how to be different.
I hate gaining weight. I. Hate. It. I haven't even put on very much (in fact, my therapist R says I'm "basically maintaining") but I feel it everywhere. My jeans are tight. I can see my stomach through my shirt. I swear I'm getting a double chin. I feel fat and yucky all the damn time. This isn't a very original or interesting problem to have, but it is what it is. I'm Kaylee and I have anorexia and I'm afraid of getting fat. The end.
The other big thing is that I finally came off the meds that were making my eyes so horribly dry. (Recap: first I was on an SSRI for about a month, and then switched to an SNRI for about three weeks.) I tried to stick it out, but it was becoming pretty obvious that my eyes were not going to hold out. When I saw R this week, I told him in no uncertain terms that I wanted off. Now. When I first brought up my eye issues to him a few weeks ago, I didn't get the impression that he was taking it very seriously, but this time he did. He helped me get in touch with my GP (who is affiliated with R's treatment center), who gave me the green light to quit taking the pills. I've been totally off for about 2-3 days now and...well, I thought I was on a low enough dose that withdrawal wouldn't be a problem, but oh boy was I wrong. I am so freaking dizzy and sick and disoriented. Yesterday and this morning, I was too nervous to drive because I didn't think I could see straight enough to stay on the road. I've been feeling a lot better in the last few hours, so hopefully the worst has passed.
Part of me is relieved to be off the medication, and part of me is terrified. As much as I was fundamentally opposed to being on an anti-depressant (for myself, not for people with depression in general. Yes, I'm a hypocrite), I have to begrudgingly admit that the med definitely helped with my anxiety, which has been massively reduced to normal, manageable levels over the past couple of months. I hate that I tried medication, it basically worked, and I still had to give it up because of a stupid side effect. It's obviously too soon to tell what will happen, but I'm praying that I go back to feeling like my real self, and not back to the insanely anxious, non-functional version of myself.
Other health stuff - I don't really wanna talk details on here, but I'm stressed. And frustrated. And scared.
And this is a stupid issue but it's bugging me a lot lately: I hate feeling needy. I hate feeling like I need to go to therapy, and then leaving my appointment feeling dissatisfied that R didn't work some psychiatric magic and make me all better. I hate calling my mom in tears because I don't know why I just had a shitty day and no I don't wanna talk about it. I hate not being able to care when my friend tells me about her day because my brain is too full of worrying and obsessing and counting, and I'm just too mentally exhausted to be anything other than completely narrow-minded and selfish.
I do not like who I've become, but I don't know how to be different.
Friday, March 2, 2012
A Bad Night
I don't have much to write, other than that I'm just having a really hard time today. Not sure if this is a result of A) coming off the medication or B) plain ole stress or C) just me being a wreck and a failure at life. Regardless of the reason, I'm literally falling apart tonight and I can't stop crying.
There's some scary health stuff going on with me right now that is freaking me out and getting me really down. That's making it hard to focus on anything. Plus, my roommate is out of town and I'm feeling pretty lonely and unhappy.
My life is full of amazing opportunities, but I get so bogged down about stuff that I can't see them. I'm a junior in college, I have everything ahead of me - why am I falling apart when everyone around me seems to have it all together?
I'M SO LAME. Really sorry for this one, I'll write more soon.
There's some scary health stuff going on with me right now that is freaking me out and getting me really down. That's making it hard to focus on anything. Plus, my roommate is out of town and I'm feeling pretty lonely and unhappy.
My life is full of amazing opportunities, but I get so bogged down about stuff that I can't see them. I'm a junior in college, I have everything ahead of me - why am I falling apart when everyone around me seems to have it all together?
I'M SO LAME. Really sorry for this one, I'll write more soon.
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