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Someone like me.

today has not been good at all. and now, when i sit down to write about it and the feeling accompanying it, it vanishes. It’s Thursday, so there was work then school. I’m done.

The anxiety of the day has killed me. I was not myself this morning. I was someone who was walking into things, i.e. D., walls, dogs, etc…. I was having visual disturbances where the room would shake back and forth. I was hearing conversations. I was shaking. D. had to drive me to work/school because it would have been dangerous to be behind the wheel of a car. I can’t think of a reason off the top of my mind why I would be so dangerous and at this extremeness. I had to take a tranq just to get ready. Walking the halls of school dictated I take another. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stay, but T/TR is my most important class so I couldn’t skip out on it. Throughout the day I would take a tranq. I’ve taken five so far. It managed my symptoms well by the time I had taken the third one. I can not manage this. I called the shrink but she never returned my call. Just when she was getting on my good side. My mind automatically goes to “what did I do wrong?”

I have extensions placed on me in almost all my classes because I cannot complete the work. It’s a mess; I’m a mess. One other thing is for sure, I can do this. I just can’t. I don’t need ultimatums or threats thrown at me. I need compassion and support. I’m about to lose it in the biggest way possible. Today has been horrendous. There’s no more to hurt me with.

Our next writing assignment, by the way, everyone loved me previous writing piece, dumb bastards, the next piece is called “Where I am from.” Well, you know I’m loving this. I went up to my professor when it was over and spoke with him privately. He knows I have “issues,” he just doesn’t know what they are. But the class was talking about memories. I don’t have memories. I don’t know where I’m from. He said, “Rebecca,” (didn’t correct him for calling me the wrong f’ing name) that is a great line opener. It has to be in the form of a poem and we have to interpret the line “I came from” any way we want. It could be about driving to school in our car, our birth (not mine, the students) or any other lame crap like this. More stress, more anxiety. Then he told me, and for some reason I believe he meant it because he’s a Jew (inside joke, sorry to offend). In all seriuosness, I believed him when he said he was so glad I was in the class and that it wouldn’t be the same without me in there.

I read aloud in our feather circle the easiest piece I could. I’ve been toying with the idea of posting them on here, but the chances someone could type them in and find me here are too great. If my cover is blown, I will never be a teacher, which really doesn’t matter because I’ve been thinking of going in a different direction. Because I work for the university, I can have my tuition paid free. I don’t know if it covers Masters work. But once I’m done with my undergrad, I’ve been thinking of staying on in the department in which I work and going for my Masters in Creative Writing. Not that I want to write a book, I just want to write. I love to write. I’ve been told I’m a good writer. So I’m thinking about that option. If I were to choose that, it wouldn’t matter if my writings got posted to my blog.

But what I read in the feather circle was a required 3rd person piece. It was about a woman walking down the aisle, rather tripping and stumbling down the aisle, cursing her high heels and reflecting on why she hates wearing dresses. Then it cuts to the woman wondering about the man beside her and if he’ll be happy with the life-long decisions he’s made. Then the woman’s trance is broken as she is up on stage shaking the President’s sweaty hand and getting her AA degree. Everyone loved the twist. It seemed about marriage but it was really about the graduation ceremony.

Professor L. told me to make my work fiction. I don’t like fiction. He says to write from the heart. That feels like lies to me. Which brings me to this blog. I feel very sensored as to what I say in this blog and highly inclined to go back over what has been written. I feel we are in a volatile space where, even though we can take care of ourselves, things we say might be misconstrued and we will be in the same place as we were back last Spring: threats thrown at us, accusations we were painting him into a corner. So, technically, we feel painted into a corner because we can’t write freely without worrying about the consequences. There are things we could write and want to write. We feel on a small level like our blog helps people and least feel they aren’t going through this alone. That’s the worse part of D.I.D.: you feel so alone. It’s not like they have AA-like meetings for us. But I can’t say what I want and, damn’t, I’m pissed. Part of me wants to and damn the consequences. I don’t respond well to threats and there will be a fight to be had if one is thrown at us.

The razor and band-aids are in my purse. The tranqs were helpful today because I didn’t feel the need to use them, but I am really obsessing about it. I decided not to write my third word photo about my cutting in the past because, even though I wanted to know their reactions and that is why I would read it aloud, I can’t control their reactions or emotions or opinions of me. In a few months when the tank tops are worn, they will see for themselves the cutting. If they judge me, that is on them and they should be ashamed. They really should be grateful I’m putting myself on the line and revealing some of this crap. This is probably the last piece I’ll write about the history as told to us. The rest IS too personal. but they will have students that cut or have cut or are into drugs. At least now they have a first person insider’s view as to what the thoughs and feelings are going through the mind that would cause someone to starve, throw up, cut, or get multiple piercings.

Speaking of piercings, going to get one tomorrow after working out. Can’t wait.

My scale is faulty and I’m pissed. I don’t believe it’s giving me a true representation of my current weight, and for that, I could bang it against the steps.

The professor I am to edit a book with is having too many health problems. I haven’t seen her in weeks. I may resign. What good is it? I don’t want the title without doing the work.

My dog wants to play. You’d love her. She is three and plays, plays, plays. Her expressions are so cute; it is as if she can solely communicate through her eyes. She has a thousand different looks.

I saw the girls that I used to be guardians of dance ballet tonight and they were fantastic. Even O, the one with the learning disorder, kept up and was a leader for the other girls falling behind. They are a pretty hard core dance company and don’t do it for the recital. The teach ballet, the recital is short, sweet, and a reward. I like that.

Work is calming down. The phones that used to ring off the hook and send me to oblivion have calmed down and the people are much nicer. One thing I’ve noticed, the teachers who call and are going for their Masters are much nicer than those in the MBA program or even the regular undergrads. If you have teachers, thank them. They are truly a different breed.

I have a friend at school now, K., that pretends to want me as a friend. She gave me a ride today to my girls’ ballet class because I had no car. Couldn’t drive this morning. True, I have lots of people I’m ‘friendly’ with at school, even exchanged phone numbers; however, I’m not used to ‘friendly’ people at school being friends with me. And though a car ride doesn’t a friendship develop or constitute to the real deal, she is in my writing peer group and already knows extra things about me, along with another girl, C., that most people will never know. They know about anxiety and that I take meds, but nothing bigger. I was grateful for the ride and I think next weekend we may go out for a drink since she turns 21 next week and I need to get drunk myself. Although the calories will trip me up. An apple martini will be fine. But it’s nice to have someone ask you if you want to go out with them and they really mean it. We asked C., our peer partner and got a maybe which is student speak for “no.” No worries. Someone else will go. I’ll be too afraid to go by myself. I’ll feel the spotlight is on me and either she’ll ask too many personal questions or I’ll have to carry the conversation and ask her questions. It’s almost like a date, but K. and I’ve had four classes together before. This writing class has taken our ‘friendship’ to a whole new level. I hope our insanity doesn’t drive her off. I wouldn’t want to be friends with someone like me.

Please let me sleep tonight. Please, please, please, let me sleep and not worry with the anxiety. Maybe I will sleep. Though I don’t have school, I do work and I like to work on Fridays. The school is pretty much closed and the phone calls are few. I get alot of work done.

ease let me sleep. I feel it already. I’m drowsy. But I’ll bet you anything; as soon as the lights go off and I lay my head on the pillow, I’ll pop right up like a jack-in-the-box. Drowsly and sleepy doesn’t equal sleep. My mind will turn on as soon as I shut everything down. We’ll see. I have an appt. with Randy tomorrow. I may just have to sleep on his couch. BYOB. Bring your own blanket.

Talk to me!