Salsa (sssalsa) wrote,

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The Enemy Is Within. Don't Confuse Me With Him.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

Waves just start crashing all over me without warning or provocation anymore. How do you prevent something when you don't know it's going to happen? Do I just sit in a padded cell for awhile? Make friends with crayons? Eat from a straw?

While these options are tempting at times... I feel so fucked. In desperation and curiousity, I went to the psych department's "National Depression Day Screening." You know, to make sure I'm just fabricating it all. Turns out, I'm not. My completed survey was positive for the disease. Is it a disease? Disorder? I feel more disorderly. Keeping on, I let the cute, preppy, I've-got-MY-shit-together girl sign me up for further "assistance." The center called me at 8:30am two days in a row. Now, wouldn't one assume that upset people really enjoy their sleep? This intrusion on my last resting hours honestly offended me. Since I hadn't responded to their calls in a timely fashion, the doctor at the center called my house the following day. Unable to successfully decline his offer, I schedule an evaulation for Thursday at 8am. The fee is $10, I'm told. Silly me. I don't like waking up prior to 8am. I doubt having my psyche prodded would be enjoyable at that ungodly hour. I cancelled the appointment. A week went by without being slightly harassed from the counseling center, but the doctor blew up my cellular piece early this morning. I was sleeping through class, which is the norm nowadays. I blew him off, and he wished me well. That interaction really makes me feel a lot worse.  The doctor is just another person that I've disappointed, even though he doesn't know me at all. I just can't face being helped without it actually being helpful. That act could cause a stronger storm.

I used to think I was much stronger than this, and I wonder if I was ever right... minded. Am I strong? How can one even measure such aspects?

I looked at photo albums last week. The album stopped at around 10 years old. I cried. a bit. for a minute or two. It didn't help me. Looking back just makes the future look so much bleaker. It's overwhelmingly charcoal. I can't trust it. I wonder if I ever trust anyone for longer than fifteen minutes at at time. I'm forever questioning intentions, reasons, and honesty. The photos remind me of when I had potential and when people really cared about me and believed in me. That cloud has blown out from under me. My college career is comprised of mistakes, and I am allowing them to happen with ease now. School doesn't hold much of my interest. It isn't as useful and worthwhile as most people perceive it to be. I'm not much smarter than I was at seventeen. Frankly, I feel as though I'm on a retrograde.

Every aspect of my life is in question, and I can't control my brain. It's destroying everything, and I'm unable to fight it. I'm seriously scared. These next few months are going to be... a struggle.
And it's sick that I feel this way when I have nothing to be upset over. My life is not filled with adversity. I'm an average-lower-middle-class-American-twenty-something-girl... who just isn't worth it.

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